Sibilant whispers pressed against her mind, a hundred fragmented thoughts
that were not her own wearing steadily at the already frayed edges of her
sanity. Whimpering, she curled into an even tighter ball, burying her head
under her thin pillow and trying to plug her ears. It wouldn't work, she
knew. It never worked. But she still tried.
The voices yelled and murmured, flavored with anger and pain and lust. She cowered further into the corner beneath her tiny cot, trying to hide. Why were they angry at her? Why did they hate her, desire to use her, to hurt her? What had she done wrong?
Worthless slut. Bitch. Whore. Bad girls deserve beatings.
Nonononononono! ::GOAWAYLEAVEMEALONE!::
::??::
She froze, heart pounding.
::??::
Her pulse thundered in her ears, almost enough to drown out the whispering voices, the cruel words within her mind. Shaking, she waited, frightened of that alien touch and yet longing for its return. It was gentle, soft, like the fluffy fur of a puppy. It made the other voices go away.
She concentrated hard, giving herself a headache as she waited for that strange, curious presence to return. She waited until exhaustion claimed her, pulling her down into the sweet silence of sleep.
= = = = = = = = = = = = =
The day time voices were never as bad as the night time voices. Distracted mutters, elusive concerns that didn't affect little girls; they filled the back of her mind, dulling into a muted murmur that reminded her of rain on the roof. She was able to ignore the day time voices, usually, concentrating upon her own tasks and chores.
"Hello, pretty Yyira," cooed a sultry, feminine voice as she exited the wash house where she lived with her mother.
"Hello, mistress Maela." Yyira responded politely. The tall, smoky-eyed woman who ran the brothel next door scared Yyira, always looking at her with an expression like a cobra about to strike.
So pretty, little Yyira. So pretty and so young. I have some clients who'll love having the breaking of you.
"W-what?!" Yyira yelped, as Maela's husky voice echoed in her head louder than in her ears.
The whore frowned, not liking the girl's sudden panic. "I just asked, pretty Yyira, where you are going all alone."
Yyira blinked, confused. Didn't she..? "Ragman's Row, mistress." She reached back into the still open doorway and pulled out a large, double- handled woven wicker basket filled with carefully folded, clean but heavily worn clothing.
"Such a long walk for a pretty child all alone," Maela purred.
Such a perfectly long walk for a child to disappear.
Images began to flash in Yyira's mind, dark images of cruel faced men and terrified little girls. Yyira screamed, tripping over and spilling the basket of clothing in her rush to get back inside the wash house. Mother would protect her, mother would know what to do.
= = = = = = = = = = = = =
Mother didn't believe her. "You will march right over there tomorrow and apologize to mistress Maela for your /rude/ behavior, young lady! And stop making up such horrible lies! Maela runs a clean brothel."
= = = = = = = = = = = = =
Terrified and sick, Yyira cried, curled up in a miserable ball underneath her tiny cot. She couldn't go to Maela's, she just couldn't! She'd never get away, never get away again. Not ever again. Never get away.
Never get away. Never get away. Get away. Get away. Get away. Have to get away from here. Have to get away. Have to run. Have to run. Have to run away.
Hiccoughing as she swallowed the last of her tears, Yyira held her breath and listened, straining to hear any sound that might indicate her mother was still awake.
Stupid whore. Ungrateful bitch.
Have to get away. Have to run away. Runawayrunawayrunaway.
The house was silent, except for the furtive scrabbling of rats in the walls. Yyira crawled out from under her cot and got dressed. Then she tiptoed into the tiny kitchen, wincing and freezing at each creak of the floor boards. A crust of bread and a rind of cheese were folded carefully into a ragged handkerchief. She hesitated over the precious, wrinkled winter apples, and then stuck one in her pocket.
She stopped at the door, afraid to go out. What if Mother was right? What if she was just being a bad girl, making up stories about mistress Maela. A lying, bad little girl.
Bad girl. Bad girls deserve beatings. She flew from the house in a panicked rush, heart pounding in time to the frantic pace of her running. Or maybe she was running to the pounding of her heart. Voices chased her, laughing and cruel, echoing over and over again inside her head. She ran without direction, without thought, only knowing that she had to get away, had to run away.
= = = = = = = = = = = = =
::Are you sure?::
The kyree at his side snorted, shaking her head. ::My son may still be a cub, but he knows what he felt.::
Winterstar sighed, wrinkling his nose in disgust. He and his companion stood at the edge of what used to be the local kyree clan's territory, looking down at a filthy, slovenly hovel of a city. Slums spilled outside of the walls, spreading out across the landscape like a diseased growth upon the earth's skin.
::Who ever he heard isn't Tayledras. Isn't kyree. It's none of our concern.::
A glimmer of white teeth warned him that she /could/ bite him. ::She's just a cub, Winterstar. And she's Gifted.::
Winterstar sighed again. This was a bad idea. ::The Elders are going to-::
::Hush! Look! There!::
He strained his eyes in the direction his companion pointed with her muzzle, straining to see in the deeper shadows surrounding the city. And then he saw it, a small, slender figure running for all it was worth, arms and legs pumping furiously.
= = = = = = = = = = = = =
Blinded be fear, Yyira ran as fast as she could. Paused. Stumbled and staggered, fought to regain her breath, and then ran again. Over and over, until there were no more walls to lean against, no more buildings blotting out the starlit horizon, no more shadowed alleys hiding monsters that might or might not be figments of a child's imagination.
She ran until she couldn't run anymore, but still she went on, staggering, exhausted.
And fell back hard on her rump as she walked into a wall. No, not a wall, a. man?
A shadow was all she could see, topped by a silver cascade of moonlit hair. Fear twisted her gut, panic drove her back to her feet. Terror froze her in place as a monster stalked out of the shadows beside the figure. Yellow eyes gleamed.
::You're safe now, cub.::
The voices yelled and murmured, flavored with anger and pain and lust. She cowered further into the corner beneath her tiny cot, trying to hide. Why were they angry at her? Why did they hate her, desire to use her, to hurt her? What had she done wrong?
Worthless slut. Bitch. Whore. Bad girls deserve beatings.
Nonononononono! ::GOAWAYLEAVEMEALONE!::
::??::
She froze, heart pounding.
::??::
Her pulse thundered in her ears, almost enough to drown out the whispering voices, the cruel words within her mind. Shaking, she waited, frightened of that alien touch and yet longing for its return. It was gentle, soft, like the fluffy fur of a puppy. It made the other voices go away.
She concentrated hard, giving herself a headache as she waited for that strange, curious presence to return. She waited until exhaustion claimed her, pulling her down into the sweet silence of sleep.
= = = = = = = = = = = = =
The day time voices were never as bad as the night time voices. Distracted mutters, elusive concerns that didn't affect little girls; they filled the back of her mind, dulling into a muted murmur that reminded her of rain on the roof. She was able to ignore the day time voices, usually, concentrating upon her own tasks and chores.
"Hello, pretty Yyira," cooed a sultry, feminine voice as she exited the wash house where she lived with her mother.
"Hello, mistress Maela." Yyira responded politely. The tall, smoky-eyed woman who ran the brothel next door scared Yyira, always looking at her with an expression like a cobra about to strike.
So pretty, little Yyira. So pretty and so young. I have some clients who'll love having the breaking of you.
"W-what?!" Yyira yelped, as Maela's husky voice echoed in her head louder than in her ears.
The whore frowned, not liking the girl's sudden panic. "I just asked, pretty Yyira, where you are going all alone."
Yyira blinked, confused. Didn't she..? "Ragman's Row, mistress." She reached back into the still open doorway and pulled out a large, double- handled woven wicker basket filled with carefully folded, clean but heavily worn clothing.
"Such a long walk for a pretty child all alone," Maela purred.
Such a perfectly long walk for a child to disappear.
Images began to flash in Yyira's mind, dark images of cruel faced men and terrified little girls. Yyira screamed, tripping over and spilling the basket of clothing in her rush to get back inside the wash house. Mother would protect her, mother would know what to do.
= = = = = = = = = = = = =
Mother didn't believe her. "You will march right over there tomorrow and apologize to mistress Maela for your /rude/ behavior, young lady! And stop making up such horrible lies! Maela runs a clean brothel."
= = = = = = = = = = = = =
Terrified and sick, Yyira cried, curled up in a miserable ball underneath her tiny cot. She couldn't go to Maela's, she just couldn't! She'd never get away, never get away again. Not ever again. Never get away.
Never get away. Never get away. Get away. Get away. Get away. Have to get away from here. Have to get away. Have to run. Have to run. Have to run away.
Hiccoughing as she swallowed the last of her tears, Yyira held her breath and listened, straining to hear any sound that might indicate her mother was still awake.
Stupid whore. Ungrateful bitch.
Have to get away. Have to run away. Runawayrunawayrunaway.
The house was silent, except for the furtive scrabbling of rats in the walls. Yyira crawled out from under her cot and got dressed. Then she tiptoed into the tiny kitchen, wincing and freezing at each creak of the floor boards. A crust of bread and a rind of cheese were folded carefully into a ragged handkerchief. She hesitated over the precious, wrinkled winter apples, and then stuck one in her pocket.
She stopped at the door, afraid to go out. What if Mother was right? What if she was just being a bad girl, making up stories about mistress Maela. A lying, bad little girl.
Bad girl. Bad girls deserve beatings. She flew from the house in a panicked rush, heart pounding in time to the frantic pace of her running. Or maybe she was running to the pounding of her heart. Voices chased her, laughing and cruel, echoing over and over again inside her head. She ran without direction, without thought, only knowing that she had to get away, had to run away.
= = = = = = = = = = = = =
::Are you sure?::
The kyree at his side snorted, shaking her head. ::My son may still be a cub, but he knows what he felt.::
Winterstar sighed, wrinkling his nose in disgust. He and his companion stood at the edge of what used to be the local kyree clan's territory, looking down at a filthy, slovenly hovel of a city. Slums spilled outside of the walls, spreading out across the landscape like a diseased growth upon the earth's skin.
::Who ever he heard isn't Tayledras. Isn't kyree. It's none of our concern.::
A glimmer of white teeth warned him that she /could/ bite him. ::She's just a cub, Winterstar. And she's Gifted.::
Winterstar sighed again. This was a bad idea. ::The Elders are going to-::
::Hush! Look! There!::
He strained his eyes in the direction his companion pointed with her muzzle, straining to see in the deeper shadows surrounding the city. And then he saw it, a small, slender figure running for all it was worth, arms and legs pumping furiously.
= = = = = = = = = = = = =
Blinded be fear, Yyira ran as fast as she could. Paused. Stumbled and staggered, fought to regain her breath, and then ran again. Over and over, until there were no more walls to lean against, no more buildings blotting out the starlit horizon, no more shadowed alleys hiding monsters that might or might not be figments of a child's imagination.
She ran until she couldn't run anymore, but still she went on, staggering, exhausted.
And fell back hard on her rump as she walked into a wall. No, not a wall, a. man?
A shadow was all she could see, topped by a silver cascade of moonlit hair. Fear twisted her gut, panic drove her back to her feet. Terror froze her in place as a monster stalked out of the shadows beside the figure. Yellow eyes gleamed.
::You're safe now, cub.::
