Hello, and thank you for stopping in to read my work. I would like to explain a bit before you read and get a tad confused. I was inspired by The Hunchback of Notre Dame for this story, or more back ground on my current Cousland Warden, Claude Frollo's lust for Esmeralda made me think. What if Howe felt the same way about the young Cousland? How would she handle the guilt of not telling her family about what happens, then a few years later having them murdered by the very man? This story may be sensitive to some, so just a warning. Once again, thanks for the read, I hope you enjoy. :)
The wind silenced her footsteps, coaxing them away into the depths of eternal silence, where all the forgotten sounds lay. It was pitch black outside, the full moon the only source of light, a secret eavesdropper in the dead of night. Her hammering heart sang like an unwanted orchestra until she could feel it triumphing in her throat.
''Fergus.'' She whispered, her knuckles rattling as gently as possible on his door. Her only greeting was a deep and gruff snore, but at least she had identification he was in there. She knocked a little harder this time, her entire body following the shaking of her fingers. ''Fergus.'' She had meant to be louder, but only sounded weaker.
She could hear the footsteps now, parading on the stone floor like a group of masked dancers, hidden amongst the darkness. She opened her mouth to call for him again, but no sound came out. Rough skin smashed against her lips and a arm wrapped rib crushingly around her middle. She tried biting down, but there was no flesh for her teeth to get a hold of.
She watched as the barely visible wallpaper of the walls blurred by, kicking in every direction and way. ''Bloody whore.'' He growled, Howe's voice, the harsh tone her Father had never heard him acquire. He grabbed her body like a rag doll, pinning her to the bitterly cold floor. ''This is your fault.'' He spat into her face. ''I am not to blame for this indecent. You caused this lust. You tempted me.'' He growled like that of a lion, teased eternally by his prey.
''You will not scream, nor will you tell a single soul. I imagine if your future suitors found out about the youngest Cousland being a whore they would not be impressed.'' She watched him, her eyes wide, the face of a child who did not know what was coming to her, who did not understand what she had supposedly caused. He grabbed a hold of her long auburn hair that had long come out of its braid. ''Do you understand, Aurora?''
''Don't, please. Don't.'' Was her response, not a yes, nor a nod, but a beg. ''There is nothing that will save you from this fate, girl. You have caused this.'' He hissed, spit flying onto her face. He climbed up from the floor, his shoes clicking on the stone, and closed his door, silently like a thief, for that is what he was that night.