The farmer, stood there, surrounded by the stillness, his gaze fixed on his hands, trembling with the horror of what they had done.
Before him lay his wife and daughter, the only family he had ever known, taken from him by his own fury.
In that awful silence, a piercing clarity came on him. It was as if a fog had lifted from his mind, showing him the truth he could hardly bear: it was his doing.
His hands had ended the lives of those he loved most.
Memories surfaced, small moments that were once so precious. He remembered his wife's gentle smile, the pure, bright laughter of his daughter.
They had never looked at him with hatred or scorn. That bitterness, that darkness, those were shadows in his own mind, seeds planted by the whispers he had allowed to poison his heart.
With that understanding, the farmer's strength left him. He fell to his knees, his spirit broken.
