Nine

Sighing, I walk back over to where Vaati is, and sit down on the hammock.

"You're fond of Shadow, are you not?" Vaati says, crossing his arms and leaning against the tree to where the hammock is tied.

"Why do you call him Shadow?" I answer his question with one myself.

"Because it is what he is. The shadow of Link. Born only because Link was facing great confusion when he was born, so the dark side of his soul got split into its own person. One side light, Link, and one side dark, Shadow Link."

"But he's no shadow. He has substance, I can feel him." I protest.

Vaati raises an eyebrow and says, "So I noticed."

I purse my lips and tell him. "And to answer your question, yes, I am slightly fond of Dark. But don't go around telling him that."

"Oh, I won't. But don't you get tired of not getting an answer from him?" Vaati sits down next to me.

I shake my head, "Not really. I feel that he will tell me on his choosing, and not mine."

"You are a very patient woman." Vaati say as he puts his arm around me.

I try to shrug him off and say, "You know that Dark told you not to touch me."

But Vaati keeps his place, and shrugs. "What Shadow doesn't know won't hurt him." He places his arm around me again.

"Oh he'll know. Somehow he does with me. I have no idea why."

Vaati raises his eyebrows.

"What...?" I ask, looking over at him.

"I have... My own theories, although I would rather Shadow call me on it before you knowing."

"And why is that?" Now I raise my eyebrows.

Vaati mumbles something that sounds like, "You're his, I have no control over you..." That can't be though, but he also removes his arm from around me and stands.

"You should get some sleep." He mumbles loud enough for me to hear, and Vaati walks off to some distant campsite.

Sighing, I lie down on the hammock and try to get some sleep. Almost instantly, my eyes flutter closed...

I dream of my father, Lucero, beating me, after I have been bad for some reason. He hits me once, twice, and thrice. Coming down for the third time, I know he's coming, so I brace for impact, screwing my eyes shut. But it doesn't come, so I open my eyes slightly.

My father has his fist about a foot from my face. He retracts it, seeing me brace. He raises his eyebrows and pulls me to my feet, looking more murderous than he has in days.

"You know not to do that, wretch." He drags me by my wrists to a barn near the house, where there are rafters, and room to put up shackles on them.

No, no, no, no... My mind repeats the same word over and over again as I realise what he means to do.

The Pamkayrd, a torture tool, is designed like a short, non-flexible whip, about three quarters of a foot long, that has a magical, metallic tip on the end that cuts and inserts slow acting poison into the body, and my worst nightmare.

I've only gotten it twice before this, and for days after, I was in a stupor, only able to recognise the slow, grueling pain of my father raping me. The Pamkayrd, for me, means inevitable violation. And as my father drags me over to the shackles, I start to cry.

He makes me stand with my hands above my head, on my toes so I have to allow the shackles to cut into my wrists, not being able to hold up my own weight. I am not able to stand, think, or even hardly breathe as he makes contact with the Pamkayrd to my skin.

I scream in pain and twist on the iron cuffs when the hits come. He hits me mercilessly, countless times. Dragging the Pamkayrd across my bare torso, my father grins maniacally. Slow, unbearable pain and torture come to me in the better part of two hours, me only half conscious during most of it. After he thinks he's sufficiently taught me a lesson, my father undoes my bonds and I collapse onto the hay covered, and blood covered, dirt ground. He doesn't seem to care all that much about me, so he just grabs my chafed wrists and drags me back into the house, only to be molested countless more times.

What did I do to deserve this? I think to myself as my father throws me onto the settee and undoes my belt buckle.—

Gasping, I wrench myself out of the memory before it can go further. To help me forget it, I think of Dark.

Is he okay? He'd better come back. I cross my left arm on my torso against the cold and retrieve the blanket that fell off during my slumber with the right.

Wrapping it around me, I glance towards the ruins and imagine what he's doing at this moment...