The Ice Widow: The Beginning

In Part 2 of this story, we met Viola, a conflicted widow with a devastating dilemma. What caused it?

******************************************

The frost of Icelia crept into walls, windows, and the hearts, leaving nothing untouched.

Viola and Alaric's marriage had once thrived- a cosy cabin, a shared fire that exuded warmth.

But the years had other plans.The cozy beginnings were buried under layers of silence and snow. Their cabin was no lomger a haven, but a battleground. Frost crept into their lives, as relentless as time.

With Alaric. the dreamer,it was one grand scheme after another. Viola was the pragmatic half- always criticizing his out-of-the-box-notions, yet beneath her critiques was a sliver of hope as fragile as the ice itself.

"Who cooks spaghetti sauce with bok choy?" Viola grumbled under her breath, banging the pot of sauce she was cooking with her stirrer.

"But....it's healthy. You'll like it, but you never give anything a chance."Alaric's voice was a whisper, soft yet insistent.

Their marriage was brittle under the weight of disappointment, the cracks widening with every argument. They argued as though the walls had no ears, its idealism and her cynicism in constant battle- until the walls seemed ready to shatter.

A tense fight erupted one fateful mght, and Alaric anger biting at his heels,stormed toward the lake,the only place where his dream felt safe..The ice cleared his mind, the expanse of white reminding him of the possibilities if he walked away from it all.

And Verde, a constant presence that shimmered in Alaric's mind, contrasting with Viola's grounded world.

Oh, Verde. Viola was too aware of how soft Verde's skin felt under Alaric's fingertips. She knew that attempts to trounce the established competition- Alaric and Vance had known each other for years - was an endeavour that would lead to the depths of mowhere.

But the devoted wife couldn't deny the gaping wounds of betrayal. She packed his belomgings im a suitcase flung it outside the door with a ferocious lack of ceremony. But she still couldn't demy their connection- the hours stretched long amd began to gnaw at her. Wrappimg herself i her coat, she vemtured to the lake.

Alaric's ice-fishimg haunt stretched before her, the moonlight casting eerie shadows over its fragile, frozen surface. It was fractured glass, reflecting the horrors of a truth she dared not face.

Her breath caught as she saw it- a gapng hole, jagged and black, a maw that swallowed her guilt. Alaric's coat lay at its edge, wrappimg her with the accusations that th villagers would hurl at her later.

But the fingers of blame carried with them them the ugly scars of truth at their tips. Thoughts of Alaric and Verde flooded her mind, paralyzing her with a mental force she could not reckon with.

Her trembling fingers scattered salt over the lake's edge, each grain like the guilt weighing in her heart, a silent prayer for something to change. She had herself weakened the ice, thinking it would keep Alaric tethered to her. She never imagined it would betray them both.

The lake hadn't claimed him itself - her hands were as guilty as the frost's bitter grip. The whispers of frostbitten hearts were louder than Viola's silence.The story of the devoted Ice Widow reminds villagers that the frost was not the cruellest adversary- it was the secrets that froze hearts and shattered lives.