Mary wanted to scream it from the rooftops. She wanted all of Skáld to know that her husband was a useless, laze-about, that only knew how to do two things:

Drink himself into a stupor and squander what little coin they had on the harlots at the brothel!

And today was no different. He had been gone since moring.  Burdening her with all the house-hold chores. Fixing fences, tending to their all-but barren garden, and chopping the wood he had gathered the day before. But he had failed to do that, forcing her shove her feet into her too-small boots, grab the rusting axe and traverse through the dense snow, toes frozen, to collect wood for the fire. 

No doubt at that awful sin house! She raged to herself, stamping her foot against a fallen log to knock the snow from her boots.

Mother was right! Right all along! She could practically hear her mother's voice in her ear. 

She had been naïve back then. Young and foolish, with a head full of dreams and plans and ideas. Ideas of a blissful fairytale were love triumphed over all and that money wasn't everything. 

How wrong she had been.

Because no sooner did she sign away her maiden name and the money stopped coming, did her husband's tune changed. No longer was he the sweet young stable-boy that had been working at her family's estate when they first met, in his place was a greedy drunk that wanted to live high above his means. 

He had taken every coin, jewel and fur coat that she had brought with her to fuel his dirty habit. 

It had only taken a month  as a woodchopper's wife for her to try and run back to her parents. Begging them for mercy and forgiveness. But by then she was already sullied, touched and dirty in the eyes of nobles. Her parents sent her away, leaving her with only a last of her fur coats. 

Even those were not safe from her husband. 

Just this morning, he had taken the last of her furs; the one she had received from a suitor at her coming-of-age ceremony. She had tried her best to hide it, but he had found it; tucked deep within her closet under a loose floor board.

The thought alone was enough to send her into a downwards spiral. Hurling the wood she had gathered to the ground, she screamed with rage. Stamping her feet and pulling at her hair. Her mother's condescending words filtering through her head. 

She paced back in forth, her hands shaking as she ran them through her hair and down her face. 

"Love won't keep you safe!" Her mother's voice ringing through her ears. 

Mary dropped to her knees, slamming the axe into the snow, sending ice everywhere. He took everything from me!

The axe came down one final time, burying itself deep into the snow with a dull thud. The air around her quiet, save for the wind in rustling the tree limbs above her. As quick as her rage had came it vanished, replaced with a cold resolve. 

Standing up, dusting the snow from her dress and began to regather the wood she had thrown. And with axe in she began her slow trek back home. 

***

It was late in the evening when her husband finally decided to stumble in piss-drunk, reeking of vomit and the sparkweed incense the brothel liked to choke the streets with. The fur coat he had taken nowhere in sight. 

The house was cold and the firewood she had collected hours prior discarded in a pile by the door, leaving a mess of melted snow. 

"Where's the fire woman? It's cold in this damn house? Have you been lazing 'bout all day?" His words slurred. 

If she had been younger those words would have hurt, but years in the frigid cold had hardened her heart and turned her soul to stone. 

"Where's my coat? The one you took from me this morning?"

He scoffed, swaying unsteadily on one foot as he tried to remove his boots, "I ain't took no coat of yours." 

Mary's jaw clenched, "You did! It was in my closet!"

"I don't wanna talk about it. I feel like shit and my head it pounding." He groaned out. 

 

She did not hear him, "Where is it? I saw you take it!"

He slammed his hand down on the table, making her jump, "Don't you snap at me woman!" he fell into the seat opposite of her. His eyes bloodshot and wild as he looked at her with unbridled contempt.

"I am the man of the house! The house is mine and what's in the house is mine! And if I want to take a fur coat and give it to someone else, I will for damn sure do that! And I won't hear another fucking word out of your mouth about it! Do you understand?" 

"Yes," her voice was barely above a whisper, shrinking into herself. "Yes, I understand." and she rose from her seat and moved to pick up his disgarded boots by the door. 

"That's more like it. A greedy woman like you should be able to spare a single old coat. "

In that moment, she was overcome by clarity. 

He didn't even see it coming. He didn't see her fingers tightening around the worn handle of the axe. He didn't even turn around, when she picked it up, sending the pile of wood scattering across the ground. He didn't even notice when she swung it through the air towards his skull. His eyes only found hers when she cleaved his scalp from his head.

But by then, it was too late for him...

 

...She could taste his blood on her lips

...and it was too late for her.