Damara stared after him, her stomach filled with butterflies her scared hands burning slightly from where Clopin's lips had brushed them. Sneering, she picked up the fallen gloves and forced them back onto her hands, doing it only in the hopes of spitting his so called highness. She was only here because Gillie wanted to be. If the winters in Paris were gentler, then she would have refused Clopin's offer.
But, her brother worried for her. She had heard Clopin's convincing little speech on the night they came here. She had been awake, and listening. One thing's for sure, the Gypsy King was good at reading people, he picked out her brother's weakness within a minute, and he used Gillie's concern for her well.
A light smirk lifted her lips, as Damara returned to her tent. However, the attempt to cut Clopin with her knife had been no act; she preferred not be touched. Gillie was the only one who could touch her, but not for Damara's benefit, it was for his mostly. It made him feel special that he could hug 'the wild child' as he sometimes called her.
One of the main reason's Damara acted the strange one, was to protect Gillie, without her to 'take care' of, he would have lost his head. Being his sister, Damara was aware that to remain sane her brother required a distraction. And he cared for her deeply; it seemed like the only option. But being in the Court opened doors for the siblings; Gillie could be distracted with the prospect of a wife, and in a time a new family.
This new distraction would leave Damara free to take care of her own needs. She would still be the odd child, the night of her parents' death left her with some oddities that were not an act. For example, the dislike to be touched, Clopin had come close to losing his head moments ago. But the shock held back the urge; no one not even Gillie or Jal had ever been that gentle with her.
Taking a seat on her bed roll, Damara closed her eyes, the nightmares entering her mind like torrid water. Silent tears began to trek down her cheeks. Eyes closed, Damara could see everything as if it happened only a day ago.
Memories caressed her mind.
The calm night air, the stars, her mother's arms wrapped around her, it was all so lovely. But it had been the calm before the storm. The wagon behind them suddenly lit up the night with an ungodly fire. The animals tethered to the cart shied, and the wagon tipped. The smell of burning flesh made Gillie vomit.
Mother snatched both her children and threw them out of the wagon just as arrows of fire nailed the roof, trapping her inside. Screams tore through the darkness; Damara snatched her brother's arm and dragged him through the camp. They came upon their uncle's tent, there was movement inside. Letting go of Gillie, Damara ran to the opening the tent, inside a nightmarish scene was taking place. Her youngest cousin, Bitterblue was screaming in agony, and a man was on top of her, undulating against the small child. Screaming in anger Damara attacked, doing everything in her powers to protect Bitterblue from the sick bastard.
The monster stood and snatched Damara by the hair, throwing her onto the ground. A demonic smile made his grotesque features even worse. He ripped away at Damara's clothes and began to deflower her. Tears clawed their way from her eyes; the screams for mercy irritated the devil. He unsheathed a knife and pressed it to Damara's cheek, pressing down harder than needed due to the dullness of the blade. "Shut up you disgusting little slut, or I'll fuck you with this!"
He flashed the knife at her for emphasis. Damara was quiet; looking to her left she saw Bitterblue cowering, eyes shut tight, ears shut to the cries of her cousin, blood running down her inner thighs. She remained quiet only for the little girl. Damara felt the blood running down her legs, feeling the constant pound of the monster. In her desperation, she yanked her arms from her captors grasp and aimed for his eyes. Clawing at them, the man sat up, screaming and cursing, giving Damara enough time to push him out of her. Despite the weakness of her legs, the little girl grabbed her cousin, pulling away from the disgusting monster. They made it out of the tent, running hand in hand.
Rocks were sailing through the air, aimed at them. Suddenly, Bitterblue shrieked and dropped onto the ground in a heap. Damara grabbed her, dragging her through the open field. But an arrow sailed through the air, driving home right through Bitterblue's heart. More rocks were thrown. Damara dropped the hand of her cousin and ran for the forest that lay just beyond the field. She continued to run until her feet blistered and bled, until she was on the cusp of vomiting up the contents of her stomach.
She collapsed by a creek, far from the gypsy camp, far from danger, though that she couldn't be sure of. The little girl buckled and sobbed until her eyes were raw, until the wound in her cheek stung with the salt of her tears. Looking down, Damara felt shame as she watched the blood continue to drip from between her legs. With care she lowered herself into the creek, wanting to wash away whatever that dog left on her.
The next day, Gillie and Jal found Damara wandering, her eyes dead, her body weak. She told them nothing of the taking of her virginity, which would be a secret that she would go to the grave with.
Damara opened her eyes; fresh waves of tears ran down her face. Why hadn't Gillie come to help her, did he run away when he heard her screams? She would never ask him that though, what happened that night was never discussed, and Damara wanted to keep in that way. She could still feel the sensation of being torn apart, she still experienced the shame.