Page 2 of Bought By the Cerberus
“I would never wish death on innocent people,” I croaked out. “I don’t understand why those monsters came, but I never called them. I tried to help the survivors when they returned wounded.”
“Liar!” The widow lunged forward, as if wanting to grant me the same fate that had befallen her husband. “Your evil has cursed us all!”
“There is proof that she premeditated her actions.” Syagros produced a bundle of familiar-looking herbs. The precious plants that had hidden my curse dangled before the crowd like evidence of murder.
“Moon-bane and bitter root, to mask the stench of a barren womb!” he explained. “She poisoned herself daily to lie to us!”
Melos the blacksmith spat into the dirt beside my knees. “Three years she’s been hiding among us, drawing curses down on our heads.”
My throat burned with the need to defend myself, but what defense did I have? I was exactly what they said I was, a woman whose womb would never quicken, whose body had betrayed every expectation.
I made one last attempt, because I couldn’t help myself. I needed to make them see. “I never harmed anyone. I worked honestly, kept to myself.”
Syagros stopped pacing. His furious eyes bored into mine, darker than the Blighted Lands themselves. “Honest? You’ve been spreading poison with every weave, every touch!”
With every word he spoke, the crowd’s outrage increased. Another tomato landed on my cheek. And then, the villagers decided even rotten fruit were far too good for me. An old man threw a stone that caught my shoulder, sending sharp pain down my arm.
Melos began tearing at his shirt, and the fabric ripped with a sound like breaking bones. “This cursed shirt… My forge work’s been weak since I started wearing it!”
He hurled the ruined cloth at my feet, and others followed his lead. Agrion’s aged midwife stumbled forward and threw down a baby blanket I’d embroidered with tiny flowers.
“My grandson burns with fever!” She collapsed to her knees, tears trailing down her cheeks. “I should have known… I should have known it was your fault.”
More fabric flew through the air. Wedding linens, work shirts, and winter cloaks all landed in a growing pile around me. Each thrown piece tore something loose in my chest. These weren’t just garments. They were my pride, my skill, my only value in a world that had no use for broken women.
A dryad stepped forward, her bark skin rippling with disgust. “The earth itself sickens where your fabric touches it!”
Someone struck flint near the pile. Flames caught the cotton and spread quickly to the wool. I should have looked away, but I couldn’t. Frozen in horror, I took in the sight of everything I’d ever created turning to ash.
It shouldn’t have been possible for things to get worse. But what little luck the gods had given me, I’d spent throughout these past three years. It was time to pay the price.
A group of mothers, led by a woman I recognized with sinking dread, pushed through the crowd. It was Elena, whose sheep provided the finest wool in the village. She’d been bringing me fleeces for my weaves, always proud of her animals’ soft coats. We’d spent countless hours discussing which wool would work best for which projects.
Elena’s eyes burned with a fury that went beyond Syagros’s hatred. In her hands, she carried that beautiful dress I’d woven from her wool. “My daughter wore this to the bride market.” She trembled with barely controlled rage. “Because of your weaving, your cursed needlework... The monster sniffed once and turned away!”
Other mothers nodded, their expressions grim. “Three markets ruined!” one of them shouted, her hands clenched into fists. “Our girls go unchosen because of your taint!”
I wanted to deny it, to defend myself, like I had before. But in my heart, I knew I couldn’t. All those beautiful gowns I’d laboredover… I’d thought I’d been helping, thanking these people for sheltering me. Instead, I’d been marking innocent girls as corrupted. Every careful stitch had been a brand of shame. I’d passed my curse onto other women, without even knowing it.
“I didn’t know about the weaving,” I whispered, and every word tasted like ash. “I never meant for anyone else to suffer.”
Elena threw the dress onto the fire, where it caught and burned with unnatural brightness. “Intent means nothing when our daughters face spinsterhood because of you!”
The smoke grew thicker, acrid and choking. Elena and the other women formed a tight circle around me. The peaceful woodland clearing had become a tribunal, with ancient oaks bearing witness to my judgment.
“My Lydia was beautiful!” Elena screamed, shaking with outrage. “Perfect! She would have made any monster a fine wife!”
There was a pause, as if the air itself was holding its breath. And then, Melos laughed, a harsh sound that cut through the flames. “Your Lydia? That plain girl? She wouldn’t have gotten chosen even without the curse.”
Elena went white. “What did you say?”
“I said your daughter’s homely as a mud fence. No monster would want her even if she smelled like roses.”
“You bastard!” Elena’s frame shook with fury. “How dare you—”
“It’s true though, isn’t it?” The midwife spoke up, her own grief making her cruel. “My grandson may be sick, but at least I never fooled myself about his prospects. Your girl looks like the back end of a mule.”
Elena reached for her wool shears, drawing them from her belt. “Shut your mouth, you dried-up crone!”
