Disclaimer: I neither own Reign, nor profit from this story.
Ch 1 - Pins & Needles
Catherine began the practice when she was young, even before her time as a hostage in Florence. Originally she noticed the effect that the slip of a needle had on her ability to focus…calming, steadying, predictable. Her parents died when she was young, and though her family would never have totally abandoned her due to her parent's fortune, it was not the de Medici way to be kind, or caring.
During her darkest days as a hostage she perfected the technique, learning to stick herself just deep enough that she felt the pain, but not so much as to draw attention. In between her toes, under her fingernails, along the edges of her hair. The later had a secondary purpose as the men seemed to like pulling her hair to try and make her scream. The more she did it, the tougher she became…inside and out.
After Florence she was a mess, but a mess with a job to do. Not six months after she was rescued form the convent, her uncle had called on her to "discuss" her future. The nuns had warned her in no uncertain terms that even if the match was made, that a new marriage was just as easy to break as an engagement. She would need to bury her pain deep enough that no one would ever hear of it, her life depended on it.
She had learned to predict the signs of her…troubles...shaking and gasping for breath simply from moving past the room where the men had taken their pleasure...hearing a rowdy sniggering laugh from one of her kin as she moved past a room...a chill in the air or whistle of the wind...a servant receiving particularly nasty treatment. All of these could result in a nightmare which she usually woke from with a voiceless scream, so conditioned she was to keep her mouth shut…or at least to keep her troubles unheard. She would lie awake shaking for several hours afterward, but she was able to bury it deep enough that even the kindest nun who would otherwise have come to check on her never knew. She only hoped that her husband to be was a sound sleeper, or at the very least unobservant.
When she was brought briefly to be reunited with her relatives before sailing for France she was able to put her resolve and her methods of hiding her pain to the test. Several of her male relatives were known for their exploits and the mere mention of one of their conquests in her hearing made her run for the nearest empty room or closet. Here was when she discovered the limits of the technique, finding out how far she could go…would go…needed to go. Sometimes she'd even leave a pin or two in during her hardest times, moments, memories. She knew she couldn't go on like this, but for the moment it was better than the alternative. If she couldn't cope she would be dead, and that was not a choice.
When she first came to France she tried to stop. She was under even greater scrutiny than before so she tried to find other ways of stopping the pain, but none seemed to work. One time she was almost caught by her fiancé of all people. She had found a quiet spot in the gardens and made sure she was alone. As always she had her needlework with her, and so the blood could be explained. Apparently he had decided that he needed to see her one afternoon, and not long into her ritual he found her. The look that lingered on his handsome face seemed to hold an unspoken question as to the the truth of her explanation. Instead of pushing though he simply picked up the affected hand, wiped away the blood and kissed the wound, then moved to another finger and repeated his ministration, then another, and another, until he was kissing her all over. It surprised her a little…his forwardness as well as her acceptance of the gesture, but for the first time a kiss did not feel like acid on her skin.
It turns out there was one way she could live with the pain, and not inflict it herself.
For the first time in her life, she felt a glimmer of hope, of joy, of…love.
For the first time her blood ran with pleasure, instead of pain.