Part - 1Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours, and the night turned into day. Hallstatt was shining again. The people had started with their daily chores, and the vibrant noises of the children playing on the streets provided some respite to the somewhat mundane lifestyle. The lush greenery and the sunlit fields added to the already exuberating scenic view of the only joyous village in all of Colmar. Only if you would take out the Augustine's house out of the picture. It was probably Da Vinci's second attempt at drawing the Mona Lisa ('coz he wasn't pleased with his first one), wherein he accidentally spilled a big blob of black ink on her tits. (I hope you get the picture.)The stable animals had grown thinner, the kitchen had become a home of rats and ticks, the tap water was probably darker than Anubis's eye sockets, and the food which lay bare open on the table, infested by mold.Neither Marco nor Trina were in their senses since returning to their home. The entire house was in a disarray, the entire backbone went up in flames in front of their eyes. The little boy would never see his father again, the guilt of allowing him to leave even though he knew what had happened to Julienne weighed down on him like Atlas's burden. What remained were the fond memories of John, which were subtly fading away. "Marco, eat something you will fall ill!", said a lowly and half-dead Trina.For the very first time in his life, Marco had gone more than twelve hours without eating anything. After some convincing, Marco did agree to eat something, but not before he had also convinced his mother to eat along with him. No-one uttered a single word during the meal, which consisted of some moldy breads and a day old milk, not that it mattered anyway. "Dear, what's gone is gone! We cannot do anything about this. Maybe his purpose was fulfilled and that's why God decided it was his time"; although Trina knew Marco wasn't listening to him. "Mom!", It was the first time Marco spoke after his nightmarish birthday, "I think we need to tidy up our house a bit. It's the last memory of him. Let's not tarnish it."Trina did feel some comfort after listening to such words from his dear child, "Yes dear, surely!"They spent the entire day cleaning the house from top to bottom, scrubbing the pots and pans, sweeping and mopping the floors, arranging the shelves and crockery, and dusting every surface. The windows were washed until they sparkled, and the curtains were taken down and laundered. They polished the furniture, wiped down the walls, and even cleaned the light fixtures. By the time they finished, the house looked immaculate, with everything in its place and a fresh, clean scent lingering in the air. Lastly, all that remained were the stables. Marco did agree to clean that himself firsthand, specially because there were more memories of him and John etched on the walls than there were straws scattered on the floors. He wanted to reminisce all that time spent with his dear father, who always had an avid interest towards tending animals."What use is my History knowledge going to have now? I could have learned some plantation and animal tending so that I could have been of some use atleast !"After spending some time trying to figure out things, he did manage to clean the sheds, atleast somewhat than they were before. "Marco, come inside. It's time for dinner!"He hadn't noticed when the sun did go down. Hastily, he jogged inside the house, this time closing the door as silently as possible, although he knew there was no one outside. Trina was able to prepare a palatable dinner as both of them finished their food within minutes after what was probably their most tiring day in their lifetime.Marco couldn't sleep. The foggy night was slowly engulfing the entirety of Hallstatt, with just one sixteen-year-old boy perched at his window sill, his thoughts neither of sorrow nor of despair, nor any feelings known to mankind. It was a tumultuous blend of all these emotions, swirling together in a haze of uncertainty and contemplation. His mind was a storm of melancholy, confusion, and longing, each emotion crashing into the next, pushing him towards a fragile edge where sanity felt like a distant shore.Part - 2Four years had passed since the day the Augustine family's spine was dismantled. Marco had grown up to be a mature and handsome teen, who had John's blue eyes. It was probably much earlier than he had anticipated, but ultimately his time had come to be the man of the house, which he did with immaculate adeptness for these four long years. Not even once did he let his mother feel the burden of losing her beloved.Trina's condition, however, had deteriorated. It seemed Marco's sixteenth birthday not only took John but also sucked out his wife's life out of her, which was visible on her face. She had aged more than her age, and was probably waiting for his husband's call any day. Though she did not make it evident, Marco knew what she was going through and would often do more than his potential allowed to make her mother feel better. They would often have long conversation; they were mostly centered around John, how Trina met Marco's dad, how John would often contemplate about Marco's future and how would often forget about time while working in the fields. Marco would mostly listen and nod his head here and there, if that was enough to provide Trina some sort of warmth. Although, there was still the memory of that night lingering at the back of his head, when the silhouette that led him to his father's corpse, called him Gussy. After that day, his desire to visit the forbidden lands had grown unbounded. Although he never would bring that topic up lest his mother would break down again. But he had grown up now. he was not anymore the spoon-fed child that was once adorned by the entire of Hallstatt. "Should I tell mom?""No, never! It has been only four years. She will break down again !""But....come on man....It's been four long years, she might have gotten over it already.""Think about it, you still have a life to live. Don't throw it away like Julienne.""Shut up, shut up, shuuuuttt up both of you!!!!!"..........."Marco, Marco, is everything okay dear?", said Trina as she came rushing into his room.Marco was trance-broken; He was talking with himself this whole time, "Yes Mom, I'm absolutely fine. ""Are you sure? Why were you shouting then? Is there anything that is bothering you? You can te..""Mom, I told you I am absolutely fine. For God's sake, stop treating me like a child!" As soon as he said that, he felt gutted. It was the first time he had spoken in such a reprimanding tone to his mother. She did not say anything and closed the door to go back to her chores. "Damn it! Why does this always happen to me? What did I ever even do to deserve this life?" And that was the first time he had the thought "I never wanted this kind of life!!!"Part - 3"Marco, come down for dinner!", was Trina's call two hours after she went from Marco's room. She had conjured up quite a savory feast, to which Marco was really astounded. He would often marvel at how her mother had never lost her cooking touch, years after such a big loss. Partly, he did feel remorse at how he behaved with her sometime ago, but decided to make amends for it."Mom,""Yes my boy!""I am really sorry for how I behaved a while back. It was just that I was having a mental breakdown, having some visually impaired thoughts of .....you know.....father."To his surprise, Trina did not scold him. "I understand what you're going through. It's absolutely fine. What you have done, how you managed to take the reins of the house after the passing of John, what more could I have ever asked!""Thank you mom!", saying as he took his first bite."Mom,....", said Marco with a delayed and unsettling voice,"Yes sonny !""I was thinking ....maybe.....maybe I should do something.""Do what?""You know.....it's really disturbing that a resident of Hallstatt was found mutilated on the borders even though it has never been breached before. What if there is someone living amongst us who set all of this up only for us to believe that Duskvale, Somaris and Bleakridge are not cursed? In fact, they might even be using those places for their hideout, secretly planning somet...""Enough!! Don't you think we have been through more than enough already? First, your dear best friend Julienne, then your father. Now you thinking like a lunatic when we all need to remain within the save haven of Hallstatt.""But mom.....""Go to sleep now and erase any such thoughts you have from your memory. Enough is enough. You are still not mature enough to understand this. The day when I will die, no one will instruct you. Do whatever your heart desires."............"It might have been better if your dad hadn't gone to the fields that day. It was only because of you that he died that day. Hadn't you slammed the door on him, hadn't you stopped him that day, hadn't you cared a little less about your birthday present over your father, he would still be alive today."Hearing his mother's harsh words, Marco was overwhelmed by a torrent of anguish, pain, and sorrow. The weight of her accusation—that his actions, even something as seemingly insignificant as a door slammed or a birthday present desired over his father's needs, led to his father's death—crushes him. The pain of her judgment that cut deeply, amplifying his grief with the added burden of guilt. Her cold assertion that he lacked the maturity to understand the gravity of the situation which only intensified his internal turmoil, making him feel even more isolated and desolate. The words echoing in his mind, leaving him grappling with a profound sense of responsibility and loss, as he struggles to reconcile his mother's blame with the tragic reality of his father's absence.He saw his mother going to the kitchen sink to wash the dishes for the night. Marco was blinded. His senses, gone. His brain, froze at its place. He could only hear one thing, "Gussy....Gussy...Gussy...Gussy!!!""Marcooo" , his mother shouted from the kitchen!Slowly, he entered the kitchen where Trina was washing the dishes."Marco, could you hand me those cutlery?"Marco saw there were a set of beautiful looking spoons, forks and knives, stained with food, lying on a table. "You know my boy, I never meant to reprimand you like that. It's just that, the mere thought of loosing you hurts me so much. You are all that I have left. Promise to never leave me.""It's okay mother. I promise I won't ever leave you.........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................."As Marco had solemnly vowed to his mother, his voice was barely a whisper, a promise forged in the depths of their shared grief. The room was heavy with the quiet tension of unresolved emotions, each breath between them fraught with unspoken fears. Marco's eyes, once full of youthful defiance, now glistened with an unsettling emptiness. His movements were mechanical, as if guided by an unseen hand.Slowly, almost reverently, he reached for a knife from the cutlery set, its gleaming edge catching the dim light. There was an eerie calmness to his actions, a sense of detachment that contrasted sharply with the intense emotions just exchanged. He held the knife with a grip that seemed oddly familiar, as though it had become an extension of himself rather than a mere object.In a surreal, almost dreamlike sequence, Marco approached his mother, her face etched with tears and an unspoken trust. The room was enveloped in a heavy silence, broken only by the steady rhythm of his breathing. With a deliberate calmness, he took the knife from the cutlery set, the gleam of its edge catching the light. He moved closer, and with an unsettling precision, placed the blade against her neck. The motion was so smooth it seemed almost rehearsed, the knife pressing against her skin with a disturbing ease.His mother's eyes grew wide with a blend of confusion and pain, her breath catching in a stunned gasp. The scene unfolded with a haunting slowness, the warmth of her blood mingling with her tears, creating a chilling tableau that felt suspended in time. Marco's expression remained eerily blank, reflecting a deep inner conflict and disorientation. The promise he had made to never leave her now felt like a cruel irony, crucified against the quiet horror of the moment, leaving a lingering sense of unresolved anguish and a shattered sense of reality.In this tragic moment, Marco was a vessel of his own fractured psyche, the knife a symbol of his complete loss of agency, a puppet controlled by forces beyond his understanding. The sorrow of the scene was not just in the physical act but in the realization that Marco, in his deepest despair and confusion, had become an unwilling instrument of his own anguish and his mother's ultimate tragedy.He sat, his back against the wall, the knife in his hands, examining it with a chilling sense of pride, as if seeking acknowledgment for the efficiency of his grim task. His mother lay motionless before him, a stark and silent testament to the cruel reality that had unfolded, the floor now a morbid canvas painted in shades of red. As the adrenaline of the moment began to wane, Marco's gaze shifted to the distorted reflections in the pool of blood, his mind slowly grappling with the gravity of what he had done. The initial numbness gave way to a dawning horror, a shattering realization of the irreversible action he had taken. He blinked, trying to reconcile the fractured images of his mother's lifeless body with the haunting echoes of her final pleas. The room, once filled with the promise of solace, now felt suffocatingly empty, the silence amplifying the crushing weight of his actions. Marco's breath grew ragged, his hands trembling uncontrollably, as the stark contrast between his earlier calm and the overwhelming wave of remorse set in. The sense of control he thought he had possessed was now replaced by a profound, paralyzing guilt, as the full extent of his loss began to engulf him.As the sun was rising on the horizon, Marco's words that exited his lips were, "Maybe it would have been better if your uterus would have bursted the day I was born, rather than me doing the honours!!!"