Author's Notes: The reviews for the last chapter made me so darn happy! It's awesome to see so many different perspectives! Remember once upon a time I told you I could resurrect the Emperor and make him and Abby Lynn fall in love?! Don't worry, it's unlikely XD But why do I bring this up again? Because I am an awful person who has so much nonsense planned for this fic...That being said, this chapter was designed to make you uncomfortable. Things are never sunshine and farts here - just farts, mostly. Trying to portray the suckage of this chapter is draining. WRITING this chapter was draining! It was very difficult to put together and had me facepalming quite a bit. So~trigger warnings and such. Meh.
WARNING: This chapter is rated M. for Sexual Situations. You have been warned.
Love or Blood
Chapter Forty-five: Ownership
xxxx
I was mortified. Knowing that my denial had so violently twisted the man before me was disturbing. Part of me did not want to believe it - could not believe it, but it was the awful truth, and at present it stared me in the face. "I..." My mouth went dry. I didn't know how to react. I thought of the wrath the Count unleashed on me that terrible night. I had thought my refusal was gentle, we could have both pretended that his feelings did not exist. Neither of us would be hurt or embarrassed then. But it was not so. He saw through it all and held it against me. And now I stood before him, denying him once more. But I had not been kind this time around, and now I feared the repercussions more than ever.
My senses heightened as I stared up at him, finding his critical gaze more unsettling than before. I shifted my footing, feeling apprehensive and caught. No words came to my mind though I knew he wished to hear me speak. Eventually, his expression changed, his face was stoic, appearing almost apathetic. Only his eyes gave him away. "You look as though you've seen a ghost." He commented lamely. I only shook my head in response. "Did you really believe my anger that night to be unprompted? I don't take such treatment lightly."
But the Count took nothing 'lightly'. He never did. Every action, whether purposeful or not, could pose a great personal wrong to him. I had learned this while being in his charge and accepted it. I did not mind it so much as I endeavored to please him. I had hoped that one day I would learn how to mold myself to his preference. However, that was before he developed feelings for me. Only in my current musings did I realize how off it all was. He claimed that he cared for me but what he wanted was the 'me' that I designed for him. It was a strange realization that left a bitter taste in my mouth.
Recognizing this pulled me into more uncomfortable thoughts. I wondered what would have happened if I refused his advances on the night we slept together. What if I had pushed him away and told him no? Would he have stopped? The unknown had me worrying my lip.
"Currently, I am permitting this abuse of my person as we are both under a great amount of stress. But what little patience and tolerance I have are wearing thin. It would be wise of you to rethink your coping strategies." He was attempting to bully me into compliance, using my obvious fear of him against me. It stung so because I still cared for him deeply, though I was beginning to question whether or not I should. I only nodded in reply, hoping that the action would satisfy him. Unfortunately for me, it didn't. "Your twisted ways drive me to the brink of madness." Internally I scoffed. My twisted ways? I thought it was comical in a gruesome way. Still, I said nothing, only following his statement with another small nod. My silent agreement agitated him further. He squared his shoulders, bringing himself to his full height, and glared. "You delight in this then? Turning me into a lunatic is amusing to you? Perhaps it was your behavior, coupled with my delirium that caused me to think you could ever care for a wretch like me."
His self-pity made me turn away. I did not like how he was trying to work me. The Count knew I cared for him and he wished to use that compassion to his benefit, hoping that I would feel for his plight. "If you cannot bully me you try for my pity." I finally answered him, though my voice went no higher than a whisper. "Please take your own advice Sir and change your strategy. This one does not suit you. With you being so much more honest, stronger and better than me, my pity should be of little consequence to you."
The Count then put both hands on my shoulders and forced me to face him once more. I averted my eyes from his, not ready for the scolding that I knew was imminent. "I never said that. Never have I said that I am better than you. You are putting words in my mouth." He snapped.
"It does not need to be said," I answered with surprising quickness. I felt that I was no longer in command of my nerves. My mouth and mind no longer worked in harmony. Control was difficult being that I was always afraid, angry and hurt. My words ran away from me or they didn't show themselves at all. Speaking had always been a laborious task - now more so. I was afraid that my mouth would get me into further trouble with the Count, but his constant provoking was impossible to ignore. "It's in your actions." I heard myself continue, rather than willingly doing so. "You like being better and greater. You wave around your control. You enjoy having ownership of me."
I flinched from the harshness of my voice and false boldness. I tried not to glare at him, I tried not to look at him, but I did. It was all so hard and made me feel so weak. I still had to keep myself compliant, passive and obedient without giving into his wishes, and sometimes I slipped. It was exceedingly difficult to always keep the bite from my tone or the obvious unease from my gaze.
His eyes narrowed as he studied my face. "You believe that?" He muttered, then followed the question with a small bout of silence and uncomfortable looks. I readied myself for his rebuke, expecting it to be a crude remark or a passive verbal abuse of himself. What I received, however, was nothing short of eerie. He smiled. Something between a smirk and a grin slowly made its way across his features. It was unsettling. "I do. You've found me out then," He spoke slowly as he stared me down, that crooked grin still plastered on his face. I blinked and recoiled slightly, unsure how I was to handle his words and behavior. "Owning you pleases me greatly! Knowing that I possess you entirely...every part, every inch, every hair on your pretty head," As if to force the point he reached up and cupped the back of my head, drawing me in closer. "There is no greater pleasure! Every bit of you is mine and everything you see and touch is mine as well. You are my possession among my possessions. And I can do as I please with what is mine. It is in my power. It is in my ownership! I am entitled to you."
His words greatly disturbed me. I wasn't sure how I was supposed to react to them. Despite the heaviness of his statement, the Count spoke with false merriment. He was mocking me. I glared at the dark fabric of his shirt as he continued. "That's right, everything, Abigale Lynn. I own everything. You have no right to yourself and if I could I would control your every move and more. Your thoughts even." After that, he dropped his guise, all pleasure had gone from him. "Isn't this what you've wanted to hear me say? You paint me as such a monster. You are so blinded by your hate and fear of me that you no longer see reason."
My jaw was locked tight and eyes narrowed. He had ridiculed me to the point of tears but I let none shed. I believed my fears of him were more than justifiable, he could brandish them like a weapon and did just that as he saw fit. His hand still at the back of my head was the greatest irritant as he forced me to face him, but I did my best to keep from meeting his gaze. I wondered if I had ever been so angry at him before. It was strange.
The Count could plainly see my rage but it did not deter him in the least. I remained ever silent as he spoke. "Think of me however you will, but while knowing this: there is some truth to what I said, as I do own you. I could do with you as I please. I could take whatever I want and place you wherever I wish." He released me then but his eyes held me in place just as firmly as his hands could. "Which is why I hope you find this all the more meaningful...watch me now, your wicked master, as I take my leave."
He turned from me then, satisfied with my state, and went to leave the room. I wondered for a moment what he hoped to achieve by tormenting me so. Was I supposed to give in to him in attempts to stop this nonsense? It was awful and unnecessary and I could take no more. As he opened the door my mouth ran away from me again, "You're right." I heard myself snap. "I am foolish for being afraid. Your kindness, honesty, and generosity are boundless. Look how happy your 'benevolent' ways have made me!" My ears were ringing from my own anger, though I was trying my best to keep it in check. Did I cross the line? I did not think so. Did I want to? Yes, desperately.
The Count's movements came to a grinding halt. The one boot he had out of the door reentered the chamber. I immediately steeled myself. I felt that I had won a small victory for speaking but in turn, I put myself in hot water. It was a double-edged sword. He leisurely turned toward me then, the door softly closing behind him. "Oh? What's this now?" He asked as he sauntered over until we were again toe-to-toe. "Do come again, Abigale. I don't think I heard you correctly. Though I could have sworn I heard something very ungrateful and very, very brave."
My chest heaved. I could not stand this anymore. He wanted my love, my pity, my support and my approval yet he had no idea how to retrieve these things. He was grasping at straws now and I still would not budge - I refused to. The Count's temper worsened when all did not go his way and this was no different. So he used that anger indirectly against me. Instead of outright shouts and slurs he covertly worked his fury, shaping it into the appropriate tool for the action he thought best. In this case, he hoped to wear me down and was succeeding. Being belittled for days on end had worn away my resolve, but the outcome was not as he had anticipated. I was not in the least bit contrite. "You're right," I repeated with my head turned up to him as I finally met his stare. "I have no reason to be afraid of you. Anything you could have done to hurt me...you already did it."
I watched on as his expression changed, going from incredulous to unreadable in moments. The Count's eyes searched my face then roamed elsewhere over my person. He came closer, his hands reaching up to wrap delicately around the base of my throat, his thumbs stroking my neck. "My sweet Abigale Lynn," He murmured, pulling me to him until our bodies met. He leaned down, surprised me with a gentle kiss to my temple, and then put his mouth to my ear and whispered, "If you truly believe that, then you are not very imaginative."
My breath hitched and I swallowed hard. I cursed myself for what little boldness I exuded. The not-so-subtle threat had left me paralyzed and afraid. His hands slid from my neck to my arms as I remained rigid, kept still out of fear from my own imaginings. For a moment I wondered if the Count would truly try to hurt me. Then I stopped wondering as my own words repeated in my head. He had already hurt me, what would stop him from doing so again?
I wanted to speak though I did not know what words to say. My thoughts would not properly form in my mind despite my best efforts. I needed to somehow apologize in the hopes that it would save me from whatever ill will he could conjure. But before any words could leave me I was startled by the Count placing his mouth forcibly over my own. For a moment I was struck dumb. However, my instincts kicked in quickly and I attempted to push him away, but he did not yield. His body was as solid and unmoving as the Castle itself. I was appalled, angry and scared.
I twisted in his grip, finding his unrelenting hold terrifying. My heart was pounding in my chest and my head spun. After what felt like an eternity I was able to turn my head away from him. "Stop it!" I nearly shrieked with frustration as he went to suckle my neck. "No! Sir, stop-" But my protests died in my throat as the Count took a fistful of my hair and tugged. I bit back a yelp and leaned oddly against him in attempts to stave off the small pain. He had straightened himself but still kept me in the uncomfortable hold. I felt truly small there in his hands. I was again forced to look up at him, again left to wonder if and how he would harm me. "Please," I whined, "J-just...just stop." But he gave my plea no mind as kissed me again.
His body encompassed mine, his hands quickly going to places they should not. His touch was passionate and possessive. I was afraid, so very afraid, and I didn't know what I could do. I only stood there and whimpered as my body guiltily found pleasure in his caress. It began responding to him against my will. He grabbed the collar of my dress and ripped it down the middle as if it were a wet sheet of parchment. I tried in vain to hold the now torn bodice closed. Only when confronted with his strength did I regret disregarding it. It could be entertaining to examine all that I overlooked regarding the Count. In my happiness, I failed to see all of his dangerous qualities. Now I was to face them all once more but this time they presented themselves with a terrible and brilliant clarity.
He lifted my dress, took one of my legs and tried to coax me into wrapping it around his waist. I would not comply. My resistance caused him to growl with frustration. Because I did not do as he wished his hold became bruising. "Y-you can't!" I squeaked, still trying to remove myself from his grasp. "You can't! Let me go!" My face burned with shame. It felt impossible to calm down, impossible to gather my thoughts. My mind screamed that this was wrong. My heart felt hurt and betrayed. I could not believe that the Count was touching me so cruelly and perversely, but my body shamefully missed him and wanted more. All feelings and thoughts were so conflicting that I felt crippled by them.
As if deliberately defying me, the Count lifted me off of the ground. I wrapped my arms around him in a panic to keep from falling back. It happened so quickly that the action dazed me. One minute I was in his arms, the next I was seated on a wardrobe with my dress hiked up. The cold wood shocked the back of my bare thighs. I gripped the dresser as he again grabbed my legs. However, this time he slid his hands under my knees and pressed the tops of my thighs to either side of my chest, splaying my legs wide. I tried to move but even the slightest shift felt impossible to do. He stood there, holding me in the position at arm's length, and eyed me like I was food. In a sense I was.
I felt utterly useless. I was unable to fight or make him see reason. I was on display for him and I had no say in the action. Though my dress remained on me - albeit tattered - I had never felt so exposed before. It made me nauseous, more so as I could not move to cover myself. I had a feeling that if I somehow could he would 'correct' me regardless. My thoughts flickered to several nights ago when he stripped me naked for the first time and whispered about my beauty. I had believed him and it made me feel wonderful. This was entirely different. His movements were driven by lust and entitlement now. I no longer felt beautiful or desired, but victimized and abused.
I foolishly trusted this man so much, though I was not sure why. I had continuously overlooked his wrongs and disregarded any misuse. Even whilst petrified and at his mercy, I did not think the Count was a wicked person. There was good and bad in everything he did. Right now he was cruel and selfish. The ways of men were still a mystery to me. I did not know what possessed him to violate me so. Was it something I said or did? Did he have a motive? Was one even needed? My naivety baffled me. I felt I was to blame for this somehow though I also knew it was wrong for me to think that way. Every thought that ran through my mind was crooked. Nothing was cohesive.
I silently prayed that the Count would go no further than he already had. I feared this strange lust, both his and my own. I still did not understand. As mortified as I was, and as much as I did not want this, my body still ached for him. It was wrong, so very wrong, and acknowledging it repulsed me. I was also greatly disturbed by his violence. Sex had proven to be just as painful as it was pleasurable. The idea of him proceeding roughly, handling me as he was now, was petrifying. I missed his tenderness. I missed him. But it was not meant to be and his current actions only drove that point more. We were wrong to lie together in the first place. Whether or not I wanted him no longer mattered as it could not be. Yet he proceeded against my wishes, against right and wrong.
As my mind raced, trying to make sense of all that was happening, my mouth traveled along with it. "Y-you said there were things you cannot do. O-out of fear of hurting me! This is one - you said that!" My voice sounded as panicked as I felt.
"I did." Thus far the Count had not listened to my pleas, so I was mildly shocked when he responded. Everything seemed to stop with his words. It was a small reprieve but I was grateful for it. "Tell me you do not want me to touch you and I will stop. But I must hear those words."
I swallowed hard, knowing full well what he was doing. The Count knew that to some degree I did want him to continue. But that part of me was small and overpowered by fear and self-loathing. Still, if I told him that I did not desire him he would easily hear the lie. I was cornered either way. "You have to stop. W-we can't do this. You can't. So please, please just..." I tried to calm myself, shifting against his hold. "This is bad, Sir."
"It is not." He said matter-of-factly. And I could have sworn I heard him say those very words to me before while in a similar setting - the product of a dream. "This is good. I want this. Tell me you do not desire me. I need to hear it." The Count pressed his body to mine, the position made it hard for me to breathe. He then placed his lips to my throat. "Say it."
My jaw trembled. I tried to sink into the furniture I sat upon. This was a battle of wits and wills and he won. He would always win. With persuasion or brute force, with a twisted word or genuine command - the Count would always win. He could turn my refusal into consent. I felt nothing but despair. "...I don't want this." In my mind it was true; I did not want him, but my heart betrayed me, as did my body.
My pulse was beneath his waiting mouth. "You are lying again, Abigale."
I whined in defeat, feeling despicable in my own skin. It was wanton and repugnant. How dare I desire this man. How was it even possible given the circumstance? I feared him more than anything. Why did a part of me still want him? He recently caused me nothing but anxiety and sadness. Yet somewhere deep within me I still clung to the idea of his compassion. Once he had been so kind, wanting nothing more than for me to be comfortable in his presence. Now it seemed he actively went out of his way to make me miserable. He had built me up so high only to dismantle me piece by piece. Indeed he had won. I gave in. "Will you hurt me?"
"No more than I am allowed." I was in no way consoled, though he had not meant for me to be. I let myself go limp, no longer struggling against his hold. He then dropped my legs and pulled me flush against him. I felt his lips part followed by the intense piercing of his fangs as they sunk into my neck. I tried my best not to cry out as I let myself cling to the vest he wore. Though it was not expected it was not entirely unwelcome. The pain was better than confusion.
I wondered if his bite put me in more danger, but he seemed to be in control of his fangs, unlike his wandering hands. I irrationally hoped that perhaps my blood would sate his thirsts. Of course, it was not so. He drank from me for a moment or two before pulling away. This startled me, much like all else that he was currently doing. The Count had never before withdrawn from me so quickly. Only a small dose of the bite's effect lingered but it too faded swiftly. The action itself was incomplete so the natural occurrences had little time to set in. I was grateful for that.
Instinctively, I reached up to touch the slowly trickling wound. I winced at the contact. Blood had already begun to run and pool in the hollow of my throat. The Count watched me for a moment with great intensity. I felt myself shrink further under his stare. I wondered what he was thinking, what scenarios he had playing behind those garnet eyes. Thankfully, or perhaps not, my musings were cut short as he then pulled me from the dresser and steered me towards my bed. I braced myself on its edge, staring at the pretty blankets with contempt and fear. He pushed me down upon them with much-unneeded force.
I landed on my belly, wondering briefly what this might look like to some hypothetical person watching from the shadows. He touched my back lovingly as he too joined me on the bed. His gentleness was gone as quickly as it came. He abruptly twisted me around to face him. As I now stared up at him I was again alarmed by his strength. My anxiety returned tenfold once his hands rested on my knees. I was breathing very loudly, it felt impossible to catch my breath. I wanted to scoot away from him but I remained firmly rooted in the middle of the mattress. I was too afraid to move.
He laid himself on me and again placed his mouth on mine. The taste of my own blood revolted me but I could not turn away. His hand parted the tattered cloth of my gown and wandered over my breast. I had always liked his hands. They were big and moved deftly over me to the most sensitive areas. My skin prickled at his touch but I felt awful as he worked and kissed me. His hands were skilled, well-practiced, they knew where to go and what to feel...Once he touched his wife the way he touched me now.
An image of the Countess laying in the chamber below us came to my mind so strongly. I wanted him to stop, I needed him to stop, but I was unsure if I could make him. "No more!" I pleaded into his kiss, trying desperately to move from him. "Please, we -" His mouth left mine and latched onto the top of my breast. But instead of the soft caresses I expected, pain assaulted my senses. My body jolted, I covered my mouth with my own hand and shouted into it. Mortification took me, I stared bewilderedly ahead while the Count drank blood from my breast.
Again he pulled away quickly, leaving shallow punctures in my skin that wept red profusely. I had given him permission to feed on me whenever he wished - it was part of or bargain. But this was not feeding. I was unsure what this exactly was considered. But it was disturbing. The Count was a vampire currently driven by lust and privilege. I supposed I shouldn't have been surprised that he bit me again, but I was.
He kissed and nipped his way down my body while mumbling my name. His hands were under me running the length of my back. I remained motionless beneath him and stared at the wall. My mind was slowly going blank though I wasn't sure why. I gazed into the cracks of the stone and wondered how often I was going to be subjected to this new torment. Caring so deeply for another only to have them torture you with your affection was a misery I had never known existed. It was horrible. I wanted to hold him and apologize, to have him make it all better as I once thought he made everything. I wanted him to tell me that it was all a bad dream.
Guiltily, I wanted the chamber he showed me and all inside it to not exist...it was cruel of me to want.
Tears blurred my vision so I tilted my head back in attempts to stop them from flowing. Though as I did this a small white cord hanging innocently by the bed caught my attention. I was suddenly alerted to the possibility of stopping this all together, and without the Count realizing I did so. I could pull the cord to the Maids Quarters and someone would come. They would knock and he would stop. He would never have to know that I summoned them here. The inevitable interruption could be a happy accident. Maybe I could somehow stall him long enough for them to get here. I had to try. He could not be angry with me if he did not know I called them.
I wetted my lips and glanced down to the Count. He was kissing my hip bone, his fingers hooking around the fabric of my smalls. I realized it was unlikely that I could stop the inevitable, but cutting it short would be worth it. I could not willingly again lie with this man, not while knowing what I knew now. He hurt me repeatedly and he belonged to another - the latter was enough to stop me but I could not again tell him no. I was deathly afraid of the response I would get, especially if I tried to validate my refusal by mentioning the Countess.
My hand snaked its way over the covers to the bed's far corner. Adrenaline surged through me. It was so near to my grasp. Unfortunately, the cord was out of reach, though just barely. I felt my pulse quicken and I cursed internally. I was afraid to risk more movement, but I had to. Feeling frantic, I stretched my arm out as far as it could go without being too obvious. The Count had still not stopped his ministrations so I deemed it safe to continue trying. I chewed my lip in concentration as the cord brushed my fingertips. I almost had it. Almost.
I had been so close, but the Count's hand fell over mine, pinning it to the mattress with deliberate force. I froze, I was caught. The sudden stillness of the room chilled my blood. I heard the small desperate sound I made but had no control over it. A terrible fear formed in the pit of my stomach. I had to face him but I did not want to. With all that I was, I did not want to. My breath came in ragged spurts and I dreaded each gulp of air. I gave the small white rope one last forlorn look before turning away from it. The Count loomed over me. Large, dark and foreboding.
Our eyes met. He was furious. He was dangerous. In one fluid motion, the Count grabbed the cord to the Maids Quarters and pulled it from the wall. I flinched as I heard something snap from far above us in the Castle's bones. The rope broke free from the stone with ease. The little metal pulley was sent flying across the room along with several bits of rubble. Near infinite slack was given to the cord, rendering it useless.
No words could adequately describe my panic. He looked at me, glowered at me, in such a way that I could not define. Never before had I seen this look and I never wanted to again. I had to turn away. I was afraid that I would somehow shatter under his stare. My body trembled uncontrollably and I could hold back no longer. I pressed my forehead to my still outstretched arm and burst into tears. I was exhausted and frightened. I just wanted this done. I needed it to be over with.
"I'm sorry," I sobbed, feeling obligated to say so, whether or not it was warranted. "I-I just...I did not mean to, I..." I swallowed hard. I could still feel his burning stare over my every inch. I was helpless and at the end of his fury. I should have just let him have his way with me in the first place. It was foolish to try denying him and escape was meaningless, as it was only a temporary measure. I would always be at his mercy, I just had to accept it.
I looked at him again and regretted doing so. I could only imagine what my fate would be this evening. He still held me down and I was keenly aware of my bleeding and near nakedness. Feeling so vulnerable and little beneath him made me panic further. His eyes were tearing me apart and I felt he would soon act on such a notion. The Count's words played loudly in my mind as if they were taunting me.
'Did you really believe my anger that night to be unprompted? I don't take such treatment lightly.'
"I'll do whatever you want!" I heard myself cry out. "Please, Sir forgive me! It was foolish and I-I'm so sorry. It was b-bad, I know it was, Sir. Just scared, I'm just so scared. Do what you want. I'm sorry! But p-please, don't hurt me terribly. Gods, I'm so sorry, I know I should not have. I know I should have known better..." I had to stop to catch my breath. I was dizzy and perspiring, feeling nearly faint.
The Count's face contorted. His jaw jutted, retracted and set in thought. His expression was still one of abject hatred. But he then took his hand away from mine, causing my palm to tingle as blood returned to it. I brought both my arms down to rest by my head, keeping them as close to my center as possible without touching him. I knew I could not push him away if I needed too, nor would I even attempt it, but the act was purely instinct and I was trying to fight it. My lip quivered as he watched me ever expectantly. The tense silence stretched while he just stared. I could not bear it. "Sir...I'm sorry."
I tried my best to stop the terrible shakes that wracked my body. His eyes narrowed as he looked me over, sucking at his fangs. Livid and quiet - it was unsettling and very unlike him. The Count glanced at the hole he had made in the wall and the limply hanging Maids Quarters rope. He and I both knew it was likely that someone received the call. The expected future interruption infuriated him. He growled lowly in his throat, then abruptly pointed at me. The small movement caused me to jump but he still did not speak. I remained as motionless as I possibly could while I waited for him to react. I knew he viewed my actions as a great disrespect and given how he treated any insolence, I was more than dreading his response.
But the Count said nothing as he looked me over one final time before prying himself off of me. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed where he smoothed his hair back with both hands. For a moment he just sat there, occasionally glancing at me, looking like he still wished to do me harm. Shortly after he stood and straightened his clothing. His very low and very angry voice finally broke the quiet of the room. "Count your blessings this evening, girl. Next time I won't be so forgiving, or you so lucky."
Without another word he left, the door slamming closed behind him. I remained there for some time, waiting and fearing his return. I still could not breathe and my body continued to shudder violently. I was afraid of moving. Would he be angry to see me redressing? Was I to wait for him to return and finish? The imagery that came to my thoughts pried me from the bed. I was a shambling mess as I stood on two very wobbly legs. My tear stained cheeks felt cold regardless of my shameful blush. I caught a glimpse of myself in the long mirror. My reflection was wide-eyed, jittery and horror-stricken. My skin was glistening with sweat and blood. My once neat black dress now closely resembled an old robe. The garment was split well passed my navel and only my trembling hand kept it from slipping from my body altogether. The brassier I wore was soaked through and red where it had once been white. The bite marks on my neck and breast still bleed generously.
Fresh tears pricked the corners of my eyes. I had to turn away from my reflection. I felt sickened and confused. I had seen myself in similar states before but never had I felt so bewildered by it. This was not the work of some random stranger but the doings of my Count, the very man I had recently and mistakenly given myself to. This assault was darker than when he first fed on me. Violation of my person was one of my greatest fears and I just had to face it by the hands of the man I cared for. It left my emotions in a state of utter chaos.
I sobbed, I regretted so much. I was embarrassed, I was ashamed, I felt foolish and painfully young. Worse still was that I did not know if the Count's actions were truly wrong. Did I deserve this treatment? Could I say anything against it? As a slave, I did not think so. But he claimed to love me, so why did he want to hurt me? He owned me and had known me intimately...did that give him the absolute right to my body? Did I truly have no say? I had nothing to compare my position too, I did not know what was considered right or wrong. But presently the more troubling aspect in all of this was the Count's return.
The thought of him coming back into the room struck terror into my heart. At the sight of him, I would surely be tempted to drop to my knees and beg forgiveness. I would not test him again, but I did not want to do what he wanted either...but I would. Even if it killed me within, I would not say a word against him and I would obey. I could not afford the risk that came with refusal. It a was a cruel madness that I was caught in.
I stumbled towards the dresser I was earlier exploited on and grabbed a robe. I wrapped it around myself hastily, trying hard to ignore the sudden burning in my shoulder. I could not help but to fear the random little pain, it was a constant reminder of a very dark deal. A deal that was now almost tempting as I cursed my weakness and worth. Much like the Father of Vampires, the Count was proficient in utilizing my frailty. It was sick to compare the Count to the Daedric Prince Molag Bal, but it was not the first time I saw the terrible resemblance.
The harder I tried to calm myself, the more impossible it seemed. I wiped my eyes, the room swimming from my tears, and again fought for composure. I could not stifle my fears and I felt more trapped than ever before. I wanted to get away. I needed to escape but I saw no way out. I pressed my knuckles to my lips and stared at the stone wall before me. I wondered if there was a secret passage out of my room. The idea was farfetched, it was very unlikely that the Count would place me in a room where I could slip from him. Still, I wandered to the stone and pressed my hands to it.
Gently, I began patting the wall. It was a halfhearted effort, I expected nothing. Truthfully I did not know what I hoped to achieve. Then I grasped the sconce in the corner and tugged. Again, nothing. Despite knowing that the actions were meaningless, I felt an indescribable wave of anxiety when nothing happened. I tried pulling the sconce again, much harder this time. Still no movement or sounds of grinding stone. I did not know why it broke me so, but it did. I cried out in frustration and tried a different sconce, then a different wall. All was in vain.
The desire to leave was greater than anything I had ever known. It pained me greatly. I could no longer stand my situation. I could not stay in Castle Skingrad if I wanted to preserve whatever little dignity I had left. However, I would not again deny the Count, whatever his whims. But that did not mean I was willing. I would do as he commanded, knowing that it would eat away at my very soul because my denial maddened him. No matter the regard, any measure of refusal on my part drove him to violence. I did not want him to feed on me. I did not want him to bed me. I did not want him to 'love' me any longer. It was all so wrong now. Everything had changed, everything was different, and I did not think I could fix it.
I stood quietly in the middle of the room for some time. I knew nothing between the Count and I would ever be the same.
XXXX
Hal-Liurz could not sleep. She had been having difficulty doing so for the last few evenings. There had been a significant change in the Count's manor and the Stewardess was not entirely sure what occurred. Each day, several times a day, Tualga or herself went to bring Abigale Lynn her meals. However, neither saw the girl. Whenever they entered the manor the Count would emerge from whatever room he had previously occupied. He would take the tray from them and march down to Abigale Lynn's chamber. He then proceeded to bang on the door or simply invited himself into the room. Nothing but muffled speech followed.
The Stewardess knew that something rotten had transpired, but she was unsure of how to approach the problem. Once Tualga had told her in complete mortification that she saw Abigale Lynn in the Count's bed, a part of Hal-Liurz gave up. It was only several nights prior that the Count had almost drained the girl dry, then she found herself beneath him? It frightened the Stewardess. She had made a point to let the Count know of her displeasure. It was rather sickening to process...the man was bedding his young servant. The girl was quite literally a battered slave turned bedwarmer at the hands of her master. It was repulsive. Another part of her did not want to know what was happening above them all in the manor. She longed to turn a blind eye but could not. Something had to be done but she was not sure how to address the situation. Surprisingly, the problem found her.
To try and tire herself out the Stewardess wandered the Castle and eventually ended up in the Maids Quarters. She poked about, assessing the state of the rooms. Most were sleeping and all was quiet. She had expected as much, so being satisfied with what she saw the Stewardess went to leave. Only as she did so a soft ringing stopped her in her tracks. She turned and was surprised to see the little bell connected to the Green Room twitch. It may have been accidental, she thought, but she decided to investigate further. Then she watched in alarm as the bell jerked upwards with incredible force. It was pulled flush to the wall and then broke free from the cord, hitting the floor with a clatter. Said cord then disappeared into the little hole altogether.
For a moment the Stewardess only stared. Hesitantly, she picked the bell up from the floor and examined the now severely dented metal. The Count was the only person capable of such a thing, but what Hal-Liurz wanted to know was why he would do it. It could have been accidental for she did not see a proper motive. Why cut the girl's only readily available contact to the Maids Quarters? And why do it in such a way?
A few heads peeked out from bedrooms, wondering what the noise had been. Hal-Liurz was quick to lie about the cord fraying, effectively sending most back to bed. Only Tualga the Housekeeper eyed the Stewardess and the little bell with dread.
"I'll take care of it." Hal-Liurz rasped in hushed tones, hurriedly trying to soothe the Nord.
"Why did he do that?" Tualga whispered sounding frantic, her words echoing the Stewardess' thoughts. The Housekeeper had been greatly worrying for Abigale Lynn. She liked the young maid and cared for her. They had grown close over the months - as close as Abigale would allow. "That's for Lynn's room. It had to be him. Why did he do that?"
"Calm yourself!" The Stewardess hissed, afraid of attracting more unwanted attention. "I don't know why he did but I will find out. I'm sure all is fine. Go back to sleep." Hal-Liurz quickly discarded the bell. She tossed it in a nearby waste bin and covered it with rubbish. "Just go to sleep, Tualga. That's an order." And without another word the Stewardess left.
She was quick to enter the manor. Though both curious and afraid, she walked with her usual pace. She was about halfway down the hall when the Count stormed from his study with a bottle in hand. He took one look at her and sneered, "Fetching bell." The Stewardess gulped and gave a small respectful bow. The Count was as imposing as ever and seemed to be in one of his moods. She thought it best to be silent, at least for now. Judging by his words, the broken bell was no accident. He did intentionally break the cord. There was a motive, no doubt a dark one. Something rotten had transpired, indeed. "Tell her if she ever dares to try and pull that little stunt again I will personally cut every rope." The Count snarled in passing. He stalked down the corridor, heading in direction of the throne room.
Only when he was truly gone did the Stewardess deem it safe to walk faster. In a moment she was before Abigale Lynn's chamber. "Abigale?" Hal-Liurz called before gently tapping the door. "Hello? Are you alright in there?" There was a long pause. It made her more apprehensive.
The sound of shuffling could be heard from in the room. "S-Stewardess?" Abigale Lynn softly replied. Hal-Liurz let out a breath she did not know she was holding.
"Thank the Nine! What have you been doing in there? Are you alright?"
"F-fine...I'm fine. I'm sorry I called. It was an accident." Her voice was small, it always was, but now it sounded weaker and a bit hoarse.
"You certainly don't sound fine." Hal-Liurz scoffed, ignoring the blatant lie. The Count himself had just revealed that the little summoning was no accident. "You can open the door. It's...it's safe." The words sounded foreign and strange. This Castle had been safe for decades. It was no longer, not since Abigale Lynn had arrived - a grim realization.
The latch jiggled for a moment, Abigale's hand surely clasped around the handle on the other side. Then all movement suddenly ceased. "...I don't think I should." The girl sounded on the verge of tears.
Hal-Liurz's tail flicked nervously. The girl had always been a tad strange and on the cautious side, but this was genuine unease in her voice. She did not want to open the door. No doubt there was a valid reason. "The Count is gone, he left the manor. You may let me in, he is not watching."
After another brief pause the door slowly opened and Abigale Lynn's beautiful face peaked out. Her eyes were large and glassy, her cheeks pinker than usual. She bit her lip and glanced down the hall. Once satisfied she opened the door wide enough for the Stewardess to slip into the room. There in the entrance of the chamber, the girl wrung her hands vigorously. Her eyes darted about, settling on nothing. She could not meet Hal-Liurz's gaze. "Y-you saw him? Was he very angry?" But the Stewardess found that she could not grasp Abigale's words. She merely gawked at the girl in front of her, feeling appalled and unsettled.
Abigale Lynn wore a robe that had neglected to be fastened. Her clothing was in tatters and there were multiple bite marks on her person - one of which was on the girls bust. She was still bleeding and must have been weeping minutes before Hal-Liurz arrived. Her usually neat red hair was down and messed. Little bruises marked her skin like a terrible rash. Truly, the Stewardess could only stare. She couldn't garner an appropriate reaction. The girl's appearance and her behavior were indeed worrisome. She had the look of a victim. One who may have just endured a very vicious and near unthinkable act.
The Stewardess suddenly found it difficult to swallow. Anger formed in the pit of her gut and caused a hateful flush on her scales. "What has he been doing to you?" She eventually ground out. She did not want to believe it, nevermind hear it, but she had to know. The thought itself was almost too much to bear.
The girl eventually followed Hal-Liurz's gaze and hastily closed her robe. "O-our bargain," Abigale stammered, nervously placing some hair behind her ear.
"What more than that?" The Stewardess demanded, stepping forward. "What more than that, Abigale?" Hal-Liurz felt wronged and confused. For decades she had watched and protected her underlings. The Count feeding on the girl before her was a blow that shook the Stewardess to her core. However, from the very beginning of Abigale Lynn's servitude, she often thought such a thing was a possibility. She had hoped to prevent it but fully acknowledged her powerlessness in regards to the Count's vampirism. Some things could just not be controlled. She did not pretend to fully understand his disease, so she could only imagine how difficult it was for him to ignore the urge to feed. It was wrong, nevertheless, but not as wrong as this. This was a vile thing that had nothing to do with the girl's blood and nothing to do with an illness that was challenging to grasp. This was a wicked deed spurred from misguided affections and entitlement.
Abigale Lynn gulped. "I-I know, I know how this looks but it's -" The girl paused, she squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. "It did not...it was not...what you are thinking did not occur."
Again the Stewardess scoffed, first noticing the bedchamber's state. Little trinkets had been pushed off of the dresser by the wall. A few delicate items had been broken from hitting the floor. She eyed the bed and its crimped covers with great discomfort. The Maids Quarters rope hung loosely and broken. It was easy to piece together, even if Abigale Lynn had been more careful with her clothing. It was saddening and dreadful to know she was right in her assumption. Perhaps it did not escalate to actual rape, but the intent was still there and plain as day. Would he really do such a thing?...Even think it? The Stewardess felt physically ill. "Because you rang the bell. What I am thinking did not occur because you rang the bell."
"No," The girl answered fast, her voice wavering. Her eyes narrowed and lip quivered. "...But I tried to." She again bit her lip and looked away. "It's my fault. I was afraid to say no again. T-this is my doing. I caused it. H-he didn't do anything wrong." Hal-Liurz recoiled at Abigale's warped way of thinking. Her mindset was shameful. How anyone could think molestation of their person by any measure was somehow their fault was twisted. The product of a broken mind.
Janus Hassildor was capable of a great many things. The Stewardess had seen this first hand. She had watched the Count of Skingrad since her birth. Some things amazed her, others left her speechless. There was plenty of good and plenty of bad in it all. Recently, though, she saw more of the bad. Surprisingly more. He had done things she would never have expected him to do. This was such a thing. Never would she have dreamt of him trying to impose his will upon a girl. Once he was the pinnacle of reason, only slightly swayed by his temper. Now he seemed to make everything needlessly convoluted and was prone to more and more violent acts. It was much unlike the Count the Stewardess had known. All these behaviors were strange and sickening.
He had attacked this girl and nearly killed her. Merely days later they somehow ended up sleeping together. It was near impossible to grasp. How the pair went from odd little friendship to this barbarity was anyone's guess. But the Stewardess knew who initiated each move from the very beginning, possibly before he even realized it. The Count was the one who instigated, manipulated and possibly even bullied his way into the girl's mind. Sweet little gestures seemed to mean the world to Abigale Lynn and the Count was more than happy to shower her with them. He was also inclined to be cross, then keen to apologize. He capitalized on her social ineptitude. With compassion and duty, the girl bent herself into the mold he favored. It seemed the fit was no longer to her liking, but the Count had a mind to force and keep her in.
The soft weeping sounds of Abigale Lynn cut Hal-Liurz's musings short. The girl had begun to sob quietly in her hands, sounding utterly hopeless. The Count was certainly a frightening creature when he wanted to be. The idea of him forcing himself on the girl before her - fangs or otherwise - was greatly disturbing. It was a terrifying image and the brutality of it all was stunning. The Stewardess clenched her fists, "I've had enough! He's gone too far and become too depraved. Someone needs to end this insanity now." Hal-Liurz turned to leave. What could she do? She was unsure but she would try something, anything. The Stewardess did not care as much for her own wellbeing as she did for the girl before her. Abigale Lynn was young and did not need any further damaging.
Fast as a whip, the girl had thrown herself in front of the door. The sudden movement gave the Stewardess a start. "No don't!" Abigale pleaded with her arms outstretched, eyes wide and fearful. Her behavior, rather than her person, blocked the Stewardess' path. Abigale Lynn was deathly afraid. "D-don't make him come back yet, please! I can't...I can't face him again. Not yet, please."
"Would you rather I let this abominable behavior slide?" The Stewardess demanded in outrage. "Look at yourself! How am I to not act?!"
"Please do not go!" The girl's chest rose and fell with frightening rapidness. "Going to him will worsen all! For the love of Gods, leave him be! Please Stewardess, please. Just leave him be." She ran a trembling hand down her face. "I can't, I'm not ready yet, I can't...I can't." The girl seemed to be on the verge of fainting.
Hal-Liurz made a small unintelligible sound. She would do nothing, at least for now. Abigale Lynn's emotional state prevented her from taking action. She did not want to generate any more stress for the already extremely troubled girl. Nor did she want to worsen her predicament. "Fine," she resigned herself. "I'll do nothing for now but I will not sit by idly and let this continue."
The girl's eyes lit up, "Thank you." She breathed. Slowly but surely Abigale Lynn moved from the door and slipped into a chair. She sat there and stared ahead at nothing for a time. Hal-Liurz felt helpless and did not like it. The Stewardess decided she had to do something, so she retrieved a little ornate water basin and cloth and pulled a chair up beside Abigale. The girl jumped as the wet rag touched her skin. She eyed the Stewardess, her gaze was deep, questioning and intense. Her eyes were always full of suspicion and weakness, but somehow her gaze pulled any who caught her eye. It was magnetic, her look could capture your attention from across a field of wildflowers.
"The wound is angry," Hal-Liurz said as evenly as possible. "It needs to be cleaned, possibly cured as well. We'll go slowly. You are in no imminent danger from it." The girl looked as though she had a mind to take the cloth from the Stewardess and do it herself, but decided against it. With a concentrated effort, she eventually relaxed and let the Stewardess wipe away the blood on her chest. It saddened Hal-Liurz to imagine how the girl must feel. She was always strange, always quiet, always beautiful, and always targeted. Abigale Lynn was greatly flawed in the best and worst ways, she did not deserve the fate that she was dealt. No, not in any measure.
XXXX
Control is tedious.
The Count drummed his fingers mindlessly on the armrest of his throne. His eyes were dark and set on nothing. He looked past all that surrounded him. It had been a while since he last sat in the grandness that was his throne room. It was the pinnacle of Skingrad's authority and power. It was here where he would grant those of influence and prestige an audience. His rule was absolute within its walls. He was the sovereign of Skingrad and Prince of the West Weald. He once sat in this very chair and observed boisterous court life. He had been the head of it all, but that was and age ago. How the tables had turned and twisted.
The room was silent. The only sound to be heard was the swishing of Blood Wine from the bottle in his hand and the continuous tapping of his fingertips against his throne. The chamber was utterly black and cold. He needed it to be, he needed to purge himself of the terrible heat from his lust and anger. Though despite his efforts it seemed impossible to do. Nothing calmed him. He was left feeling like a madman, a slave to his own desires.
He took another long swig from the bottle. Abandoning glasses and goblets had become a recent habit he adopted, though he was unsure when it started. But that did not really matter. No, what mattered was how he now desperately needed something to combat the sweet taste of Abigale Lynn's lips, skin, and blood. He drank heartily but she still overpowered even the strongest of his Wines. Since the very beginning, everything about her had assaulted his senses in the most delicious and frustrating manner. He had thought that bedding her would ease some of these very burdensome inclinations, but it seemed the exact opposite had occurred.
Perhaps it was her denial that caused this behavior. She let herself be his in the deepest of ways, then she wholly refused him. Janus had not expected her willpower to be so great. Truth be told, it had him in a very uncertain mindset. Abigale Lynn had always done her best to please him. It was in everything she did. She readily bent to his order with a nervous air and eager heart. That enthusiasm had been zapped from her person completely. In its place stood defiance, and it mocked his every desire and scorned his affection. It left the Count dumb and curious. Had the niggling little trait always been a part of the girl?
Days of compassionately begging her forgiveness, coupled with genuine self-depreciative displays made him itchy. The girl seemed to not have an interest in him anymore. She hardly looked at him. She made it painfully clear that his company was not welcomed, she didn't want him around in the slightest. He questioned if it was forced indifference or if she genuinely despised him. Her hate was so vast, the Count had to wonder if it had been there before he brought her to Rona. Did she ever really care for him as he did her? Janus so wanted his warm and loving Abigale Lynn back, but she would not give in to reason. He grew tired of her dismissal and lack of attentiveness. He felt rejection ill suited his person. So, he tried a different approach...
She had tempted him with her assumption and her limited views of pain set something off. He had already hurt her so damn much, no one was ever as wronged as she, there was nothing on Nirn that was as bad as what he put her through - he thought them to be very misguided notions and sought to correct her inaccuracies. Abigale Lynn knew nothing of true suffering at the hands of someone you loved. To be truly betrayed and left alone? She didn't have the foggiest clue. If she wanted to play the victim so badly then he would gladly make her the victim. It was as she saw herself, so who was he to disabuse?
He would swear he could still feel her body urgently trying to shake away from him. The soft quiver of her lips against his mouth from her feeble protest made him wild. The vibrations of her pleas against his teeth unhinged him. He had to kiss her, he had to touch her, and the more he did so the more her complete willingness became optional. It was that black little spark in him, that primal instinct to dominate and utterly control. She was considerably frail, laughably weak. He could bend and manipulate her body with extreme ease and her apparent flexibility greatly pleased him.
The fantasies he had surrounding Abigale Lynn were broad and numerous. He often told himself that he did not like to stimulate fear, but the look in Abigale's eyes as she sat unwillingly upon a wardrobe again proved to him otherwise. Secretly, he enjoyed it in the most perverse ways. Though he endeavored to stamp out the excitement, he could not deny its sway. It had been a part of him for so long. Although he did not wish to truly cause her any physical harm he did enjoy her mentally buckling to his rule. Her forced compliance made him aspire to be tender. One good turn deserves another, after all.
Janus drank more from the bottle, thinking oddly on the first time he had a dark thought for Abigale. She had accidently slit her hand on his sword. As she sat upon the floor bleeding and afraid he found himself seduced. What followed were perhaps the most ravenous and depraved thoughts he had since the early years of his vampirism. He did not act, but he considered letting her fall to panic. He had a mind to watch her flee just so he could follow her out. The urge to hold her bleeding hand above her head was frighteningly strong. He wanted to watch the blood drip down her arm and let his tongue follow the trail back up, elbow to fingertips. Of course, the vision went on and grew more and more dark each time he revisited the fantasy. He had eventually sworn off the thoughts, finding them too lewd and a bit unnerving.
The Count buried his face in his free hand. He felt bitter, animalistic and also greatly ashamed. He loved Abigale Lynn, he loved her deeply. He wanted nothing more than to be with her and show her this great love but she would not allow him. It angered him to the point that he knew the feeling to be unhealthy. He acknowledged his wrongs, his horrible thoughts, his terrible behaviors and he knew he could control them. He could stop them, he could ignore them, he could keep them in check...but not like this. Not when everything he knew was changing, not when he was so nearing the death of his wife, and not when the woman who he longed to love hated him.
Perhaps they were excuses but he did not think so. Regardless, he did not enjoy dissecting his every inkling. So he focused on the matter at hand - his present awfulness. He had violated his beautiful Abigale Lynn, something he had so often fantasized. He enjoyed it far too much then he should have. But she had wanted him, he could feel it in the pounding of her heart. He did not think it wrong. She had desired him and she was afraid of him. It was simply a powerful mixture. He was a force to be reckoned with, or so he had thought. He had quite honestly underestimated her refusal. Her modicum of want was not enough.
Although she may have been physically willing, the rest of her was not. Janus had trouble understanding this. She distanced her body from her mind in an alarming way. Only when he saw her trying her damnedest to reach the call-bell did he realize how much she did not want to sleep with him. He had been outraged and insulted - he still was. He wanted nothing more than to exact out his needs then and it made him feel rotten and conniving. He had even bit her twice in the hopes that her lust would override her moral. It did not work so she sought to humiliate him. He still did not believe it. But what was more troubling was how he truly considered force. Had he not pulled the rope from the wall and alerted his staff, he might have. It was alarming.
You love this girl, he repeatedly told himself, you do not do such things to the people you love. But the drive came as second nature. He held too much power over her and some things were getting misconstrued...as she once feared. She confessed these worries to him on several occasions.
'Men have hurt me,'
'In the end, there is always something wanted.'
'I know I cannot get away from you, should you one day decide to harm me-'
Janus swallowed hard, her words and fears echoing in his mind. She was right all along, he did want something from her and he did hurt her. Nor could she get away. He would not allow it. He felt raw, his emotions and feelings were overwhelming. Entitlement, ownership, possessiveness, desire...there was a line that needed to be drawn somewhere but he was unsure where.
"The violence is seductive, isn't it?"
Janus scowled at the bottle in his hand. He was not yet ready for company but he doubted his ability to sway Vicente to leave him be. "What do you want, Valtieri?" The Count did not bother looking up to the other vampire. He had heard him enter the Castle this time, he only chose not to receive him and had hoped that the very somber mood would dissuade him from venturing forth. "Are the accommodations of West Weald not up to your standards?"
"They are lovely as always, Janus. I just happened to be close by during a walk. Thought I'd drop in." Vicente smiled, but it was sympathetic in nature. Janus did not comment on it.
As the elder vampire sat upon the stairs by the Count's throne, Janus could not help but to glare at his back. "You have awful good timing. It leaves me curious...do you sense turmoil or does it summon you?"
Vicente laughed lightly, "You yourself know the truth to that. My instincts are so refined that it is terribly burdensome. But enough about me, let us talk about you. I think we both enjoy that more."
Author's Notes: I did NOT want to cut it there but this was over 11,000 words...pretty sure I broke a personal record XD But anyway~awkwardness is awkward.
I would LOVE to hear your take on the chapter. Like I said, this was hard for me to write for certain reasons. Violence in 'relationships' is often romanticized. I no likey, so difficult indeed.
Boy oh boy, another year's gone by...maybe in another 20 I'll finish this story! XD Happy Holidays!