Sonless Mother of the Revolution

March 1889 - December 1892 (pt. 1)

March 1889; Malolos, Bulacan

Amelia was twenty-four when she lost most of the people she considered her family.

Night falls as Amelia prepares dinner for two people, the candlelight her only companion in the large kitchen. She was used to having other people help her in cooking, and she was used to cooking for more than two people. But now...now it's just the two of them, her and her friend. Vegetables were steamed and meat cooked to perfection with a blend of spices to keep her friend entertained, hopefully. She plated the two dishes well, and placed them on a tray. She dusted the lace apron on her before carrying the tray out, to find her friend.

It becomes almost a game to them, Amelia notes. To look for her friend around the large and near lustrous manor, it was tiring as it was almost endearing. She paced through hallways, once filled with laughter of women she considered her allied sisters. Now at night it seemed to settle in a haunting silence, ornate candelabras decorating the walls. And this particular hallway leads straight to an office, an old get-together for young women with great aspirations. 'Juanita, Maria, Adelaide, Frances...' So many young faces, all eager to learn.

Yet none of them remained.

Amelia wandered about until she found her. This woman was gazing longingly at the fire, almost entranced by it. Her long hair was dark and wavy, unkempt yet still beautiful. Her brown eyes were glassy and incredibly sad, tears still seem to spill out of them. She held a shawl wrapping tight around her almost in comfort, a cotton nightgown underneath.

She was this woman's handmaid, her guard, her friend. It pained her to look at the woman that was once vivacious and excitable, now depressed and deflated.

Paloma Estrella was not meant to look like this.

Amelia held back a sigh and held the tray with one hand, as she knocked on the wooden pillar of the entrance. This seemed to break Paloma's trance and stared back at Amelia. She smiled, in comforting fashion as Amelia placed the tray down on the table. Amelia, in organized fashion, began setting up for supper. "Well, it seems La Loba Negra seems incredibly tense today." The woman said in a joking manner as Amelia sent a steely glare in her direction. Inwardly, Amelia was glad; at least Paloma felt good enough to make some jest of this.

The glare didn't seem to have any effect as Paloma giggled into her hand, "I tease, Amelia. How have the women been faring?" Amelia glances down in concern, "They have been sent back to their families. I heard Lady Tantocos sails for Manila soon." Paloma looked interested yet remained quiet, prompting Amelia to continue. This time, Amelia did sigh. "I'm afraid her parents have sent her there for marriage. It seems that the proposal of Lord Salayo was blessed by the Tantocos'." There was an odd silence as Paloma's voice turned wistful, "I wish Fateryna safe travels then. May Lord Salayo be worthy of her." By God, Amelia could hear the hurt in Paloma's voice. She was...Amelia was fully aware of Paloma and Fateryna, their friendship was soft and delicate. Light touches, late-night wanderings and dances in empty halls, Amelia was aware of them all.

She didn't know why it hurt, but it did.

It didn't matter because in the end, it hurt all of them, all of the women here in their sisterhood of strength. Their dream to learn and to no longer be tricked by those Kastila dogs, was destroyed as soon as it was built. Soon, out of twenty-one allied sisters of the women of Malolos, only two remained in the empty and large manor.

Amelia herself wasn't fond of their too loud cheers and childish behaviors. She was, after all, used to physical fighting than staying in the four corners of a classroom, yet she didn't mind. She was the oldest out of all of them, and she truly didn't have it in her to interact more than what was necessary, but even she missed it. She missed them.

How mad must she be to wish all the noise back, to fill the empty space of their once-home?

She finished setting down the table and felt Paloma place her hand on hers. "Now now, Amelia. You mustn't think me too delicate not to handle this news. We are all not getting any younger; it was inevitable, i-it's just that it happened too soon is all." Amelia didn't believe her.

They ate dinner in somber silence.

~*~

Amelia walks the streets in a bored manner, fanning herself along the way. No one would normally bat an eyelash on the woman who wore a maid's uniform at night but it seems today people seemed chatty. "Probably to fetch something for her master", people say. Maybe sometimes, they would sneer at her and curl their lips in disgust. "A slave. Or maybe...a whore?" "So well dressed yet still a servant? Definitely a master's favorite." There were snickers but she paid no heed to them. Amelia wanted a stroll to calm herself, so she shall. She didn't see the benefit of slaying common townsfolk and their damned gossip.

She took a turn that led a pathway to the plaza when she heard the sounds of screaming. Amelia felt an all too familiar rush and ran. She knew with the streets of Malolos like the back of her hand, and only took a while for her to arrive at a building by the plaza. It was smaller than the church beside it but that didn't stop it's intimidating, immovable stance seeming larger than life. An orphanage, she realized. The screams didn't stop, and it even seemed to echo outside where she could hear but now there was an additional sound of a whip that cracked in the air. Amelia bolted through the gargantuan wooden doors and sees a large friar, brown robes starting to tinge red from the blood of a boy's back. Amelia places the fan close to her head, obscuring half her face as she cleared her throat. The friar notices her presence, and Amelia could smell the pungent odor of alcohol. The damned Kastila dog grinned at Amelia as he staggered towards her. "Welcome, my dear~ To the house of the Lord where we shall bless you! Do you wish for a child—"

Amelia gripped her steel-laced fan as she swiped it across his face, effectively making him shriek in pain. Dark crimson sprayed from the scar made of the sharp steel as the friar's face twisted in anger, "You damned wench! The Lord can and will curse you for eternity! I will have you punished for this!" He charged towards Amelia, roughly grabbing her arm enough to bruise. She shook off her arm and elbowed his jaw hard as she hit a pressure point on his shoulder. He then fell to the ground with little grace and went unconscious.

Amelia snapped her war fan shut and walked towards the shaking boy. She felt herself stop and nearly dropped to her knees. The poor boy's back was scarred heavily, she could even see some lash marks going bone deep. He was shaking and sobbing uncontrollably, hands harshly grabbing his hair. She could make out a slight scar on the side of her head, threatening to split open due to him pulling his hair. Amelia removed her pristine white apron and carefully wrapped it around him, as the boy looked up at his savior. Once Amelia secured the boy well enough, she carried him and the boy let out a little whimper.

She came in the building alone and, unknowingly, left with a son.