Surreal was twelve.
Huddled in an alley, grubby and unkempt, hair stuck back behind her pointed ears without the benefit of a clip, greasy and tangled, she looked more ten or nine, but she was twelve. She clutched a dirty crust of bread she'd stolen from somewhere, tore into it with her teeth, bit a chunk of an apple a lady had given her before hurrying away. It was mealy and half-rotten, but it tasted delicious.
She'd been running for nearly a week now, but hasn't left the city, unable to leave behind Titian's body, Titian's memory. Her mother is dead. Dead with her own dagger in her heart, screaming at her daughter to Run! As they'd been running since Surreal could remember, always fleeing some unnamable danger that was too close behind to escape and too far away to see.
Hungry most of the time and coated in a layer of dirt so thick she could scrape a finger through it, Surreal was exhausted, bone-deep weary and absolutely sick of running. She wanted a real life. She wanted her mother back. She wanted a meal that was better than grubby half-rotten leftovers and stolen bits of pastry.
Her head was nodding forward onto her chest, her eyelids unbearably heavy, dragging down. She needed to sleep, wanted to sleep, but Titian had told her – had told her –
A drumbeat pounded in her head, or a heartbeat. She was walking – or was she running? It was hard to tell; the world reeled wildly around her, and she couldn't find the way through the trees because the path was tangled and winding…
She jerked upright, suddenly awake. It was much darker, the red skin of the apple gleaming dully in the dusky light, the bread long gone, carried off by scavengers, either of the two legged or four legged variety. Her head felt fuzzy, achy, and her legs were cramped as she tried to gather them under her.
"Miss?"
A soft voice, unassuming, in the mouth of the alleyway. She scrambled to her feet, her knees wobbling precariously, and spoke harshly, calling in Titian's knife. "Who are you?" She snapped.
The voice was immediately apologetic, and she could vaguely make out a silhouette that cleared as her eyes got used to the dim light. "I'm sorry. I just saw you back here and I thought you were injured…"
Run run run run run, Titian's command screamed, but Surreal was exhausted and hungry and alone. She took a few steps forward, trying to see the owner of the voice better. He looked to be a boy, perhaps only a year or two older than she, not wearing his Jewels but well dressed. That made her nervous and she almost fled, but then he spoke again.
"You look hungry. Here…" He fished in his pocket and pulled out a packet, offering it at arm's length. She darted forward, snatched it, and darted back, unwrapping it quickly and wolfing down the bit of still hot meat, licking juice off her fingers. It took her a moment to remember her manners.
"…thank you."
The boy paused. "Whoa. When was the last time you ate?"
"Long time," Surreal said noncommittally.
"Where's your family?"
Surreal fell silent, her face settling into a sullen frown. There was a long silence.
"Hey, if you wanna come with me, I can get you some more food."
Surreal hangs, poised between mistrust, Titian's warning, hunger and loneliness. Hunger wins out. "All right." Vanishing the knife, she crept out of the shadows and dodged out of the alley, looking both ways nervously.
The boy caught her shoulder and she jerked away, shying. "Don't do that!"
"Sorry," he apologized. "But you're being suspicious. Just act normally, okay?"
Surreal opened her mouth to say something and gave up. He knew more than she did, here, and it wasn't worth an argument. "What am I supposed to do?" She asked, meekly.
"Just put your arm like this –" He showed her how to link arms – "And pretend like you know what you're doing. No one will say anything."
She didn't really like standing so close to a male, but he was going to get her food, and he didn't have to.
It was only a brief flash that gave her the warning, and that wasn't nearly enough time. "Gotta go," she said, and fled – but her arm was held fast by the boy, looking over his shoulder and holding her trapped. She tugged helplessly.
"Let me go! Let me go!"
"Can't," he said. She tricked to kick him, punch him, anything, but he had her effectively tethered. Panic welled and throbbed in her head as her struggles grew wilder and wilder until she realized that she had stopped moving. She stood frozen, only able to move her eyes and hear the clink of coins.
"Good job, lad. Sure she's the right one?"
"Only one I've seen with those ears."
"All right, get. I can handle things from here."
Terror flooded over her and thought blanked out. Dammit dammit dammit TITIAAAAAN!
His grip was too hard on her arm as he pulled her, stumbling to the side, up the stairs. Trying feebly to struggle, disoriented and terrified, one moment she was on her feet, trying to run, the next she was on her back on the ground, ears ringing, trying to focus as heavy, oppressive darkness closed in raggedly on her vision. Her clothes were ripped away. Half conscious and barely aware, she screamed once in pain that felt as though it would divide her in two, a wash of red over her vision, before she drifted.
He raped me. Surreal found herself thinking, blankly, distantly. The pain of being violated echoed even here. Her heart pounded too loud, too fast, reminding her of a hunted rabbit, in counterpoint to the rhythmic, stabbing thrusts invading her body, far away. The abyss was wide and black and empty, but it wasn't peaceful, not now. She was tumbling, falling head over heels through pitch that had no up or down. Far, far below, there was a glimmer of green, but it was deep, though coming too fast…
Titian. Surreal remembered. Tersa. Fear filled her and she tried to claw at the air, pull herself up. If she fell too far, she would be broken, a shadow of what she was.
The fall slowed, but she could feel the pounding thrusts in her body pushing her closer. She held on, clinging to the walls, anything, holding to herself despite the pain and horror, determined not to break but sure that if she lived, she would be broken, a shadow – like Tersa, like Titian, like other hopeless, destitute witches she had seen, reduced to a terrified nothing of themselves. Closer, and now the web was far too close, just beneath her, and she was sobbing with terror and desperation. Why hadn't she run? Why had she trusted anyone?
She would never trust a male if she survived this. Never never never.
It was an eternity until it was over. She stayed, trembling, in the abyss, shaking with disbelief. The web was just beneath her. One more thrust and she would have been broken, never to be repaired. Would have returned a shadow, if she had returned at all.
She surfaced at last, naked, alone, aching where he'd held her too tightly and between her long, skinny legs, blood soaking the sheets and the stench of the male in the air. Her face was wet and she could feel blood trickling weakly from her nose. He'd hit her to make her stay still. She had been smaller than him, weaker, and he had hit her and held her down. He had been scared of her.
She couldn't feel amused.
Surreal pulled her legs together, turned on her side and curled up with a soft whimper. Fearfully, she tried to descend again, found her way to the level of the Green and tried calling in her mother's dagger. She felt its heavy weight in her hand and smiled, weakly.
She was broken, but she was whole. She was still a witch.
"Titian," she whispered. "Titian, I'm sorry…"
She had already cried, but she began to cry again. She hadn't run. She hadn't run fast enough, far enough, to escape. It was a miracle that she was alive and still able to use Craft. She curled up tighter, vulnerable and naked but unable to summon the energy to do more than fear. If he comes back, if someone comes here, if if if…but Surreal was too exhausted, too damn bone-weary to move. She closed her eyes and cried herself to sleep.
She would never trust a male. She'd kill all of them! The ones who'd hurt her mother, the one who had hurt her – all of them would die. She swore to herself, to Titian, that she would not rest until she hunted down and killed the man responsible for this, killed him so that he could never come back to chase her again. And then she slept, unable to do but else, far too exhausted to run today.
Surreal was twelve.