“The only thing you’re going to get, is a shot in the face.”
All of Lyssa’s lovely aspects completely disappear and hate and anger replaces them. At this point, she doesn’t feel fear like Bruq did. Her blood is boiling.
“Don’t be like that”, the apparition says with pouting lips. “I know you miss me. You even kept my accordion as a reminder. Couldn’t throw it away, could you now, lassie? I understand… you always admired how my fingers played the instrument. It probably remembers you of how I played your instruments.”
She is revolted by his smile. Her insides turn and her body burns. It’s almost like she feels his hands crawling over her. The temple even smells like the cheap booze he gave her to make her helpless.
“I’ll blast you to hell again, fucker. Those pirates were kind to you when they killed you. I should have tortured you.”
He grabs his junk and scratches it exorbitantly.
“Hell is pretty nice. Enough time in the afterlife to fool around your pretty mother.”
All emotions are drained from her face. She looks at him with an open mouth.
“She’s a good way of wasting time, you know. I prefer my women a bit younger, but it’s nice to feel where you got your skills from.”
Lyssa screams and draws her gun.
“Say that again! I dare you!”
Her finger trembles on the trigger.
“Lyssa, don’t!” Bruq runs toward her and quickly pushes her gun down. “The trial is messing with your head. Killing the fihyr will not change what happened.”
She pushes him away and points her weapon again to the pimp’s face.
“But it will feel very good!” Her chest is heaving and her eyes are watery. “I can’t put my gun down, Bruq. He needs to die.”
The apparition turns towards the satyr.
“If you’re not paying, then leave my merchandise alone”, he says angrily. “Let her do what must be done.”
Lyssa closes one eye and aims. She opens her eye again as Bruq blocks her line of sight.
“Step aside.”
Her voice is deprived of any form of kindness. She is sniffing.
“He is the reason of your sad lullaby, isn’t he?” The hunter is whispering, hoping only Lyssa can hear him. “I heard you singing to yourself. Don’t think no one will ever love you. Don’t think nobody cares. I care.”
He walks past the barrel of her blunderbuss and stops right in front of her. He wraps his arms around her tightly and puts his cheek against hers.
His bushy fur scrapes her skin, but the warmth is comforting. She lowers her gun, drops it and hugs him back.
“Thank you”, she whispers softly and she kisses his cheek.
He blushes.
Lyssa pushes him off of her. He is greeted by a sincere smile and she focuses on the man in the fog.
“Steve Waterrock, nobody ever loved you and no matter who you collected to ‘give shelter’ in the Wailing Wench, that never changed. I thought you broke me, but now I see you only showed me how broken you are.”
Their emotions have shifted: Lyssa seems very calm, while her self-proclaimed uncle grows more furious with every word she says.
“I don’t believe a single word that leaves that man-hungry mouth of yours! You’re broken goods, you filthy sea hag. Nobody wants a scarred and scared little girl, Lyssa!”
She turns her towards her friends. They all smile and nod at her, even Dargothoth seems sympathetic. She turns back and shrugs.
“I’ll take my chances, old man. Have a safe trip back to whatever place you came from. Bye now.”
She waves at him with an exaggerated grin.
The blackness rises and draws back uncle Waterrock.
“Fine!” They can hear him shout from within the fog. “Even if you find love, they will leave you eventually. You know I made sure you wouldn’t spawn any other sea witches while working for me. The bloody stains on my accordion are proof. I made you lick your blood off my cane, remember?”
His twisted laughter echoes.
“I cooked whatever I stomped out of you that night and fed it to the hounds”, he whispers. “You are broken, little Lyssa, and broken women can’t get children.”
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