Author's Note: Hey, I'm not dead! I've received some lovely PM's lately reminding me that there are still people out there who enjoy my crazy brain-ramblings and would like to see more. I can't promise much by way of organization, but I feel it is time to dive back into the archive of WIP's and try to clear out my computer. As of right now I'm not sure if this will be a full-blown story or a stand alone one-shot.
This particular story idea came to me while surfing through pinterest. The picture that inspired it can be found here, if you can decode the way I have tow write it out so our beloved fan fiction dot net doesn't erase the link: pinterest dot com / pin / 552535448024318206 /
Warning: This story is dark for me. It contains scenes of violence (at times graphic) and sexual assault (not graphic in detail but in suggestion).
Sofia is twenty at the beginning of this story.
Dystopia: Prologue (?)
The birdsong hadn't woken her, only kept company with the insomnia as the sky lightened from black to purple to blue. As the birds chittered to one another, she kept her mind busy trying to identify their calls. That bright twitter belonging to a pair of robins. Those short, sharp tweets a group of finches. The deeper call, a nuthatch? Their language was foreign without her amulet so she had to rely tenuous skill to pick out each wild voice. She couldn't begin to understand, but she liked to pretend they were speaking to her. Offering comforts in their own way. Occasionally, one would stop on a particular branch and peer through the window at her, cocking its head curiously at the human woman beyond the glass.
She stared back, too tired to move.
Tired wasn't the right word. Far too flimsy to encompass the bone-deep weariness that no amount of sleep could remedy. Rest is useless when you're weary of life itself.
The sun rose higher as another tedious day wore on. A long slash of warm light across her face. The sharpness of it bit into her eyes, but she didn't so much as move. Moving meant setting off the erratic jangle of chains; their constant clinking preyed upon the nerves, so she stayed still as possible. The mattress bore a slight grove from her favored spot, lying on her side, staring through the gauzy bed curtains out the window. The desire for freedom had shrank with time, but never disappeared. With a only few oak branches and a small patch of sky beyond as her only view of the whole wide world, she longed to know the fate of her kingdom.
Her kingdom, the thought still so strange. Hers, because there was no one else left.
Uncertainty over the fate of her people cut deeper than knowing ever could. Perhaps not knowing was a secret blessing in her condition. If she knew the state of Enchancia she would process and problem-solve and scheme ways to help. She liked to solve. To act. But she could do nothing. The certainty of her inefficacy grated until she wished to scream.
Some days she had screamed. Shouted until her throat burned, yanking viciously against the chains that bound her. No one came to answer her cries. No guards bothered to subdue her. There was no need. Each futile struggle only left her drained and drowning in despair.
How long had it been? Her memory couldn't quite contain the compendium of endless days. Months had passed, surely. Had it been so long as a year? The trees outside the window had time to wither, leaves going green to orange before dying and falling away. The bare branches had frosted with ice, her only view for long endless days that felt like eternity until the sun finally came again, melting away the cold. Now the trees bore green buds again and the birds had returned brining their gentle friendly chatter with them. Spring come to bring new life. New hope.
There was no joy left to be found in these simple things. She'd long since stopped shrinking from the knowledge that she'd end her own existence is she only had the means. Each time she closed her eyes, she wished to never open them again, but something inside her seemed stubbornly determined to survive.
All she had left was survival, one moment to the next. One breath in, one breath out. No future. No hope …
It had happened in the spring. The kingdom overthrown in one unassuming afternoon. The bright blue sky turned to ash as he took power.
Memories of blood and death and pain filled her up, brimming over in a constant spill that somehow left her feeling empty. Her eyes slid closed, but she was past tears. Phantom screams rang inside her skull. The death scream of countless innocents, but it was her mother's that stood out in her memory. The one that would not be banished no matter how she gritted her teeth against the memory. The sound and the sight. The smell of charred flesh stinging her nostrils. And then …
A fine spray of warm blood spattered across Sofia's cheek. Not her own but Amber's, as the blonde's life was cut short not with a scream but a wet burble from her gapping throat. Sofia's own knees trembled, weak with terror but refusing to buckle. Standing rigid and terrified awaiting her own death. Prepared for it even, only to hear the insidious voice of her family's murderer whisper, "Not you, my dear. Not today. I have such plans for you, Sofia."
A dim, cheerful whistling came from the hall, bringing her sharply back to the present. Fear pounced, pinning her down. He should have long lost the power to affect her, but his very presence still made her skin crawl. Without meaning to, she drew her knees up, the chains around her ankles pulling tight. Perhaps, she thought (trying hard not to call it hope), he's not interested in me today.
The whistling rose in pitch as he stopped just outside the door. He was always in a good mood when he came to her, no matter how she cursed at him or spat in his smug face. She heard the locks pull back, no jangle of a key, just silent magic.
Her eyes slid open just as the door did, but she refused to look in his direction. His fussy heeled shoes clicked across the marble, the tune on his lips never wavering. It finally cut short as the curtains slid back and he sat on the bed.
"Good morning, my dear," he fairly sang with greeting, "and how are we this fine day?"
Her jaw clamped, determined to say nothing. But he waited, forcing tension humming through her bones until every part of her clenched so hard she thought she'd shatter.
In a voice gravelly from disuse, she ground out a curt, "Fuck you."
"Tisk, tisk," he clicked his tongue, completely unbothered. "Such language from such a pretty little princess."
Her stomach churned with a fresh wave of nausea as he picked up a skein of her lank hair, caressing it through his pale fingers. Determined not to shrink away, she steeled her nerves and met his amused gaze with a flinty glare.
"What?" He snickered. "Not happy to see your old friend?"
"We were never friends. You were only after my amulet from the start."
"Yes." His smile turned oily. "And now I have it. And you as well."
She couldn't help the quick flicker over his clothes, even knowing he'd never bring it here. When he sidled closer, she tore her gaze away, blanking her expression. His nose leisurely nuzzled her neck and it took everything in her not to jerk away. This was the game he liked to play. One she hated with every bit of her soul. Hated with an intensity she never imagined possible. Hated just as much as she hated him.
"You can pretend you don't care, but we both know it's a lie." He moved away to slip off his robe. The rest of his clothing followed. Her thighs clenched together. Inside she hated that small voice that still pleaded, Please, please, don't hurt me. Not again— While popping open the buttons of his shirt, he went back to the game. "No one will ever rescue you, you know?"
She knew. There was no one left. He'd seen to it.
His shirt peeled back, showing off a chest well-defined for a man his age. Each shoe dropped to the floor before he climbed onto the bed.
She stayed as still as possible, beginning the careful process of detaching mind from body. A means of distraction, that was the key. The birds chirping merrily outside. What do they say to one another? What do their calls mean? She pictured a nest, a pair of robins bending over three little hatchings, one happy family.
Warm breath wrapped around her ear in a silky whisper. "Your family is dead. Your step-father, your mother, those insipid twins who foolishly thought they could stand between me and what I wanted. What I always craved…" His lips grazed her cheek. "More power."
She flinched. The birds, focus on them, on their song.
He grabbed a hank of hair and pulled, angry over her lost attention. "Your family is gone, as are all your loyal servants. That steward, foolish old man. Your idiot maid, who thought to put herself between me and your door. I cut them all down, and they fell like wheat before the sickle." His voice dropped to a soft hiss. "I killed them all."
She closed her eyes, knowing what came next in this well-worn litany of pain. Be with the birds, feel the sunshine on their backs, freedom flying beneath their wings.
Cold lips pressed a dry kiss below her ear. "Oh, and who else? Who am I forgetting?"
Stop-it! Stop-it! Stop! She wanted to scream but kept her lips tightly sealed. She refused to offer him the satisfaction of her pain. Traitorous tears gathered beneath her lids.
"Oh yes, I remember," he crooned almost gently. "Your sorcerer. I killed Cedric myself."
She bit hard on the inside of her cheek, focusing on this new pain rather than old wounds ripped open.
"He died as he lived," he continued, "a failure and a coward."
"You're a liar," she snarled, the words out before she could draw them back.
He had her now, knew how his words affected even as she feigned indifference. "It's just as well he's dead, you know. What would he think of you now, knowing you've become nothing more than Grimtrix the Great's whore?"
The old insult should have long since lost its power. Tears broke free, sliding down her cheeks, but she didn't bother wiping them away. Images of her old mentor played across her memory— his unusual hair, long features, and softly smiling eyes. Grimtrix pressed her back into the bed and she tried to hold the image so at least she'd no longer be alone.
"Look at you," he sneered over her, "not even fighting anymore. I think you've begun to enjoy my … attentions."
Her eyes snapped open, unable to deny the anger any longer. "You misbegotten son of a—"
The triumphant sneer was wiped from his face when she smashed the only weapon at her disposal, her manacled wrist, down on his head. A bright gash opened across his brow. He clutched the wound, hissing at the pain. Incensed beyond indifference or reason, Sofia thrashed where his hips pinned her to the bed. She shrieked like a banshee, calling him every foul name she could remember and inventing more when necessary. Her blunted nails raked at any expanse of unprotected flesh.
"You bitch," he snarled. With a snap he summoned the Shushers. Those ruthless ghostly hands pressed tight over her mouth, more holding her arms and legs. No amount of bucking could throw them off, but she tried all the same. Any hope for escape, mental or physical, was lost. She'd played into his game and lost. He liked her aware and suffering.
He moved over top of her again, blotting out the sunlight with his body. Heavy drops of blood dripped down the side of his face and fell onto her. His lips pulled back in a feral grimace that might have been a smile. "I almost wish Cedric was alive to see his pretty princess now."
Author's Note: Again, not sure what I'm going to do with this. I could just leave this here, all horrible and open-ended. But … I probably won't. Updates, if they come, will probably be slow. Writing hasn't been a focus lately, but I do feel the itch coming back.
Sorry I don't have something more cheerful or sexy to post. I have approximately two dozen unfinished stories on my computer, but this was the only piece complete enough to post.
Reviews, please. Love it, hate it, want to throttle me, let me know!