Serena's POV
I cannot recall another time when I had felt so, utterly ready to sleep.
And yet, at the same time, I could not remember the last time I had felt so overwhelmed and petrified as I had but moments before.
I had felt, with apprehensive discomfort, his passionate eyes boring into me, despite his being the entire room's length from where I had lain. God bless the poor man; he was so lonely, and I could palpably feel that… and yet he had made a promise, and would keep that promise no matter how much effort he had to put forth. His chivalry was an immense relief; I had been exceptionally lucky when one considered the culture and standards of where I was—how trivially women were regarded, especially when it came to their subservience to the figureheads of society.
But even that could not assuage my racing heart, nor slow my panicked thoughts as I curled up in the bed he had offered me.
That I, in return, had offered we share.
It had just slipped out. I hadn't thought a thing of it, since there had seemed to be only one bed paired, with my shame at driving him from its comfortable sheets when it was, in fact, his in the first place! But only after he had turned to go with a newfound swiftness and desperation did I realize just how provocative that must have sounded to his masculine ear. "Damn it, Serena... are you trying to get yourself into even deeper distress?"
Oh, I was so frightened… I was in a strange place far from the home I knew, to be married to a man who had already once made an attempt on my life in a moment of innate ferocity, surrounded by people who would think even less of killing me should I do even the slightest thing to displease them. Or perhaps it was not bodily death I needed worry about, but the massacre of my maidenhood by that lustful Shah…
I was so intensely terrified that, in months that seemed long past, now, I would have been sobbing like a quaking, sniveling child—unable to work through my fears with the rationality I always invoked to deal with everything else in my life. But now, after months on a rickety old boat crossing the dubious, fickle ocean while trapped in a cage like some sort of exotic beast, I found I had no more tears to shed. What good would they do me, anyway, apart from the thorough spending of the last of my energy? I needed to stay alert, in case a situation should arise that requires some vigilance.
But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered... would there ever be a moment of my time here in Persia that was not in need of the most extreme prudence and watchfulness? I had begun to break out in a cold sweat as I thought of all I had experienced so far, and of what happened to girls like me in places like this one...
My mind flashed abruptly to an incident I had been faced with on the boat, the mere memory of it spurring on my pounding heart.
It had been a normal day—normal, of course, in reference to the routine that had been established for me since I'd been forced onto this wretched, floating prison. One of the men had just brought me my food, and I'd taken it gingerly before waiting anxiously to hear the slam of the door so I could dispose of the drugged fruit.
But not even a retreating footstep reached my ear; the sailor remained, standing right outside of my cage.
I sat there in silence for several moments, listening and wondering why in the world he lingered. I must have looked such a dumb creature, crouching there on my hands and knees, frozen to the spot...
A shift in the air. Then, suddenly, I heard the cage door shriek open, that unmistakable sound of metal on metal driving me into the back corner, holding my ears. That was my first mistake. I had taken away the advantage of my supernormal sense of hearing, and was now both blind and deaf...
I felt a slight vibration in the floor of the enclosure, as if something had been dropped onto it. But before I could even begin to process what it could be, what could be disrupting my routine, I was suddenly being grabbed by the wrists and forced to the ground, a great weight pressing down on me from above and holding me there. I cried out in shock, only to have my mouth covered by the reeking, rough, indubitable hand of one of my captors.
There was a man atop me, for reasons I could now guess as he pulled up my skirt, and I could do nothing but scream into his hand as he corrupted me.
I thrashed as violently as I could while crushed beneath his weight, shouting and screaming as praying that someone hear me despite the sounds being muffled by both hand and wall. But the man simply adjusted his weight so I could hardly breathe, let alone move, and chuckled in chilling, unrecognizably sloppy French, "No no... be good, corpse bride. Be good..."
I doubt I will ever forget the way his fishy breath hit my face and how my dread at those words was so great that I thought I would be physically sick. I wanted to die, for a quick, merciless death to spare me of this shame, this horror... the aftershocks I knew would remain as a blind victim of rape.
And, to my astounding relief, I got something better than a sudden death... (though, after the panic I had just gone through, was it truly better?)
"کورس! چه کار می کنید، شما احمق تحمل؟"
Another one of the men had entered, yelling in that frantic language I did not understand... I did not comprehend the meaning of his words, but I could hear the anger in them.
The man above me replied, "موزش دوست کوچک فرانسه ما یک یا دو چیز در مورد عشق فارسی." and the smirk in his voice was evident. I had begun to choke for lack of air, and was fading out quickly...
"شما این لحظه بعد خاموش او، و یا من به قطع اندام خود را و پرتاب آنها را به جانوران دریا!"
"اما سنجر، او است بنابراین بسیار زیبا -"
"فعال او! او نیاز به یک عروس باکره را فرشته عذاب است. اگر او می رسد خاکی در برابر دستور شاه، ما برای آن را با زندگی کردن پرداخت!"***
Moments later the weight was gone from my chest, and I rolled over, gasping for air and fighting back sobs before everything, not just my eyes, went dark...
(***TRANSLATION IS AS FOLLOWS:
-Kouros! What are you doing, you insufferable fool?-
-Teaching our little French friend a thing or two about Persian love.-
-You will get off her this next instant, or I will cut off your limbs and throw them to the beasts of the sea!-
-Sanjar, she is so very beautiful— -
-Off her! She needs to be a virgin bride for the Angel of Doom. If she arrives soiled against the Shah's instruction, we will pay for it with our lives!-)
My eyes snapped open with a gasp, and I sat up quickly. I had taken great care to block that out, but now it all came flooding back as I lay here plagued by the silence and my own thoughts. The bed felt very large and daunting indeed as I lay there trembling, and I found myself wishing with a subconscious blush that Erik would in fact return to take me up on my offer, just so I wouldn't be in the room and this suddenly very intimidating bed all alone. But with my twisted sort of protector gone, nothing remained to chase away those awful recollections… my terror at the more recent events of the day… the oppressive uncertainty which plagued me ceaselessly as I wondered what on earth I was going to do.
I hadn't even stepped foot on Persian soil before I was nearly violated in the most intimate and irreparable way! Let alone the reason I was brought here in the first place…
How horribly I felt for thinking so skeptically of a man I hardly knew, a man who had suffered such unimaginable agonies in his two or three decades of life. Poor Erik, the Living Corpse….
But at the same time, how could I help it when every single event I had experienced as of far in both my journey and my day here screamed at me to run, to cry, to cower in fear? The rough men on the boat… the shah and the way he had hungrily caressed me… the shrill, cold voice of his mother… everyone I'd met since I was taken from France seemed to want to hurt me in one way or another. Well, everyone except Nadir, and…
…Erik.
My hand went instinctively to my throat once more, where the now very tender skin just beneath my jawline throbbed with my racing pulse. Hadn't tried to hurt me? He could have killed me. He would have, wanted to… simply because I had touched him. By now I understood why, of course; that face of his, being so… bizarre… well, I knew how cruel humans could be to that which they did not understand. He had most likely been physically abused at least once in his life, let alone the scathing comments I'm certain had been directed towards him left and right. The strain treatment so frightful would leave on one's mentality would certainly be enough to result in such rash paranoia.
I could understand it, yes, but I could not bring myself to fully excuse it. For what if, next time, I was not so lucky as to escape with my life?
The magnitude of wrath, I firmly believe, would have been entirely unimaginable had I not been sitting mere feet from him when he snapped. I had never before been faced with such a vengeful, barbaric, quick-fused temper as when he had snarled like some feral beast and jumped up from his chair at the sound of my surprised gasp. He must have thought that the surprising new occupants of the room were threatening me—and consequently him—in some way, though how he could have missed their entering in the first place was beyond me…
Then he berated and stalked to them as if they were holding a knife to his throat, not offering their services by orders of the queen. And all I could think of as he drew closer and closer to those strange, blubbering girls was, 'He has hurt others before…'
I do not know exactly when I had begun talking out loud. I only started hearing my own words once a hush had fallen over the room, and I could feel three pairs of perplexed eyes upon me. And there was some truth behind the statements that came spilling out! Erik had only been surprised; they shouldn't have just barged into his quarters unsummoned—screaming at the sight of him as if they were entirely the victims! No… none of what I babbled was fabricated in duplicity; I doubt I would have been able to say anything at all if I had been making it all up! But they were an attempt at distracting him from his fury… the women may have disrespected and dehumanized him in his own home, but they certainly did not deserve to be maimed for it.
And that attempt had been proven successful… Erik had listened. Laughed! Not realized or simply allowed me to maneuver him away from his bubbling indignation and into a more light-hearted state of mind. I could hardly comprehend it, though I now found myself saying a prayer of thanks that it had worked. But had it been beginner's luck, or…
Perhaps it was a direct result of his being so physically attracted to me… he had listened because he was hoping to earn my trust so that he might later on get a reward in return—
'Oh you horrible, ungrateful girl! I hissed internally as I curled up, pulling my knees up to my chest beneath the blankets. I could not believe myself more and more with each passing thought. Here I was, dragged to this dangerous country by coercion—yet the man I had been brought here to marry was, while obviously dangerous and slightly unstable, a righteous, chivalrous soul who had promised me my virtue despite his civil right to it! I should be praising God that I was his "gift", not letting chary thoughts drive me into a state of panic.
And, I realized, if I wanted to survive here, I was going to have to learn to banish these frantic thoughts. To fully trust him.
But could I? Did I already, somehow?
I could empathize with him, to a certain extent… I too had been born with a defect that had caused people to treat me differently. Not cruelly, as I was now certain he had been regarded, but differently, definitely. An outcast of sorts. And once two people have related to one another on such a level, it is difficult to just take a step back and pretend it had never happened!
Not to mention the great care he had taken with me so far… for it was obvious, as subsequently stated, that he was, at the very least, drawn to me. That was manifest in his every stiff movement, the burning feeling of his every lingering, passionate gaze, his boiling papery skin which pulsed with the desirous thrum of his accelerated heartbeat… Erik had long been denied physical love and by God did he want it now. But he had forced himself to swallow those blistering coals of yearning; he had refrained and led me around with mumbled responses to my questions like the greatest of gentlemen. And how could I not trust that?
In truth, he had treated me with more respect and attentiveness than some of the men back at home would have. For he had not addressed me simply and apathetically, as they often had (or as I'm certain many of the other men around here would have as they forced me back onto the bed to assuage themselves!), but with prudent, thoughtful words and actions. It was amazing, really, how in control of himself he was despite being in such a powerful position in which he could have just done what he wanted, as opposed to what was right. I was impressed, and I found that I did in fact seem to trust him.
And as soon as that resolution had passed through my mind, it was as if a world of apprehension had been lifted off my shoulders. I had someone I knew I could trust in this frightening place… not to mention someone so well-built and daunting that could easily keep me safe should anything pose a threat to me. And all for the price of artless companionship, friendship to one who had never been allowed—or, perhaps allowed himself—such natural human camaraderie before. That was nothing I couldn't handle, especially when said companion was so mysterious, so endlessly, fascinatingly gifted...
But would he find me equally as interesting? Oh dear; would I be able to keep from boring him, a genius, when I was so… ordinary? What if he should grow dissatisfied with me and get rid of me, as he had the other woman—
No… he had said himself that he had learned from that mistake, that he would not be the cause of another innocent's death. He hadn't known when he'd sent her away—another morally upright gesture, I might add!—that she would be executed; now that he did, he would keep me for that reason, if nothing else.
I was safe.
Oh, how wonderful a phrase that was! How glorious a thought: no more rough men would touch me simply because I could not see them coming. So long as I acted the part of a wife, my "fiancé" and Persian tradition would act as my shield. But now the question was indeed, how was I to act it?
Well, firstly, I would have to stay by Erik's side at all times… apart, of course, from the days he was away on business for the shah. During those periods in solitude, I quickly made a mental note, I must find Nadir, or perhaps make myself another trustworthy friend to stay with. For though I knew that as long as I was considered Erik's property and he was present to claim me, I would be virtually untouchable. But God only knew what would happen once he had disappeared and I was left alone and vulnerable.
I would have to tend to my dark master's needs; I knew he would protest my waiting upon him—ever the gentleman—in his dedication to his promise, but I didn't see how I could avoid it if I was to appear at all genuine. Besides, I didn't mind. I enjoyed cooking, cleaning, doing odd jobs around the home… I'd always been a hard worker, and, as a result, such things had become an intuitive part of my daily routine. Yes, I could easily play the part of housewife… it was only other areas of wifeliness that I knew next to nothing about. And that was the aspect Erik had already quite vehemently declared I would not have to perform. Perhaps, in later weeks, we would kiss in public to abolish wholly any outside suspicions. But, besides that (which made me color bright red all over again!), my role was a relatively easy and extremely familiar one. Oh praise God; perhaps I would eventually grow comfortable here! For the only things left that I truly feared were the Shah and his mother…
But no, I would not think of them tonight. I was exhausted, I had thought through the majority of my concerns and how I would control them, and now it was time to banish the ones I had no control over to the backmost part of my consciousness. To wind down, to fall into a peaceful sleep…
I resolved to focus on more trivial thoughts, thoughts that would not lead to any deeper contemplations and would (I certainly hoped!) eventually lull me to sleep. The first that came to mind was, unsurprisingly, of the rich scent emanating off of me; I had been breathing it in since I had stepped out of the long, warm bath I had been given. Perhaps that is why I had not so much as protested when those strange women began to scrub every part of my body, having no boundaries or inhibition as they cleansed and massaged and chattered over me—the sweet odor was practically paralyzing in its delicate, intoxicating saccharinity. Upon my first few inhalations, I found my head swimming in the dizzy haze the cloud put me in, as if it were not simply oils but some sort of sorceress's potion! I recognized rose, vanilla, lavender… but they were blended in perfect harmony with an array of other aromas I didn't recognize in a way that somehow enhanced their pleasurable scents even further, instead of just overwhelming them. It made me wonder what sort of expensive, lavish oil it was, and why the Khanum had given it to me…
But no, I could not let my mind drift there! Not if I ever wanted to get to sleep, and there was no doubt that, starting tomorrow, I would need that rest. I set back to my petty observations, settling next on the clothing I wore…
Oh, I don't think I have even worn such fine, supple garments! I could tell that the fabric was very thin indeed—another conquest for Erik, I couldn't help but add as I imagined what I must have looked like, based off of the times my dear friends had attempted to explain what sheerness appeared like for those with sight—but it was so soft and snug and silky on my skin that I didn't care. Besides, I was in the desert now. I doubt I would be wearing anything much thicker ever again, even when I was out and about during the day. But I was perfectly content with such a notion, so long as any future outfits were as sleek and comfortable as this one!
And then there was the bed… mon Dieu, why had I been worried about climbing into it? I never wanted to leave it, now. It was obviously very expensively cushioned, for I sank down into the mattress as if it were molded specifically to fit my body. The sheets which encompassed me were silk, and somehow kept me at such a temperature that, despite the Arabian night being balmy and arid, I was just warm and just cool enough. Erik's entire wing, in fact, was a wonderfully pleasant temperature… no doubt another miraculous product of his virtuosity…
And it was beginning to placate me into lethargy. The combination of the nightclothes, the strong perfume, and the gloriously soft bed left me heavy-eyed and fading quickly, and soon I found that I could only move my lips to smile as I sank lower and lower into the bed. But no sooner was I barely half conscious did those troublesome thoughts return: the khanum's sharp laugh, the shah's impious hands, the breath of the man who had tried to violate me on the boat… I longed to pull the covers up over my head like a small child, but found that I was not alert enough to move. Oh, I was so frightened… would not anyone come to help me?
God only knows how long I lay there, drifting in and out of this occult, anxious half-consciousness. I swiftly lost track of what was dream and what was waking reality…
…but at one point, I could have sworn I felt the mattress beneath me sag with the weight of another being clambering onto it, followed by a peaceful period of untroubled solace.
~o~0~o~
Erik's POV
"Come and see the Living Corpse!"
A thrum of anxious excitement and thrilled, terrified anticipation washed over the crowd. I had long ago stopped holding out hope that perhaps they would remain excited once my mask had fluttered to the floor of my prison, appreciate me for my talents and ignore my cursed appearance.
I began my routine, playing my precious violin and singing arias for them. I made the opulent hat of a rich old woman in the crowd talk, earning me everything from gasps of awe to accusations of satanic involvement. I even was allowed to sketch one of the paying observers, today… but as soon as I had finished and revealed my completed masterpiece to the crowd, Javert entered and ripped my mask from my face.
Screaming. Sobbing. Women fainting, men shouting death threats. As I child, I would have been frightened by such commotions. Now, they were simply an inescapable part of my life which irritated me only in their lack of musicality. You could write symphonies about the feeling of human misery, but there was no way to put into a sonata the senseless noise of that which caused it.
I was beaten next, to appease the uproarious crowd, and then my cage was locked once more and they were all led out, leaving me along in my tent. I lie motionless on the floor in fear of enhancing the pain…
But then, I realized that I was not alone after all.
I turned my head slightly to see a young girl standing by the bars of my cage… a young girl with long, silken red hair, bright blue eyes, and the most angelically beautiful face I had ever seen…
I was instantaneously drawn to her, and, despite the throbbing it caused, I sat up and crawled to where she stood, mere inches from my bare, emaciated face. She smiled at me then, the stunning grin appearing like the sun breaking through the ireful, swirling clouds of a hurricane. I was choked; when had anyone ever looked at me in all my abominable ugliness and smiled? Much less one as beautiful as she—
A moment later, she was gone. I was no longer in my cage. I was in a tent… the finest tent in the entire gypsy camp… and I was on the ground of that tent, my back pressed up against the costly carpet as Javert grinned with wolfish lust down at me—
My eyes snapped open, and I sat up with a shuddering gasp as my hand flew instinctively to my Punjab lasso. I was still at my desk, and whether I had actually fallen asleep or simply drifted off into one of my dark, waking nightmares, I did not know.
I had what my halfway friend Marie Perrault used to call an "overactive imagination". She, being a longtime companion of my mother, had known what had truly caused my morbid conceptions and rancorous machinations—abuse and neglect—but she had always seemed to want to justify it… though whether to me or to herself as she let my mother beat me each day, I never quite figured out. All I was certain of is that I had been thoroughly scarred as a child, and we all know—I most of all—that the largest scars never do fully heal.
I sat back in my chair, reaching up to take my mask off before realizing it was already hanging neatly on a hook in the corner of the room. I could only stare at it for a moment, remembering that part of my dream that was in fact, not merely a vision…
…or was she? Dare I hope that the occurrences of the day had been a tangible reality, not simply the sweetest dream I had ever been blessed with? They seemed so… so impossible, Goddammit!
I stood up suddenly, the fingers of my left hand twitching uncertainly as I walked to the door and gazed down the hallway. Mon dieu, I shouldn't. It wasn't… wasn't right. I had made a promise…
But how could I know that I had truly made such a vow if I did not first reaffirm that she was real?
Serena… that was the pretty, red-headed girl's name. Serena…
I stumbled down the hall to the door, reaching for the door after a moment's hesitation and opening it the tiniest of guilty cracks.
My eyes had always been very attuned to the dark; it was one of the things my mother always found so unsettling about me. But my catlike vision had come in handy, many a time…
There she was. Lying quietly on my bed, her breathing slightly uneven and her face puckered in some sort of slumbering distress. Oh, she was so beautiful… not nearly as beautiful as in my vision, when she was smiling so brilliantly, but beautiful nonetheless…
'I wonder why she looks so uneasy, even in her sleep… no doubt she is dreaming of you; you monster, you impious beast!' Javert's cold laugh reverberated in my head, and I had to bite my lip to stifle a moan of trepidation and angst.
When had I entered the room, walked to the bedside? How long had I been standing above her, staring in conflict? I so longed for comfort, for a woman to hold me and whisper to me that she would make the world bright again for me, to be able to kiss every inch of her body without her flinching away in disgust—
I knew what I wanted. But, despite my drowsiness and indistinctness of thought, I also knew what I had guaranteed and undertaken. I had sanctioned that she was real, and now I had to get out before she woke and found me standing before her like a thief in the night.
But when I looked back at the door, I could practically see Javert standing there, beckoning me back into my ghastly, petrifying nightmares with that same, hungry smile.
And tonight, after being uncovered and left so vulnerable by the woman lying not five feet from where I stood, I couldn't find the strength to face them.
So instead, I slipped off my shoes and shrugged off my waistcoat, shamefaced and guilt-ridden as a child, and slid silently into the bed at her feet. I dared not lie next to her, as a normal man would his wife—I could never hope to deserve such comfort, such blessed pleasure. But, curled up at her feet, feeling the warmth of another living, breathing presence not inches away… I found my thin eyelids closing as I slipped into one of the first dreamless respites I have experienced in months.
Rough A/N: Hello my dear readers! I know I'm posting a bit later in the day; I've had some long rehearsals lately. But here is the newest installment; I hope you enjoy it!
Notice the parallels between parts one and two (Serena and Erik's POV's): the restless dreams, the longing for comfort… foreshadowing, perhaps? I suppose you'll just have to wait and see…
Song of the week: 'Vulnerable' by Secondhand Serenade!
Question of the week: In honor of the Khanum's wily, evil concoctions… what's your favorite scent? I'd have to say mine's vanilla… but new books, lavender, and wet concrete (I know… but weird as it sounds I love it!) come in close second, third, and fourth. R&R an answer, a critique, an idea you'd like to see… I'm very open to those considerations! I don't bite; sometimes they even inspire an event in my stories! Much love, m'dears! ~DonJuana
