The Chosen Bride

Chapter 2

(After a decade) 

Third POV

Willowbrook stirred with the approach of the dreaded day—the offering of a bride to Solas, the forgotten moon god. It had been a decade since the last sacrifice, a decade of uneasy peace under the watchful gaze of the moon. The village had grown, its thatched cottages spreading like the roots of an ancient tree, yet beneath the facade of tranquility lay an undercurrent of fear whenever the moon reached its peak.

Somewhere far at the outskirts of the village lived a girl named Elara. Elara, at twenty years old, had known little of family or love in her life. An orphan since childhood, she had grown up under the care of the village, finding solace in the whispers of the wind and the gentle touch of the earth. Her beauty was undeniable—full lips that hinted at a defiance born of hardship, green eyes that glimmered with a mixture of sorrow and determination, and long silver hair that cascaded down her back like strands of moonlight. But it was her spirit that set her apart, a quiet strength forged in the absence of familial ties.

As the days passed and the moon waxed towards its fullest, the elders of Willowbrook convened in somber deliberation. It was a duty none took lightly, yet it was a duty born of necessity to protect their homes and loved ones from the wrath of Solas. Elara had heard the tales from the cradle—of Solas, the powerful and vengeful deity imprisoned in the depths of the ancient cave. She had felt the fear that gripped every young woman in the village as the moon's cycle neared its apex.

But Elara harbored a different emotion beneath her trepidation—a simmering resentment towards the god who demanded such sacrifices. She hated him not only for the terror he instilled but for the suffering he inflicted upon the hearts of the village women. Each decade, another bride was chosen, leaving behind families torn apart by grief and fear. Elara had no one to mourn her, no one to plead for her life, and perhaps that was why the elders chose her—a solitary soul, unburdened by the cries of loved ones.

It was a week before the day of the bride's sacrifice when the elders called upon Elara. She stood before them, her heart pounding in her chest, as they spoke of their decision. There was no ceremony, no fanfare—just the solemn recognition of a duty she had been chosen to fulfill. The villagers watched in quiet reverence, some with sympathy in their eyes, others with a resignation born of generations of tradition.

In the stillness of the night that day, Elara stole away to the edge of the village, where the moon hung low in the sky, its light casting long shadows across the fields. She stood there, her hands pressed against her heart as if to steady its erratic beat, and gazed up at the celestial orb that dictated her fate. There were no tears, no cries of despair—only a quiet acceptance of what was to come.. In the solitude of her thoughts, she began to see her sacrifice not as a tragedy, but as an act of courage—a defiance against the cruelty of fate and the capriciousness of gods.

Elara's initial fear and anger gave way to a cold resolve. She would not plead for mercy; she would not weep in despair. Instead, she would face Solas with defiance, a defiance that burned brighter than the moonlight itself. As she prepared herself for the sacrifice that is to come, she steeled her heart against the whispers of doubt and the specter of fear.

In the quiet moments before dawn, Elara stood on the edge of Willowbrook, her silver hair shimmering in the pale light of the moon. She did not know what awaited her in the depths of the cave, but she knew one thing for certain—she would meet it head-on, with courage in her heart and a silent vow to challenge the fate that had been thrust upon her and if it meant dying by the hands of the Moon God, she was ready for it.

She would however not fear death. If the moon God thought he would get another demure bride who would shake at the mere sight of him and plead for mercy, he would be gravely mistaken.