Page 14 of The Don's Eternal Vows

Long shadows stretch out before me, dark fingers reaching as if to drag me into the encroaching night. My steps are purposeful, each one taking me further from the life I no longer want and closer to... what?

Some semblance of Genoveva still being alive?

Along the way, I touch the barks of trees leading me towards the river. Genoveva always touched the barks, spoke to them, and thanked them for all they do for our world. Somewhere, I could have gained the same atoms that ran through her skin.

In this forest, she seems timeless. The crunch of fallen leaves beneath my feet echoes in the stillness, each step a thunderclap in the serene world around me. The wind whispers through the trees, carrying with it the scent of pine and damp earth.

"Genoveva," I breathe, her name a prayer on my lips.

The rustle of leaves brings back a flood of memories. I close my eyes, letting the sensations wash over me. For a moment, I can almost feel her hand in mine and hear the melody of her laughter.

"Remember when we used to sneak away here?" I murmur to the empty air, my voice rough with emotion. "God, how young we were."

My feet carry me forward, muscle memory guiding me along a path I've walked a thousand times before. The trees thin as I approach the riverbank, and at last, I stand at the river's edge, my cheeks wet. It takes me a moment to realize I'm crying, silent tears mixing with the gentle flow of the water at my feet. My hand moves of its own accord, reaching into my jacket. The gun is a familiar weight, cool metal against my palm.

"What am I doing here?" I whisper, my voice barely audible over the rush of the river. The gun trembles in my grasp, my fingers white-knuckled around the grip. It's an extension of myself, this instrument of death. How many times have I used it without hesitation? And now...

I raise it slowly, feeling the weight of every choice, every regret. The barrel is cold against my temple.

"Genoveva," I whisper, her name a prayer on my lips. "I can't do this without you. I'm nothing without you." My voice breaks, raw and ragged. "I promised to protect you, to keep you safe. I failed. But I won't fail again. I'm coming to you, my love."

The gun presses harder against my skin. My finger tightens on the trigger. One squeeze and it'll all be over. The pain, the guilt of not having protected her, the endless nights alone. Just one squeeze...

A flicker of movement catches my eye. Across the river, a figure emerges from the shadows. My breath catches in my throat. It's a woman, but not just any woman. She's... different, her silhouette ethereal against the fading light.

She's draped in a flowing, diaphanous skirt around her ankles, adorned with intricate patterns of swirling paisley in earthy hues. Her blouse, an off-the-shoulder creation, seems to dance in the twilight, the delicate lace trim fluttering in the breeze.

As she moves closer, I catch the glint of rings dangling from her ears, catching the light from the moon. Her hair, a wild mane of silver curls, is barely tamed by a crimson scarf woven with threads of silver. Bangles of burnished copper encircle her wrinkled wrists, jingling softly with each step.

But it's her eyes that truly captivate me. Even from this distance, I can feel their intensity, wisdom and mystery, which seems to pierce straight through to my soul. She moves with a slow, fluid grace as she crosses the bank over to me. There's something about her presence that commands attention, a quiet power that radiates from her very being.

The gun in my hand suddenly feels heavier, more real. I lower it slowly, unable to look away from this woman.

Her voice floats across the land as she nearly reaches the bank I’m on, soft as a whisper yet as commanding. It fills my mind, drowning out the din of my own tortured thoughts.

"Young man," she intones, the words rolling off her tongue like a secret incantation. "The path you seek is not the one that leads to peace."

“She’s dead, don’t you understand?” I scream back at her, confused by why she’s bothering with the likes of me.”

“Your Genoveva?” she moans and clutches her chest, making me pause.

“How do you know her name?” I ask softly.

“I’ve seen you before, out here in the woods, with the woman you love. I’ve heard your name on her lips and hers on yours as you screamed it out with joy into the world.”

I take a step forward, drawn to her like a moth to a flame now. She’s seen us. She’s felt our love. Surely, she must understand why I need to do what I must. I know I should be wary that I have no idea who this woman is or what she wants, but I can't seem to help myself. There's a part of me that feels like I've been waiting for this moment my entire life like everything has been leading me to this exact point in time.

The woman stops next to me, her gaze locked with mine. In that moment, I feel a connection snap into place between us, a bond that transcends words or reason. I don't know what the future holds, but I know that everything is about to change.

I blink, my grip on the gun loosening. "Who are you?" I demand, my voice hoarse and unfamiliar to my ears.

Her eyes, dark and fathomless, lock onto mine. "One who sees beyond the veil of your grief," she replies. "Your Genoveva would not wish this end for you."

The mention of Genoveva's name sends a jolt through me. "You know nothing of what she'd want," I snarl, but my resolve wavers.

"I know more than you realize," she counters. "Your story is far from over. There are threads yet to be woven and debts to be paid. Lower that gun."

My hand trembles, and the gun suddenly feels like a dead weight. Her words resonate within me, challenging everything I thought I knew. A glimmer of something flickers in the depths of my despair—not hope, not yet, but the faintest possibility of an alternative.

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