CONTENT WARNING: familial death, murder, mentions of a house fire.
Four years later
Volpe
Today once again marks the anniversary of their murder at the hands of the cruelty of witches.
Donatella and Vittorio - my mother and father. Strict, yet well-meaning. The witches targeted my father, believing him to be the instigator of the witch-hunts across this rough corner of the map. Vittorio thought witches did not exist, and thought his father Gianni mad for the book he wrote. Until the witches came, I, too, believed that magic did not exist in any form, and that the witches were merely folk-tales.
When they came and burned down our home in Tartosa, they did not care that the rest of my family was in there. I light a fire every night, no matter how warm outside, in remembrance of my family and how they perished. I stare into the flames to remind myself of my goal, and to remind myself of what they did to the people I cherished the most. I've taken a leaf from San Myshuno's book and focused moreso on burnings than drownings these days- much more effective. Witches adore playing with fire magic...that is, until they're the ones within the flames.
Vittorio and Donatella were both powerful, and bowed to no-one. My mother may likely be the only woman who I respected, in the sense that she always remained deserving of that respect. Hundreds of years of power and wealth destroyed in such little time, the legacy of the Volpe family nearly erased, saved for me. Everything I remembered of our family and our history, I distracted myself from the event by writing it all into a book that I keep amongst my belongings. Even then, there were many gaps that I could not fill- so many ancestors that can never be remembered.
My three children - Aretino, Ettore, and Sidonia, my three-year-old daughter...their screams still ring in my ears every night. I never did have any more children- Cordelia never could. Samuel Annorin tried every treatment he could think of, yet he had no such luck. Neither did his son.
The witches and their supporters whine day and night about how the witchfinders do not spare the children, about how they target those that were not responsible. And why should I extend any sympathy? Gianni was the man responsible for the surge in fear of witches. He died some time before my family was murdered.
The witches did not stop to think before targeting the people who were not responsible for their people's slaughter- why should I stop to think if someone may truly be a witch? Better to be careful, is it not? - and why should I spare their children when they did not spare my own? I've seen the way those with magic will willingly throw their own families' lives away by fleeing with their own.
The stories the witches will tell you are laced with bias. They see themselves as the perfect victims- never as the perpetrators. I'm sure it isn't just my loved ones that have been killed over such a misunderstanding.
These past few years have been fairly quiet, but even with my men's efforts, the quiet isn't entirely due to the deaths of those with magic. I know that the witches' silence is gestating a dastardly plan to reintegrate into mundane society and destroy it from the inside, I can tell. After years of believing him to be as mad as my father did, Gianni was right. Had I only believed him- perhaps we'd already be rid of the problem.
If all the world had magic, who would you trust? What would you do when your magic failed you during a task, and your over-reliance on arcane abilities left you too physically weak do perform said task the manual way? Distrust and laziness is all that will come from it all, and there's enough of that as it is.
I find myself thinking of Samuel Annorin again. It isn't long until the anniversary of his passing from 'illness'. Speculation has floated around for years, but those who speculate are far too afraid to directly challenge the Annorin name. I try to tell myself that Owen would never do something so atrocious, yet I've never seen him mourn his father other than in a sloppily-written newspaper obituary from a few years ago.When I used to visit Samuel, I'd always share a little of my wisdom with Owen when he was younger, yet he seems to have completely discarded all of his father's teachings as well as my own. His generation seem to be losing their grasp on respect for their elders.
I once thought the Annorins one of the most noble of the wealthy bloodline families, but since Samuel's passing, much has changed. Owen's embarassing attempts at philanthropy have left the poor with food in their stomachs and even a form of basic health care, should they need it. The world runs just fine on survival of the fittest, otherwise every single creature on the planet would have perished! If you haven't made the money necessary to ensure your livelihood, why should it be the problem of hard-working folk? And the way Owen spoils his young children with so much in the way of gifts and kindness- the next generation will have all the fortitude of mere daisies! I hope it isn't too late for him to realise his mistakes and rectify them.
Nevertheless, I cannot be too upset with him. Despite all his flaws, Owen has done me a sizeable favour- one that I must go to visit him about tomorrow. About four years ago, I'd asked for him to try and recreate his father's vampire cure. I remembered what he'd tried to do for Oskar, but he doesn't seem aware of this other vampire- there's no personal or emotional connection to worry about.
Interestingly, he'd offered to create the cure for no charge at all, given the wait, and given his own concerns for his own children's safety, what with creatures of the night lurking about. Clearly, it's taken having children of his own for Owen to realise what risk a rampant vampire poses to the community at large, and not just at my witchfinders. All it takes is a thirsty vampire, and the victim could be anyone's parent, child, or sibling...
His recent letter informs me that he thinks he is finally finished with the cure. Not too long, and my witchfinders will hopefully be picked off less. If my predictions of a planned revolution are true, then I will need all the men I can get...and keep them.
Most of Owen's scientific ramble goes into one ear and out of the other, but I trust his judgment. The look and the scent of the cure is very similar to the one that Samuel had crafted, and I have little doubt that it won't go to plan.
"Thank you for your hard work, Owen- genuinely."
"No thanks needed, Volpe. I knew Oskar well, but I don't know this other vampire- and I have every suspicion that this new vampire might not have the same inhibitions that he did. I knew he wouldn't do harm to an innocent person. For all I know, this unknown vampire, thirsty for blood, could do harm to anyone- even children. I can't do that to Henford's children."
"I'm just thankful you've seen sense, Owen. Once you have children of your own, your entire world changes, and there's far more to be fearful of, after all."
"Indeed- but at least we have one less thing to be afraid of once this problem is dealt with," he says. "It may take a bit longer to work than the last one, but soon enough, this vampire will be of little threat to your men or the people of Henford."
"I'll admit you're not without your faults, but you're more like your father than I once thought. Thank you again for your hard work. I'll see if I can give this cure to one of my men tonight. Hopefully he'll attract the attention of the vampire. I hear many believe this vampire is female, so less to worry about- what harm is a human woman, hm? I suppose she'll go back to picking daisies and stroking kittens once she's without her powers."
"Oh, indeed!" Owen's laugh always sends a peculiar shiver down my spine. "Whatever happens, all the best to you, Eduardo."
Perhaps he's mellowed out with age, I wonder. Either way, I'm glad he has his father's obedience, at long last. Life is too short now to be doing anything other than play along, I should hope.
Still, I believe I need to sit down and have a discussion with him about what he's been doing in the grand scheme of things. All of this giving to the poor cannot continue. Everything was fine as it was, and with what he's doing, I can only fear what kind of uprising might happen- and I have no doubt that the poor consider themselves to be allies with the witches. The amount of times those peasants have misled my men...
AUTHOR'S NOTE: The title comes from one version of a translation of an Italian saying, meaning something along the lines of being furious.