Alright! It's been a year and then some. But I have updated! So hah! Hah on you! Thanks for emailing and reviewing. You really got me working…even if it took a long time. Thank you.
Erm…I'll probably clean this up at some point. But I NEED to put something up. Hope none of you have to seek therapy again…but this is pretty tame.
Everything was dark.
The contents of the mug were a dark red, and sometimes, depending on how the cup was turned, a flash of dully shining crimson lit the surface: a flare of garnets, or perhaps the gleam shadowed blood.
The wood of the table was dark. The varnished wood suffered the flickers of light and shadow to play across its surface, chasing back and forth in a game that would last as long as the fire.
The fire was a mass of gleaming red embers, burning sullenly, swamped by the gloom. Occasionally a flame would leap from the pile, searching desperately for something to consume. There was nothing but the smoke-laden air, and the single thread of fire would flicker, curl in on itself, and retreat back to its bed.
She sat in the chair, feet shifting against the soft surface. Her body still ached, a deep, pulsing hurt that thrummed against her insides, like the incessant beating of a drum. Sometimes a crash of cymbals would resound from deep inside, and her back would stiffen, fingers clenching around her cup as her mouth swallowed an unsteady gasp.
Lifting the cup, she gulped the hot liquid. The mulled wine sank through her chest, curled in her stomach, then oozed outwards. Warmth radiated through her, and the pain dulled. Her head fell back against the chair, and she closed her eyes.
Now she could feel his gaze. It prickled on her skin, sending involuntary twitches through her shoulders. A sob rose in her throat, expelled into her mouth, and wheezed out.
It hurt.
There had been a time when she thought it would never happen. There had been boundaries, gossamer-thin, true, but they had still existed. And now…what was she left with? Crescents of blood on her back and hips? A wound that, even when there was no trace of it, still pounded with remembered pain?
"What do I have now?"
The darkness under her eyelids held no answers, nor did the soft crackling of the fire. Silence enfolded her. From the chair on the other side of the fire came the soft noises of fabrics being slid over each other. She did not open her eyes as footsteps approached her. If she looked into that face she would…
What would she do?
Scream? No, her throat was sore enough. Besides, she had screamed half the night away under his ministrations. There was no need for more noise.
Fight? To what end? She had tried it, fought with every fleck of power she possessed, and it had accomplished nothing but a few extra bruises and wrists raw from manacles tightened in anger.
Cry? No, again no. All her emotions and reactions were spent. She floated on a mental expanse of nothingness. All fight and will were gone, driven out by pain and fear.
Cool hands touched her face, tilting her head upwards. She felt the pull and complied, but did not open her eyes. Whatever her reaction was, she did not want to know it.
"What do you have now? The same as you had before, save a little skin and blood. Your mind is overwhelmed, but untouched. The turmoil in your heart will cease, and you will feel again. Your soul bleeds black despair, but it cannot flow forever. Nothing can be taken from you if you choose not to give it." His voice was quiet, and the words passed though her ears and landed somewhere inside, and she felt their impact.
She opened her eyes and looked into his.