Whumptober 2020 Day 14: Is Something Burning?—Branding/Heat Exhaustion/Fire
Word Count: 704
Author: Katie/Ally (aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl)
Rating: T
Characters: Riza Hawkeye
Summary: Riza screamed, but no one ever came to see why.
Notes: Just a look at the idea that Riza was branded rather than tattooed
Is Something Burning
The basement, Riza decided, had to be soundproof. Even though they lived so far from others, and no one really came by, she was certain that, unless the basement was soundproof, her screams had to have made it from this room to the outside. Someone had to have heard. No one ever came to investigate, though, and Riza had come to the conclusion that the basement had to be soundproof. And so, she thought, must also be her father's heart. Yes, she had agreed to help her father out, but not like this, no, she hadn't thought it would be like this. Her father had secured her to the table, warning her that this would be painful, but she had never thought that it would be as painful as this. And she always thought that, if she had been in serious pain like that, he would have done something to stop it, just on the basis of both of them being human. Apparently, she was wrong.
"Be still, my Riza," he said. "You're helping me. You're doing a great thing."
My Riza. He called her my Riza. He had never called her that before all of this. He had never wanted her before all of this. And at the beginning of this, she had craved that praise. Every word, every touch, every approving look, she had craved those from him. She still did, honestly, but it was tainted by the knowledge that he only cared for her usefulness, and not for her.
She hated this.
She hated him.
She hated herself.
The familiar smell of the branding tool coming closer to her, now that it was, apparently, warm filled her nose. She tried not to tense up as it got closer to her. She anticipated it touching her skin, cutting into it, and the anticipation of it touching her skin was terrible. It wasn't as terrible as it actually happening, though. She let out a strangled cry as it bit into her flesh, carving a line through it. She couldn't move at all, no wiggling, no moving, barely able to take in breaths. Father had made sure of that so that she wouldn't move and mess up the lines he was carving into her skin. Lines and shapes, and words—All of them were being burned into her skin. Day after day, they were carved and cauterized by her father into the skin of her back. The secrets of Flame Alchemy being burned into her skin—it was ironic.
It didn't take the pain away. It didn't make the pain better.
She knew that she was going to be feeling this specific pain for the next few hours. Her father spent hours on these sessions, taking the tool and carving into her skin. He would give her time to at least partially heal between sessions, although the burns would be far from completely healed before he started on the next session. But all she would know for the next few hours was the pain of her father's work being burned into her back, the pain of it being sliced and burned into her skin. She would scream throughout it, scream her voice raw, sob and cry. She would tense and pull against the restraints until it left her arms so sore she didn't want to move them, and the areas where she was restrained bloody. And never once would her father's hand flinch, never once would anyone stop by their isolated house to make sure that her father wasn't killing her.
And yet, she wouldn't tell him no when he came back to her later for more. She wouldn't refuse him. And even if she could, if she was physically able to, she knew that she wouldn't. Because for the first time in her life, her father wanted her. And she craved that. She had craved it from her earliest memories. Because of that, she wouldn't refuse him when he came for her. And she knew it, even through the pain of this branding.
She hated this.
She hated him.
She hated herself.
And the only thing she could, or would, do about it, was to lay there and scream as she was branded.