She decided that it was that particular noise she hated the most. Quill
scratching on paper and at that very moment, it was flooding the room and
infesting her ears.
Scratch, scratch, scratch. If it doesn't end soon, Myra thought, I think I
might go insane. As if on cue, the scratching stopped and she turned to
look at the writer, her father. "Now, Myra," he began, taking his pipe out
of his breast-pocket, "I want you to deliver this to Mr. Ellind and if
you're nice to him, why, I'm sure he will be most likely to look upon you
with a favourable eye." He flashed a yellow-toothed grin in her direction
and stuffed a ball of the Mena weed into his pipe. Myra noted with distaste
as he slid the letter toward her, that his finger nails were the same
sickly jaundice colour as his teeth.
Disgusted, she took the letter just as his free hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist. "And if word gets back to me that you are not ,shall we say, agreeable and accommodating, you will live to regret it!" he hissed and he released her hand where two bruised had started to flourish.
Rubbing her wrist, Myra backed out of the room and started down the hallway. This wasn't the first time her father, the once rich and formidable Mr. Vetner, had tried to use her to further his floundering career. A year back, he had promised her to a man whose name she had gladly forgotten, as a 'bed partner' but only on the proviso that he would agree to his business proposition. Yet that all ended badly when she slapped the man as he was fumbling with her gown ties. Her father beat her to with in an inch of her life and she had suffered from welts, bruises and two cracked ribs for three very long and painful months. Myra had since learned to become accommodating.
Out on the street now, Myra's dress and tunic flapped about her as she made her way through the bustling crowd. Another deal, another degrading act, she thought sourly, what is it this time? Perhaps it may just be a few leering looks from him and some batting of the eye lashes from me? Or is it urgent and fumbling hands? Longing for an escape, Myra knocked on Mr. Ellind's door and a few moments later, it was opened by a man who Myra thought was possibly one of the ugliest men she had ever laid eyes upon. He was possibly in his mid thirties but his ugliness was a hindrance in calculating his exact age. He was also one of those unfortunate men whose face was permanently red and was decorated with severe pock marks. Adding to his misfortune was his hair that was so blonde that it would have seemed to be invisible if it weren't for his frightful complexion. He smiled and it wasn't in the least bit becoming.
"Well now, what do we have here?" he leered. Oh mercy! Myra thought, he is leering. "My name is Myra of Vetner," she replied. "Myra, eh? Well I guess you have some thing for me then?" Myra handed him the letter and as she did so she unwittingly took a step forward inside the door. "Oh no, love, I mean something else," he whispered and slammed the door behind her, the bang disturbing the intense quiet of inside.
A dozen thoughts raced through her mind. She wanted to run, she wanted to cry and even her home seemed like a safe haven but she knew that leaving would mean a repeat of last year's beating.
She took a deep breath. "My- my father urges that you read the letter," she croaked. He wasn't listening but he was, however, looking upon her appreciatively. "Mr. Ellind." she began. "No, please, call me Mitri," he said huskily and she felt and smelled his foul, warm breath as it washed over her face. "Mist.Mitri, My f-father urges..." she stopped as he lifted a hand and touched her wavy, auburn hair. "Oh mercy!" she sobbed but he pretended he didn't hear her as grabbed her breast and ground his lips into hers and tears rolled down her cheeks as he pressed her up against the wall.
Disgusted, she took the letter just as his free hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist. "And if word gets back to me that you are not ,shall we say, agreeable and accommodating, you will live to regret it!" he hissed and he released her hand where two bruised had started to flourish.
Rubbing her wrist, Myra backed out of the room and started down the hallway. This wasn't the first time her father, the once rich and formidable Mr. Vetner, had tried to use her to further his floundering career. A year back, he had promised her to a man whose name she had gladly forgotten, as a 'bed partner' but only on the proviso that he would agree to his business proposition. Yet that all ended badly when she slapped the man as he was fumbling with her gown ties. Her father beat her to with in an inch of her life and she had suffered from welts, bruises and two cracked ribs for three very long and painful months. Myra had since learned to become accommodating.
Out on the street now, Myra's dress and tunic flapped about her as she made her way through the bustling crowd. Another deal, another degrading act, she thought sourly, what is it this time? Perhaps it may just be a few leering looks from him and some batting of the eye lashes from me? Or is it urgent and fumbling hands? Longing for an escape, Myra knocked on Mr. Ellind's door and a few moments later, it was opened by a man who Myra thought was possibly one of the ugliest men she had ever laid eyes upon. He was possibly in his mid thirties but his ugliness was a hindrance in calculating his exact age. He was also one of those unfortunate men whose face was permanently red and was decorated with severe pock marks. Adding to his misfortune was his hair that was so blonde that it would have seemed to be invisible if it weren't for his frightful complexion. He smiled and it wasn't in the least bit becoming.
"Well now, what do we have here?" he leered. Oh mercy! Myra thought, he is leering. "My name is Myra of Vetner," she replied. "Myra, eh? Well I guess you have some thing for me then?" Myra handed him the letter and as she did so she unwittingly took a step forward inside the door. "Oh no, love, I mean something else," he whispered and slammed the door behind her, the bang disturbing the intense quiet of inside.
A dozen thoughts raced through her mind. She wanted to run, she wanted to cry and even her home seemed like a safe haven but she knew that leaving would mean a repeat of last year's beating.
She took a deep breath. "My- my father urges that you read the letter," she croaked. He wasn't listening but he was, however, looking upon her appreciatively. "Mr. Ellind." she began. "No, please, call me Mitri," he said huskily and she felt and smelled his foul, warm breath as it washed over her face. "Mist.Mitri, My f-father urges..." she stopped as he lifted a hand and touched her wavy, auburn hair. "Oh mercy!" she sobbed but he pretended he didn't hear her as grabbed her breast and ground his lips into hers and tears rolled down her cheeks as he pressed her up against the wall.