The messenger was little more than a child. When he came into the yard, Elly thought one of the neighborhood kids was running around. There was a sinking feeling in her gut the moment the tiny knock came upon the door. She opened the door and received the letter the child presented.
It simply read: "Breached"
Elly grabbed her cloak, some coin, and packed some food and clothing into a knapsack. Her eyes, pale and suddenly solemn, fell upon the dress hung near the hearth to dry. The first dressThreland bought her. She felt tears sting as they welled up, and she stared at the note again. Her hand moved to her swollen belly. She was foolish to think she'd be able to walk away from her life and her duty to play wife and mother. None of this was supposed to happen. She was just supposed to make use of the vantage point. She wasn't supposed to fall in love. Now she'd made a mess of everything. And, while it saved her worrying further over how to tell Threland the truth about herself and why she really came to Bree, it did leave her distraught to know she had been torn from the bliss of a "normal" life. She could raise the child alone. After all, she'd done it before. But it enraged her that she had to go back so soon. She wanted to stay in this dream forever.
There was no easy way to walk away. Her first instinct was to tell Threland everything and hope he'd come back to the island with her. But, even if he forgave her for keeping the truth a secret, her world was far too dangerous. No fields and merry evenings out at the pub. Her world was a cage, where isolation was survival. Threland would immediately become a target, and he didn't deserve to spend the rest of his days stowed away in shadows. That smile deserved to know the warmth of the sun. There was only one way to spare him her bondage. He'd have to think her dead.
It didn't take long to trash the house. She was certainly upset enough to break a few things. She knocked the chicken coop over, letting the birds loose all over the yard, then took a couple inside. She killed them quickly, letting the blood pool on the kitchen floor before making a few drag marks leading to the door. A few smears on the walls and on the front steps, and she'd left behind a gruesome murder scene. One last look at the dress has her in tears again. She left it on the wall where it hung, and left the front door open as she stole away and headed toward port on foot, a pair o dead chickens in tow. Her heart cried out in grief, but she made no sound.
