Thank you to Rochelle for providing Friday Fictioneers as well as the photo this week!
The Tree of Love
The rhythmic sawing woke Lita who understood instantly its meaning. Each slice across the bark felt like it ripped her flesh.
Her mother’s grasp restrained her.
“We can’t let him kill the tree,” Lita said.
“But the magic—”
“Isn’t in the tree. It never has been. It’s here,” her mother said, pointing to her heart.
Yet, Lita felt deeply each blade stroke. Her connection with Rolf to whom she would have been betrothed severed. When the last slash fell the delicately flowering tree, Lita, too, fell, withered inside, her father’s words resonating: he is my enemy.