Atropa Belladonna (Ghost Widow's Story)

My name was Belladonna Vetrano.

I was a beautiful woman. It is not surprising; I was a beautiful infant and a beautiful child long before I became a beautiful woman.

And now I am an exquisitely beautiful ghost.

It is not vanity when I say that I was beautiful while I lived and even more so now that I am no longer mortal. I did not aspire to beauty. I did not seek it out. I did not ask to be beautiful. It was not my choice.

Nevertheless, it was intentional.

There is much those who were not born in the Rogue Islands do not understand about my home. My Lord Recluse has a saying: “The strong thrive. The weak perish. That is as it should be.”

My father was determined that he—that his family—should thrive.

He was a brilliant man, my father. What he lacked in physical strength or bravery he made up in intellect, subtly, and sheer audacity. His brothers never suspected he would betray them—not until it was too late.

A true master of deception … capable of surprising even me …

Another man in my father’s position would have longed for sons to carry on his name, to uphold the family traditions … but Father had not made his fortune by doing the expected …

Father wanted a daughter.

And not just any daughter, mind you. Father wanted a beautiful daughter—a beautiful, intelligent child who would rise far in the ranks of Arachnos; a daughter that could be the key to even greater power for himself.

My father was not a handsome man, but he could be very charming when he wished to be. He courted the most beautiful women in the Rogue Islands, searching for a woman that could give him the daughter he wished.

Eventually, he found one that suited him.

And when she refused him, he murdered her family, destroyed all who tried to stand by her, and imprisoned her until I was born.

And after I was born, he killed her.

Father did not want her to influence me, you see. He intended that he—and he alone—be the one to shape the course of my life.

My mother’s beauty made her a victim. Mine was to be my Father’s instrument in his pursuit of power.

There was just one thing that he forgot.

I was not—am not—my mother’s child.

I was his.

My name was Belladonna Vetrano. I was born from deceit, betrayal, and blood. I would live my life with them as my constant companions.

And eventually, deception and treachery would lead to my death.

But for me, death was only the beginning.

My name was Belladonna Vetrano.

You know me better as Ghost Widow.

And this is the story of my life, and what came after.

I grew up with strange dreams.

I did not tell my father of those dreams. Early on, I learned that he had no tolerance for weakness—no matter how I injured myself, no matter how sick I became, no matter what nightmares came to me in the night—I did not tell him of them. As bad as those things might be, his reaction would have been worse.

Oh, do not misunderstand. My father was not cruel to me. He never raised a hand to me in anger or did violence to me that was not warranted….

He also never told me that he loved me.

So I did not tell him about the dreams that I had. I did not tell him of the white haired lady who spoke to me in a language that I did not know but nevertheless understood. Something about the way she looked frightened me …

And yet, her words—if not her tone—were kind.

And wise. Oh so very wise.

“Your father wishes you to study, my Bella, and that is a good thing. However, you must not reveal to him all that you have learned. You will be all that he expects, and more. Far more. If he knew this, then you know what he would do—“

I knew. Even as a child, I knew what my fate would have been if I had proven myself to be a failure.

“I understand. But why are you helping me?” I was a child, but I was not naïve enough to believe that anyone would help me out of altruism.

“You may say that in helping you, I am helping myself, my Bella. You will not remember these dreams until the time is right, but you will remember my advice. Grow. Study. Learn. Become strong, my Bella …”

And after a time, the dreams stopped. I forgot them.

In death, though … in death I remembered everything.

Father gave me a quite thorough education … as he saw it.

I learned to speak and read every language used in the Rogue Isles. I was taught to play musical instruments. I was instructed in all forms of dance favored by Lord Recluse’s court.

And I was taught how to bewitch men.

Beauty isn’t enough, you see. Men—especially young men—can be made foolish by a pretty face, but lust and desire are not enough. They must think they love you before they will truly be willing to risk themselves on your behalf.

And you must convince them you love them in return.

That was not an easy thing for me to learn, I must confess.

I was my father’s daughter. I learned much at his knee, but I did not learn kindness or compassion. He could feign good humor and generosity, but his eyes were like glass and no one believed for a moment there was anyone on earth that he cherished.

You cannot learn love from someone who does not know the meaning of the word.

I was given instructors, of course. Father hired courtesans, geishas, common ladies of the evening—all to teach me how to better make men do as I wished.

As he wished.

Perhaps the most famous—or infamous—of my tutors was Jezebel Jones herself.

I have to admit she wasn’t what I expected.

She was older than she looked—much older. “I age well,” she told me when I asked her about it. “Chalk it up to good genes.”

She taught me things that my father could not conceive of about being a woman. She showed me how to dress to my best advantage. She instructed me in the use of makeup to enhance my looks and to conceal any blemish that might occur. She showed me how to move and how to smile and how to tilt my head so that I looked interested in what a man was saying to me even when I was thinking of a thousand other things.

“You could be very good in my line of work, Bella,” she told me one day. “Except for one thing.”

“And what’s that?” I was not offended by her words. I had no desire to be a courtesan.

“You don’t have a heart.”

I stared at her in surprise.

“You don’t know how to love, Bella. You’re hollow. Empty.”

“I would think that would be an asset in your business, Jezebel.”

“Oh no,” Jezebel laughed. “Most of my girls do not love their … clients. But we know what love is. We know how to fake it. We can make a man believe it. You … you don’t know how to do that.”

“Can I learn?”

“Do you want to?”

“My father wants me to.”

“I didn’t ask that, Bella. I asked you what you wanted.” Jezebel Jones reached out and touched my cheek. “What do you want for yourself, Belladonna?”

“I want to be free.”

I surprised myself when I said that. Not that such was my desire. I had wanted to be free as long as I can remember. What shocked me was that I had been so willing to tell Jezebel about my desires.

She was very good at what she did.

“Very good, Bella. Very good.” She laughed.

“Can I go with you?”

“Oh no, Bella. You don’t belong in my world any more than you belong in your father’s. You are going to be something quite different.”

“Where do I belong, then?”

“Oh, there is a place here for you in the Rogue Isles, Bella. I will help you. I know people. People who will train you in the other things that you need to know.”

“The things I need to know?”

“Oh, yes. You have made a good start, but there is still much you need to learn. Tell me, Bella, have you ever heard of the Night Widows?”

Have you ever read any of the Kushiel's Legacy books?

So began my quiet rebellion against my father.

I was fourteen, so perhaps it is not unusual that I would begin to think of defying Father. The difference between most children and myself, however, is that I knew one sign of open resistance to my father’s plans would result in my death. Tolerance for disobedience was not numbered among Father’s virtues.

Jezebel helped me get started, but I knew that I could not count on her for much. She was not my mother—though I have to admit that in my childish dreams I called her such—and I knew that she was quite capable of selling me out to Father if her own well-being should be threatened. No, if I were going to be free, I would have to take my fate into my own hands.

From Jezebel’s girls I discovered how to command a man with a look, to ensnare him with a toss of my head or the promise of a smile.

I discovered how to sound like a giggling schoolgirl, empty headed and innocent from studying the girls I attended classes with.

I learned how to use firearms and rudimentary streetfighting from my father’s bodyguards. I could have learned more from them, but I dared not let reveal too much of my plans to anyone in his pay. No, I took what I could from them—what Father would not be displeased that I learned—and moved on.

Jezebel introduced me to a promising young demon fighter in St. Martial who taught me a lot about using bladed weapons and hand to hand combat against the creatures of the supernatural.

From the demon hunter I wrangled an invitation to meet an old Tsoo Sorcerer whose skill with potions and poisons was legendary. I managed to persuade him to have me tutored by one of their finest warriors in the use of the clawed weapons favored by the Night Widows.

I was always busy, always learning. It seemed like every moment that I had was consumed in discovering a new skill, developing a new talent. There were so many things I needed to know!

Each day I grew wiser, stronger, faster. Better.

From the moment of my birth I had been shaped to be my father’s tool. Now … now I was doing something for myself, making my own destiny.

And for the first time in my life, I was happy.

It was a year later that I met Lord Recluse face to face for the first time in my life.

Father had no intention of having his operations subsumed by Arachnos, but he was fully aware that he would have to pay proper deference lest he were to suffer the wrath of its capricious master. So it is not surprising to me that he announced that he would be attending a concert that Lord Recluse had invited him to. What did surprise me was that he told me that I would be accompanying him.

“There will be many powerful men and women there, Belladonna. I wish you to meet them, and learn what you can of them. The time will come when this knowledge might prove of use to me.”

Notice that he said “to me.”

“This concert, Father. Why does it interest Lord Recluse?”

“The pianist—a girl—is said to be a special favorite of his chief operative. You’ve heard of her; the woman called Red Widow.”

“She’s not his daughter, is she?”

“The girl? I hardly think so. Recluse does not seem to have very many human passions. The only lust he’s ever been known to display is for power.” There was something in my father’s eyes when he said that: a sort of admiration, perhaps.

I had been to several formal occasions before, but this was the first I had ever attended as a young adult rather than a child. I dressed myself and prepared my own makeup. I felt a strange sense of excitement—Father was sure to meet Lord Recluse, but I doubted the master of the Rogue Isles would pay the slightest attention to me. I was just a girl … a beautiful girl, but surely a man as long-lived as Recluse had seen many like me …

Father’s appraisal of my finery was but one word: “Adequate.”

We did not mingle with the crowd before the performance. Father was taken to a private booth and told that we would be introduced to Lord Recluse afterwards. For the first time in my life, Father seemed nervous. “Keep watch,” he told his bodyguards. “Make sure that no one enters this booth without me knowing it.”

“This isn’t a trap,” I replied without thinking. “A man like Recluse wouldn’t kill an enemy like this. He would do it in the open to prove his power.”

“And what makes you such an expert?” Father asked me, his eyes as cold and as empty as black glass.

“I’m sorry, Father.” I lowered my eyes but clenched my fists where he could not see them. “I spoke out of turn.”

Father reached over and grabbed my wrist. He squeezed it. Hard. “I will not be lectured by children!”

I could kill him, I realized suddenly.

A single blow in just the right place, and he would be dead. One quick motion …

And then the music began to play.

It didn’t take me long to realize that the musician’s repertoire did not extend to very many styles of music. She may have limited her selections in order to please Lord Recluse, but there are only so many variations on a theme that one can listen to before you start to grow bored.

Of course, as this was a command performance at the request of Recluse himself, everyone was sure to applaud when the girl finished.

After the performance, Father and I were taken backstage where Lord Recluse was speaking with the pianist and a woman that could only be Red Widow.

Lord Recluse wore his usual outfit. I did not know if that meant he was unable to change his clothing or he simply felt that he had no need to defer to the common expectations of society. (Or he may have felt that he would have looked ridiculous in a tuxedo with those arms of his …)

Red Widow was a striking woman. She was not young—she had helped Lord Recluse’s rise to power almost twenty years beforehand—but she had the trim body of an athlete in her prime. She wore a sensible outfit that did not hamper her movements, but the only indication that she was more than a matron of the arts was the ruby spider pendant she wore.

There was something almost possessive about the way she hung onto Lord Recluse’s arm. Her grip tightened when Father and I were introduced.

“My Lord Recluse,” Father said smoothly. “May I have the honor of introducing Belladonna, my daughter?”

“I am pleased to meet you, Belladonna,” Lord Recluse said in his deep voice as he focused those strange red eyes upon me.

I shivered. “Pleased to meet you, My Lord.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he said as he brought my hand up to his lips. “You have a lovely daughter,” he told my Father.

“Thank you, My Lord.”

He kept staring at me. Another man would have been embarrassed to stare so intently at a girl my age, but I am sure that the thought never entered his head. He was Lord Recluse; his actions were beyond reproach.

And there was something about that intensity that disturbed me.

I had been seeing desire in the eyes of men when they looked upon me ever since I was twelve years of age. Lust was nothing new to me. In spite of my father’s words and my own doubts, I would have fully understood it if Recluse had desired me.

But this … this was not desire.

It was something else. It was … recognition.

In some strange way, I felt as though Recluse had been waiting for me … waiting for a very long time …

We stared at each other, the two of us, the monster and the maiden, oblivious to everyone and everything around us.

And then the Red Widow cleared her throat and the spell was broken.

“My Lord, our pianist has joined us. Would you not offer her your opinion of her performance?”

Recluse turned from me—he did not blink; in all the years I have known him I have never seen those blood eyes blink—and gazed upon the Red Widow and the young girl who stood beside her.

The girl was no older than I was. She was a pale, thin girl-child, but my practiced eye could see that she was stronger than she appeared. She gazed at me, and her thin lips tightened in disapproval.

“As always, your daughter performed impeccably,” Lord Recluse told the Red Widow. “You named her well.” He turned to the girl. “Well done, Nocturne. Well done.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” the girl said, bowing her head. “I live to serve you.”

I felt a stab of jealousy at her words.

Nocturne turned to me and offered her hand to me. Her fingers were long and beautiful, and pale as the ivory keys of her piano. “I am please to meet you, Miss Vetrano. I hope that we shall become great friends.”

I took her hand in my own and smiled. “I am quite sure that we shall see much of each other in the future, Nocturne …”

Her fingers were as cold as death.

My game, my rebellion, had grown more dangerous—as had my ambition. I was no longer content with the thought of just freedom—I wanted more.

I wanted power.

I pushed myself ever harder. Beauty wasn’t enough. Skill wasn’t sufficient. To be who I wanted to be, I would have to be strong.

The strong thrive. The weak perish. That is as it should be.

And I did not intend to be weak.

For the first time in my life, I began to take pride in my body.

My beauty had never felt like it belonged to me. I knew that I was lovely, but I knew where that beauty had come from—and I knew that it had not been my choice. My mind—my intellect, my skills—those I had earned, and I valued them far more than what I saw in the mirror.

But as my strength grew, my agility increased—I began to feel for the first time that my body was my own—that it was my own possession.

Perhaps that is why I miss it so dearly …

I could not forget the eyes of Lord Recluse as he looked upon me. He saw me. Father never saw me.

He looked at me, but he did not see me. Not once.

I wanted to be worthy of Lord Recluse’s regard. In that brief moment of our meeting, he had done more to shape me than anyone else ever had. I grew up wanting to escape Father—but I was running towards Lord Recluse.

Was it nothing but a girl’s fancy that led me to this obsession or was it something more?

Lord Recluse is not a charming man … if man he can truly be called. He is reckless, impudent, and prone to wild actions and deliberate cruelties that would cause anyone else to face untold opposition. No one sane trusts him …

And yet … I have seen men and women throw themselves into impossible battles at his command. I have seen them throw their lives away because he deemed it necessary. I have seen them die shouting his name …

That terrible charisma … even now, I can still feel it.

If I had not met Lord Recluse, what direction would the course of my life have taken? I have no doubt that I would have still sought to escape my father … I believe that I would have still become a Night Widow … Perhaps I even would have died …

But would I still be here now? Would I feel myself so bound to Arachnos that not even death could sever my connection?

I do not know.

But all my life I had wanted freedom, and now I spend eternity bound to someone else’s dream.

Who says that fate has no sense of humor?

More than once, I thought of killing Father.

While he lived, he was a threat to me, to my plans. He had planned my birth and the course of my life—and he would brook no disobedience. The moment that he realized that I had no intention of being his tool, he would decide that my usefulness was at an end.

One of us would have to die, I told myself over and over.

And yet, I could not quite bring myself to kill him.

If I had been a man, it would have been much simpler. If I killed him then, his organization would fall into line behind me. The son can replace the father, but the daughter—no matter how capable—is not given such courtesy.

The Family is rather an old fashioned organization.

So I could not kill him directly. If I did, then his organization would be subsumed by another branch of the Family, and I would be declared persona non grata … and I would become a target. I was good, but not even I believed that I could survive being the target of every hit man in the Rogue Isles.

My self education had include an extensive study of poisons—with a name like Belladonna how could I not be interested in poison?—but my father’s wariness regarding what he ate and drank bordered on prescience. After a few futile attempts, I discarded that possibility as being impractical.

And to be honest, I rather admired him.

He was not the strongest or bravest. He was not a great tactician or strategist. In a one on one fight with the least of his henchmen he would have been easily defeated.

But he was brilliant. He was a master of betrayal. He had not risen to his position by being an easy target, and I stood in admiration of his ability to survive no matter what came his way.

I did not love him, though.

I never loved him.

And he never loved me.

And yet, somehow I did not want to him to die. I knew that I would be safer if he were gone. My life would be my own. But a world without my Father in it somehow seemed … empty.

He did not love me, but he needed me—if only to serve his plans.

It may not have been love, but it was the closest thing to it that I had ever known, and I was loathe to give that up.

I did not then think that love existed. I had listened to Jezebel’s explanations of it—but I no more understood it than a blind man can comprehend the color red. You cannot understand what you have never had, what you have never seen.

But there was to come a time when I would learn what love is. I did not seek it. I did not want it. I would have refused it if it had been offered to me.

But it came to me all the same.

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There is only so much you can learn from training.

In Nerva Archipelago, there is a man all dressed in black whose name no one knows. Little more than a Shadowy Figure, he is something of a legend in the Rogue Isles. He is a hard man to find—especially if he knows you are looking for him.

You do not find him. He finds you.

From snippets of conversation with my fellow students, careless whispers among my father’s bodyguards, I knew that the Shadowy Figure hosted a rather special event for promising young fighters. It was a chance to apply your skills against your rivals, to see just how good you were outside of a classroom.

A chance to draw real blood.

Officially, Arachnos frowned on these contests. Officially.

But it was well known that a young fighter who did well in the Shadow Figure’s spectacles was marked for special consideration when openings arose in the lower ranks of Arachnos. For that reason, the Shadowy Figure had no lack of volunteers. Too many, in fact.

To get in, therefore, you must have an invitation.

The proudest day of my life was when one of my teachers offered me a black velvet card embossed with gold lettering.

It gave a date, and a time, and the phrase: “Be there.”

It took place in a warehouse. No, I will not give its location. There are some promises that even the Dead keep, and this is one of them.

There were perhaps twenty fighters, evenly divided between males and females. The combat ring was brightly lit—so brightly lit that we could not see the audience.

But we knew they were there.

Most of us wore masks, and we were identified only by the numbers painted on the garments that we were given. We were allowed to supply our own weapons, but not our garments. Body armor and fire arms were not allowed.

My number was seven. My colors were black and white. I had brought my own claws and a small throwing dagger.

My blood was singing with anticipation.

A young girl a few years younger than I was number five. Number six was a tall young man who stood beside Number Five. He looked about constantly as though he were trying to assess any threat that might come—not for himself, but for the girl.

“Are you sure you must be here, my sister?”

The beauty of his voice stunned me. I had never heard such a musical voice just speak. It was deep as befits someone of that size, but it sounded far too kind to be the kind of hardened warrior that I expected.

“Have no fear, Paolo. I will come out of this unscathed. It is here that we will meet her. And then we will be complete.”

“How will you know her, Pia?”

“The same way that I know everything, my brother. I just do.”

The first man on our side was a strange young man who made no attempt to conceal his identity. He kept introducing himself to everyone that he met—“Jenkins. The future right hand man of Lord Recluse, Jenkins!”

By some miracle, he was not killed in his match.

We were all amazed. He did not land one punch, but his opponent was not able to kill him. Thrash him soundly, yes, but not land that final blow that would have ended his yammering forever.

“Perhaps there is a reason he was invited,” Number Six murmured.

“His time has not yet come,” Number Five replied. “Destiny has other plans for him.”

The next three fights were of no particular interest. The combatants were adequate, but that is all that could be said of them.

And then it was time for Number Five to battle.

Number Six was like a drawn bowstring. I could see the muscles bulge in his arms as though he had to forcibly restrain himself form leaping to her aid. Without quite knowing why I did it, I laid a hand on his hand and said, “She would not be allowed to compete if she had no chance.”

Number Six said nothing, but he glanced at me gratefully.

Number Five was clearly no fighter, though. I saw that as soon as I saw her walk across the floor. She had a dancer’s grace, but she did not move like someone who knew how to use the dagger she carried in her hands.

Her opponent was everything she was not. He had violence in every gesture, murder in every look. He was a killer.

And it was not enough.

Number Five did not fight him. She did not try to block his attacks. She just managed to be where he was not. Sometimes by just the barest of margins, but every time he tried to hit her she was not there.

“How does she do that?” I whispered.

“She knows,” Number Six replied. “She knows where to be.”

And then Number Five held her knife out in front of her. It was an awkward gesture. I could see right away that it would not take any force at all for her enemy to snatch it from her …

He glared at her and took a step forward …

And stumbled over a fallen brick.

He had time for a strangled cry before he impaled himself on her dagger.

“I am sorry,” she told him as she pulled the knife out. I could sense real regret in her voice. “It was your time.”

The crowd was absolutely silent as she walked back to us.

Number Six stepped forward for his battle.

It took three movements. A feint. A block. And an attack.

And then he walked back to us, the blood still on his mace.

“A waste,” was the only thing he said.

And then it was my turn.

A woman—a girl—was waiting for me. She wore a mask as I did, but I recognized her pale hair, her slender build. She was humming one of the pieces she had played the night I had met her.

Nocturne …

I wondered if she recognized me … and almost paid for that moment of reflection with my life.

Nocturne said no word of greeting; made no boast … she simply lashed out with her left handed claws.

If it had struck, I would have died years earlier.

I ducked under the blow and lashed out with my own, intending to cut her pretty throat as neatly as she had nearly done mine.

Her eyes widened in surprise as she missed, but she blocked my blow without effort. “A challenge,” she said in her musical voice. “This may prove interesting after all.”

“I hope to live up to your expectations,” I replied as I went in with a perfect storm of attacks. No one had yet managed to stand up against this offense since I had mastered it …

Nocturne did it without even breathing hard.

She blocked when she could not dodge. She dodged when she could not block. She was poetry in motion—if I hadn’t been trying to kill her, I would have applauded her performance.

And she did it without even breathing hard.

“A pity we had to meet tonight,” she told me as she counter attacked. “If I did not kill you tonight, I have a feeling that you could become a very formidable fighter …”

I did not reply. I could not spare the energy. I was able to hold my own, but I knew that I wouldn’t be able to do so forever. I was stronger, but she was faster and seemed to have more endurance. Try as I might, I could not break through her defenses.

All she had to do was out last me.

Five minutes became ten. Ten became twenty.

I was drenched in sweat and expected that I was going to die.

The thought angered me more than words can say.

Nocturne no longer wasted breath taunting me. She attacked, but rather infrequently. All she had to do now was wait and she would have me …

Thirty minutes in, I had an idea.

It was a desperate stratagem, and I would not have tried it in the beginning of our fight. Her reflexes were too good. She would have easily dodged or blocked …

But now … now, she was tired. Not quite as tired as I was, but she was slower than she had been. She might not be me able to stop me …

On the other hand, my accuracy and strength weren’t what they were at the beginning, either. I was going to have one shot at this, and if I missed I didn’t think I would have the strength to continue fighting …

But it was my only chance, and I did not hesitate.

I somersaulted away from her … not more than two body lengths, but it was enough to allow me to draw forth my throwing dagger and throw it.

I did not wait to see whether or not it hit. I charged.

I heard a strangled cry and Nocturne grabbed her face.

I punched her hard in the stomach, slammed the side of my hand into her throat, and she went down, still screaming. Blood flowing from the ruin of her right eye, she struggled to rise.

I stepped down hard on her hands so hard that I heard the bones crack.

She fell again.

I grabbed her by that long pale hair and bared her throat. I drew back my claws to strike …

“No.”

It was the soft voice of Number Five. She had stepped forward and grabbed my arm. “You cannot.”

“She would have killed me.”

“I am not saying you should not kill her. I am saying you cannot. Death is not her Destiny this day.”

The Shadowy Figure stepped forward, followed by a woman carrying medical supplies. “Get away from her!” he hissed. “Red Widow will have all our heads if she dies!”

I wanted to kill her. I was hungry for the kill. And moreover, I knew that if she lived she would kill me if she ever learned who I was.

Her, or the Red Widow herself …

But the eyes of the girl who was called Number Five held me.

I lowered Nocturne’s head to the ground. I pulled my knife out of her eye socket brutally. “Remember this. Your life was in my hands. Do not forget that you live only because I chose it.”

“Come with us,” Number Six said, offering his hand to me. “We will get you to safety.”

In spite of my habitual reluctance to depend on anyone else, I knew that I would not make it home alive without help. Having seen what I could do, there were many men and women here who would like nothing better than to kill me and offer my head to Nocturne and the Red Widow. And I was too tired, too … weak … to fight for my life.

I nodded my acquiescence, and Number Six swept me up into his arms. “Do not follow us,” he said in a loud voice. “Anyone who comes near this woman tonight will die by my hand!”

I felt warm and safe in his arms … possibly the first time in my entire life I had ever experienced that emotion. “Who are you?” I asked him. “Why are you doing this?”

The young man smiled beneath his mask as he carried me off into the darkness. “My name is Paolo Marrino. This is my sister, Pia. We came here for you tonight.”

“You did?” I laid my head against his chest because I was too weak to do anything else. His heart seemed to beat in time with my own.

“I saw your coming,” Number Five—no, Pia—said. She smiled at me and touched my cheek. “You are the one who will share our Destiny. Don’t you know who we are, Belladonna?”

I shook my head dumbly. Her touch held such gentleness … I wanted to weep and I did not know why.

“We are your family,” Paolo answered. “You will never be alone again, my sister. This I promise you …”

Oh, my Paolo …! My poor beloved Paolo …

"Oh, my Paolo …! My poor beloved Paolo …"

Yes, I think me and have the same on Paolo.....

Have you ever been young and in love?

Those heady days when I first met Pia and Paolo Marrino were the most glorious and happiest of my life. For the first time in my life, I had someone who cherished me—someone who cared about me, and for whom I could care as well.

I was greedy for them, faminished for what they gave me. If I could have found some way to accomplish it, I would have run away with them both. I spent hours in their company, talking, touching, laughing …


Pia was a lovely girl—though it goes without saying she was not as beautiful as I. She was intelligent, ethereal—one could stare straight into her eyes and have a feeling that she did not see you at all … yet somehow could perceive the very depths of your soul.


Paolo … oh, my Paolo! I wish you could have seen him as I did that first time.

He was a handsome boy … strong, muscular, with the most perfect body that I have ever seen. He had the mind of a scholar, the soul of a poet, and the kindest heart I have ever known.

And yet, for all his gentleness, Paolo showed great promise as a soldier. Even as a youth, he was one of the most dangerous men I had ever met. By the time he was fifteen years old, he had already attracted the eye of Arachnos … and it was a foregone conclusion that he would join the Wolf Spiders as soon as he came of age.

At first, I tried to distrust them—tried to fight the connection that I felt for them. I suspected that Pia was using psychic compulsion to lure me into them that somehow Paolo’s soulful eyes were a trap which would lead to my destruction if I should let myself fall into them as I longed to …

But I could not resist.

Pia was the sister that I had never had. She was the first person I had ever known that I would have been willing to risk my life for.

And Paolo was the first person I ever trusted my life and heart to …

How do I explain what he meant to me? Even now, when I gaze upon the ruins of the man he was, I still see the young man who bore me away from danger on that lonely, dangerous night …

In another life, perhaps he would have given me another name than sister …

Ah, how to explain this delicately …?

Jezebel had given me a very thorough explanation as to what could happen between a man and a woman, but I was still technically “innocent” and “pure”.

Father was just old fashioned enough to make sure that I could lay claim to being a maiden on my wedding night if it ever came to pass that my marriage could be to his benefit …

If Paolo had asked it of me, I would have given him anything. I would have given him everything. All he had to do was ask …

But he never did.

I wonder sometimes why he never asked. I know there were times when he looked at me as a man looks at a woman. When he thought I was not looking, I could see him looking at me with more than a brother’s eyes …

I did not speak of this unspoken thing between Paolo and myself. I do not think that she ever saw it or recognized it for what it was. She was a Seer, but in many ways she was—and is—blind to the world of men and women.

But perhaps there was a reason, after all Paolo never called me anything but a sister. Pia never knew of the doom that awaited us, but perhaps on some level of his being, Paolo did. It may be that he knew that we would never be separated … and that we would never be together.

And none of us—not even Pia—knew that our days together would come to an end as quickly as they did …

Nocturne would never perform again. Her larynx had been permanently damaged by my blow to her throat. Her fingers would never again possess the dexterity to play the piano.

Perhaps if events in the larger world had turned out differently I would have paid a terrible price for the maiming of the Red Widow’s favorite pupil. But she barely had time to learn of Nocturne’s misfortunes before she became another casualty in the eternal battle between Statesman and Lord Recluse. The warring Incarnates had literally brought a mountain down on themselves—and Red Widow.

Lord Recluse’s rage was terrible. He came very close to marshalling all the forces of the Rogue Isles for an all out attack on Paragon City. It is said that only when every Arbiter pleaded with him to desist did he forbear. To attack Paragon City at the height of its power would have been an act of suicide for Arachnos …

Instead of vengeance, he held a public funeral for her and declared a national day of mourning. The wealthiest and powerful citizens were expected to come and pay their respects to the woman who was responsible for Recluse’s rise to power. At this time, my father stood high enough in the Family to be designated as their representative at the gathering.

As you may know, religion is frowned upon in Lord Recluse’s domain. Those who spoke at Red Widow’s funeral did not speak of the afterlife they believed awaited her. They spoke of her service to Arachnos. They praised her skill, her strength, her loyalty to Lord Recluse and the organization he led.

Lord Recluse was the last to speak. I have to admit that I could not take my eyes off him. I wondered what this man would say about the woman who had paved the way for his ascent. I wondered if he would profess love for her …

“The strong thrive,” he said softly. “The weak perish. That is as it should be. Red Widow—“ he paused for a moment, and glanced at the girl who sat beside him, all clad in black except for the red spider pendant she wore … Nocturne. “Red Widow was strong, but she was not strong enough. The enemies of Arachnos will ever seek to destroy us. To destroy our destiny.

“Be strong. Thrive. Or perish. Arachnos has no use for weaklings.”

Nocturne reached out a hand for Recluse, but he turned aside from her. “Thrive or perish, Nocturne. Prove yourself your mother’s daughter. Now go.”

She got up slowly, and walked away from him. She passed close enough by me for me to see the new prosthetic that had replaced the eye that I had taken. She stopped when she came to me.

I nodded solemnly at her.

“You,” she whispered.

I said nothing.

She clenched her maimed fingers into fists. “There will be another time.”

“I expect there will be.”

“The weak perish, girl. Remember that.”

I nodded, and watched her leave behind the life of wealth and comfort that Red Widow had given her. From this day forward, she was nothing more to Recluse than another cog in the great Arachnos machine.

“Belladonna,” my father said softly. “After this is over, we will talk.”

Time was both my enemy and my ally now.

At 18, I would no longer be considered my father’s chattel. I could walk into the Arachnos Recruiting Center and nothing my father said or did would be able to prevent that. Until then …

Until then, my father had absolute legal control of my welfare. He could imprison me, beat me, or even have me maimed—and there would be no legal recourse that I could take.

The strong thrive, the weak perish …

I thought about running away—if I managed to stay free of Father until I turned 18 then I would be free forever—but the danger in that was that not just my father would be after me then. The Family would not countenance such a rebellion from a daughter—if I had been a male they would have applauded my independence, but that a girl should resist her father’s decrees—THAT could not be tolerated.

Not even my father’s death would help me now. If he died, I would become just another part of his estate to be used as the Family deemed fit. As you may imagine, such a fate would not fit into my plans …

No, I needed Father alive. I needed him alive, and I needed his blessing to do what I wished—or at least I needed his forbearance.

It would not be easy.

He was not a stupid man—I considered myself intelligent, but I knew that he was no fool and that outwitting him in the time that I had would be all but impossible. I could hardly expect to appeal to his fatherly love …

I could not kill him. I could not outthink him. I could not charm him.

That left blackmail.

Father had never taken me into his confidence, but I knew that he had secrets that he would prefer be kept. Secrets that would raise the ire of the Family against him—secrets that could, if revealed, lead to his undoing.

My freedom—perhaps my very life—lay in the acquisition of those secrets.

And I would have them.

There was no other way. If I were to be free—if my life was ever to belong to me—then I would have to learn those things that Father did not want to be known.

Fortunately for me, Father had thoughtfully trained me in all the arts that I would need to do this thing.

All I needed was an opening …

And his name was Antonio …

Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! i finished this and then i scrolled and i saw the bottom *sniff* . Finishing this story would make me happy

If he had been born anywhere but the Rogue Isles, Antonio would have had a great future. He was very intelligent—not so brilliant as to find himself conscripted into Arachnos—but far smarter than the average scion of a Family leader. He was too weak willed to lead, but too valuable to be allowed to leave.

Father found him, guided him, and protected him. He did not do this out of the goodness of his heart, you understand; he did it because he saw the potential value of Antonio’s skills.

Antonio was a genius with computers. In those days, even the finest machines that Arachnos had were not nearly as impressive as the machines that children play with today. The Family’s assets were even less so.

For the most part, they did not mind that. Then, as now, the Family was led by old men. They saw little reason to change how they kept track of their ill-gotten gains. They liked the ability to see their results on paper …

Father—as always—was different.

He hired Antonio to transfer his records into a digital format. To his superiors, he said this would allow a more accurate view of his assignments, give them immediate access to his results. They permitted this, laughing to themselves over how Father was denying himself the opportunity to skim his profits as he would leave the books open and clear to them …

What none of them realized was that Antonio created TWO data bases. The one Father showed them—and the one he kept for himself.

Knowing Father as I did, I immediately suspected this was the case

Father went out of his way to be kind to Antonio. He protected him from bullying and harassment. He offered him respect and comfort. He made sure that Antonio had no reason to ever turn against him …

He made just one mistake.

Antonio was a man.

In spite of the suspicions about me that my confrontation with Nocturne had fostered, Father did not—could not—think of me as someone capable of moving against him. He did not imagine I had the intelligence to be anything other than a tool. Perhaps if I had been a son he would have respected me more and trusted me less, but …

Antonio was a young man who had known little female interest in his life. To be sure, he was not as naïve as you might have expected—one does not grow up in the Family without learning to suspect the motives of those around you—but he was not experienced in the ways of women.

I was young and beautiful, and I had a great need for the freedom that Antonio’s help would give me.

He could not resist me.

I played him as expertly as Nocturne had ever played a piano. I came to him in tears, one day—with ugly bruises on my wrist and a tale of woe that he forced from my reluctant lips. When he swore that he would protect me, I begged him not to put himself at risk, and thanked him for his bravery with a kiss.

One kiss led to another …

Jezebel would have been proud of me. I had finally learned the art of projecting a love that I did not feel.

I had to be patient—one false move and my whole game would have been discovered—but I knew that I could not afford to fail.

Within a week’s time, he was mine.

Within two weeks, he had given me copies of all the information that my Father would not want anyone else to see. A certain amount of graft was tolerated, but no one who stole that much from the Family would be allowed to lead—or live—for long.

With that information, I told Antonio, we could do anything. Go anywhere. Father would pay us anything. He would let us go to start a new life …

He was so happy when he handed the records to me. His eyes were so full of love and hope. He took me in his arms and asked me if he had made me happy …

I smiled and told him yes.

And then I killed him with a kiss.

Understand. Antonio had to die.

Otherwise, the whole effort would have been wasted. Father would have found out from him what he had done—and quite possibly he would have volunteered the information once he found out that I had no intention of being his forever. He would have made my information worthless by giving Father time to change his records.

No, Antonio had to die. If I had not killed him, Father would have—and a good deal less gently than I had. It was all for the best.

He was my first kill …

I have killed many times since Antonio. And yes, there have been times when I thoroughly enjoyed it. You have no idea how satisfying it can be to remove a thorn from your side once and for all—or perhaps YOU do, all things considered …

But Antonio … ah, poor Antonio.

I did not enjoy his death, and I made it as painless as possible. He died never knowing what had happened to him. Believe me, there would come a time when I would envy him his gentle release from life …

Paolo helped me dispose of his body, but he was not happy about it. “His family will never know what happened to him.”

“They’ll know. They’re Family.”

“They should still have his body for burial.”

“It’s just a shell, Paolo.” I was grateful for the body bag that Paolo had brought with him. I did not want to have to see that face ever again …

“This is not right, Bella.”

“This is the Rogue Isles, my Paolo. There are always sacrifices.” I touched his face. “You will do this for me, won’t you?”

He looked away, but nodded his head once.

“Thank you, my Paolo.”

“And the records that cost this man his life?”

“I have them in a safe place. Father will never discover them. And now … now I go to tell him that I am taking my leave of him.” I reached over and touched the body bag that lay in Paolo’s mighty arms. “Thank you, Antonio. This was death for you, but it is life for me, and I will never forget you.”

And I never have.

I waited two days before I went to my father.

It was time enough for Father to realize that Antonio was gone. Time enough for him to search for him and grow anxious. It was not time enough for him to consider how he would dispose of the evidence against him.

Father was sitting alone in his office one day, staring at the books that he always showed his superiors. He had been sitting there for hours, just looking at them, when I walked into the room and closed the door behind me.

“Hello, Father.”

“I do not have time for you today, Belladonna. Leave me.” The customary authority in his voice was gone; exhaustion had made him weak.

“I do intend to leave you, Father.” He looked up at me at that. “I am going to join Arachnos, Father.”

“Don’t be absurd, child. You are mine.”

“No, Father. YOU ARE MINE.”

He stared at me for a moment, uncomprehending. “The boy. What did you do with the boy?”

“Antonio isn’t important any longer, Father. His work—your records—are what matters now. I have them.”

“You stupid girl—“

“Oh no, Father. I am far from stupid. I have used what you taught me—what you arranged to have taught me—to earn my freedom. If Antonio’s files should happen to go into the wrong hands, your life would not be worth anything … and it would take you an awfully long time to die.”

He glared at me, his hands curled into fists.

I wanted him to try to strike me. I wanted an excuse to show him that I was far more than he had imagined me to be—far more than he would ever HOPE to be. I wanted an excuse to hurt him—

“I just have to say the word, and you will die, Belladonna.”

“Perhaps, but you would not long outlive me. I have made arrangements for those files to be made public in the event of my untimely death. Kill me and you kill yourself.”

For a moment, he stared at me. “What do you want?”

“I do not covet your wealth, Father. I do not aspire to take your position—we both know that the Family would never allow a woman to lead. I wish to make my own path. The strong thrive, Father. I am strong. There is only one place for me—Arachnos.”

He did not want to give me my way. He had made plans to use me, and he was loathe to give them up—and even if he had no such schemes, he would have been reluctant to allow anyone to balk him in this way. For a long time, he said nothing and just looked at me.

I did my best to remain calm.

If Father had been any other member of the Family, I do not think that this would have worked. He would have killed me for my insolence regardless of the personal cost to himself. Absolute authority tends to breed recklessness…

But Father was no ordinary man of the Family …

What, you ask? Is that pride in my voice? I suppose there might be.

I did not love my Father. I could not. He had spent my entire life making sure that I could never love him—

But he was an extraordinary man, and all that I have become happened because he was the man that he was.

How can I not admire him?

“If I ever find those records, you will pay for this, Belladonna.”

“I know, Father. You won’t find them.”

He laughed softly. “That may be true, but I will not stop looking.”

“Of course.”

“Very well then, my daughter. You have my permission to join your precious Arachnos. I will not oppose you in this.”

“Thank you, Father.” Why did I feel a rush of pleasure at the fact that he said “my daughter”? I did my best to crush that part of myself down again …

“And Belladonna?”

“Yes, Father?”

He reached over and embraced me. “I am proud of you, my daughter. Only a true child of mine could accomplish this thing.”

And for the first and only time in my life, I felt safe and treasured in the arms of my father …

If I had been under the impression that my troubles were over once I joined Arachnos then I would have been sorely disappointed in my first few months of training.

The thing you must understand about being a Night Widow is that your whole career is built upon betrayal.

You befriend your target them, bewitch them. Teach them to trust you. Even to love you.

And then you destroy them.

Your comrades are no different.

I saw many girls who were promising candidates physically—who were beautiful, strong, dangerous fighters—wash out at the very beginning of their training because they dared to trust a teammate or a mentor. When they lived, they were paraded before the rest of us and made to relate the story of their failures so that the rest of us might learn from them. When they died, we were made to watch recordings of their deaths so that we might learn how we could have turned defeat into victory.

I learned much in those days.

It goes without saying that I did not trust any of my comrades. I had spent my entire life that way, so I did not experience the difficulties that so many of my fellow students did. No matter how earnest the entreaties of a teammate, no matter how encouraging the mentor, I did not let them into my heart and when the time came I did to them what they sought to do to me.

But I was careful not to show myself as having too much promise.

“The strong thrive. The weak perish.”

In Arachnos, having a promising subordinate is a two edged sword. On the one hand, they can help you achieve your goals and favorably impress your superiors. Used properly, they make your career soar.

On the other, if they are TOO promising, then they can destroy you. If they do not seek to replace you themselves—and the unambitious do not often last long in Arachnos—then your superiors may decide to have them replace you.

I was young and beautiful and talented, but there were many young women like me in Arachnos. I had no friends in high places as so many of them did—show too much promise, and I would have made myself a threat before I had the means to defend myself.

So I did just enough to advance my career at a pace that did not threaten my immediate superiors. I kept my eyes open, and I waited for the opportunities that I would need if I were going to become what I wished to be.

And yes, I had high ambitions.

Make no mistake. I was my father’s daughter, and an aspiration to power was as much a part of me as the color of my eyes or the curve of my hips. I intended to go far in Arachnos, and it would not do to be too reckless.

The only people I felt safe around—the only ones that I DID trust—were Pia and Paolo.

My Paolo had soon earned command of his own squadron of Wolf Spiders. He was a natural leader, and had easily gained the loyalty of his men. The only reason he had not immediately sought promotion out of the Wolf Spiders was that he wished to remain in Mercy that he could better keep an eye on Pia and myself.

As for Pia … she would never be particularly adept at combat. She was far from helpless, but she was not a remarkable fighter. She did not have her brother’s presence and would never have made a good field leader …

Even so, her place in Arachnos was assured.

Pia was a Seer. Her abilities were so much greater than those of the average Fortunata that only the other prodigy known as Kalinda was known to have a greater potential. And time would make her stronger still …

Yes there was peril, but I was content.

I was free of my father, and I had Pia and Paolo beside me. In time, I was sure, I would have a major leadership position in Arachnos as well …

There was but one thing that marred my happiness.

Paolo always insisted on leading the backup squadron that would come to my aid if I should need it, so I saw him often. But Pia …

Pia was not allowed to risk herself in the field. She spent all her time refining her abilities with her fellow Seers. We seldom saw her, and when we did …

When we did, our Pia was no longer the same girl she had been.

When she was allowed to spend time in our company, she would often say nothing to us. She would go where we wished, listen to our conversation, but sat silent as though speech had been lost to her. Her eyes … her eyes seemed to see only the future now.

We were losing her.

This caused Paolo great distress. How many times would he threaten to steal Pia away from Arachnos, to run away with her to Paragon City so that she might be restored to him …

But he did not go.

I would like to think that he knew it was folly to try … that such a valuable asset as Pia would never be allowed to leave Arachnos. I would like to believe that he knew that he could not hope to save her now …

I would like to think so, but I know that is a lie.

Death did not frighten my Paolo. He was bold and daring, and he had never met defeat in all his days. Only one thing kept him from going:

Me.

Paolo had promised the first night that we met that he would never leave me, and it was an oath that he could never break …