The caravan came into our little shack up on the mountains every single night before a job. They would come in and order a cup of a lemon juice one by one then I would offer them a cup and lead the customer to a backroom. It was my father’s direct orders but I had not accepted to be a puppet for free, the land of the fallen had no such rules.
He offered me an answer to one of my questions about them and no more till I was taking over the business.
In that moment, I wondered what could compensate for my blind accessory to a crime and could only think of my job. I look up and see my father’s smirking face and laughed a little, he had seen through me, still laughing, I asked, ‘why lemons?’
He laughed and hit me on the back and whispered a short story to me of a man who chased after the woman he met under the lemon tree. He swore allegiance to the land’s most notorious figures and offered them his absolute dedication in achieving their goals and they gladly accepted the generous offer.
Sooner than his enemies would expect, he countered with full effect taking back his princess in a beautiful raid fight.
This became a traditional conquest, young couples in love soon came to them for help as well. Advocating what they had achieved, they poured the whole of their lives to the cause of the hearts and their leaders deal of honour.
This group although bad is to also be considered good, for we never know which love story we’re helping with…’ “Cool isn’t it?” my dad asked, smirking again
“It is”, I replied “but why did that sound like the whole story?” I asked.
“Me?” he asked back “Did you answer in a way that would cause that?” he added
“I did” I answered, beating my chest with pride and he laughed harder and told me, sternly “No more questions”
I often wish he had told me the rest before I got myself into this mess….
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