She sat just like the others at the table.
But on second glance, she seemed to hold her cup
a little differently as she picked it up.
She smiled once. It was almost painful.
And when they finished and it was time to stand
and slowly, as chance selected them, they left
and moved through many rooms (they talked and laughed),
I saw her. She was moving far behind
the others, absorbed, like someone who will soon
have to sing before a large assembly;
upon her eyes, which were radiant with joy,
light played as on the surface of a pool.
She followed slowly, taking a long time,
as though there were some obstacle in the way;
and yet: as though, once it was overcome,
she would be beyond all walking, and would fly.
-Rainer Maria Rilke, "Going Blind"
IXIXIXIXIXIXIXIXIX
Beatrix Rose Griffin was not a happy girl.
The fourteen-year old even had to admit it to herself—though she so wished it were untrue.
She placed her fingers gently on the piano keys, and rocked them back and forth, feeling the smooth surface underneath her soft, delicate fingertips. She glanced over her shoulder at the crowd waiting for her performance. In the Grosso Family Ballroom, thick silence filtered the energy of the space.
The negativity that followed her to every recital caused her great distress. It didn't matter that it was the most beautiful building in Treno, with walls made of true solid gold. It didn't matter that her mother dressed her in the finest gowns, that she had many male admirers from many affluent houses, that she was quite good at playing piano, that she was even wealthy at all.
Uncomfortably, she looked away, unmotivated to begin her piece. But, the show had to go on, and so she began to play, from memory.
She was technically quite good at the piano, but her playing lacked feeling. She wasn't focused on how the music made her feel, but only concerned with how the crowd was viewing her technical skill. She could hear them whisper while she played, when before they had been nothing but dreadfully silent, almost as if they wished for her to fail.
The fact of her entire family being there did not help. She could feel the hot burn of their gazes seer into her scalp. One cousin in particular, she knew, was quite jealous of her hair, and she could feel the silliness of a glower upon her.
These were the stupid, almost childish thoughts that ran through her head. The more serious ones took their toll. She knew what they were saying; she had heard it before.
"Beautiful, she is, and she plays well, but I hear she suffers of a neurosis, poor girl."
"There's a bit of a streak to her, as if one moment she would be kind, pleasant, obedient, the perfect daughter. But underneath her cool exterior, what lies? I hear her mother has a story on it…"
"Clementine claims she is depressed…poor thing."
"Perhaps marriage and children will do her some good. I think if she got her head checked she could be a fine wife and mother."
Beatrix didn't know what they expected of her. Her father had died 3 years ago, and she still could not shake the memory of him teaching her the first notes of the piano. He was a musical genius, well versed in many instruments and had composed and conducted for the Grand Trenian Orchestra. Music was one of the only things that had made him truly happy. Seeing him happy, made her happy. All she ever wanted was to be happy by his side. He was her hero, her rock, her everything in life.
She wished he would have decided not to leave her that day, to go hunting. The lot of them, they left him behind to die in the attack. It was never worth it, to trust men. Men were never friends, only foes sporting the guise of a comrade.
"I could hear Gideon scream, help me, help me! There was nothing we could do; he had already been dragged away by the beast, into its underground lair. To this day, the sounds of him screeching out in pain as he was…eaten alive…they haunt my worst nightmares."
She still didn't understand why they couldn't have stopped it, or why they let her hear the whole story. The image of her father being brutally massacred by some monster stuck with her, and if she managed to think too long on it, she would fall into a nervous fit.
She supposed that's what they were talking about when they claimed her to be neurotic. They all knew that before, she was a rather happy, well-balanced individual.
Her playing continued, soft, pleasant, yet vapid. She wasn't paying an ounce of attention to the piece. Her mind drifted suddenly, without reason, to the time when he had taken her to Alexandria for a day trip. She was merely 8 at the time, but the memory of the town always bided with her, fondly. She had been to Alexandria many times, and always enjoyed what it had to offer, with it being so bright, sunny, cheerful, the people happy. Her father had a fondness for the city that he spoke of often, and named her after its insignia.
"You are my bringer of joy, my beautiful rose," he would always dote on her. His tone when speaking about her always radiated the purest kind of love.
There was always one particular trip she preferred to reflect on.
That day, there was a parade going through town, and her father held her on his shoulders so she could get the full view of it. She saw everything—the quaint, rustic architecture of every building, the wholesomeness and sincerity of the people, their excitement, the street vendors with their fresh produce and homemade goods, bargaining with the townspeople. Alexandria castle, so holy in its view, it's large sword façade glinting magnificently in the distance. Every dancer made their way elegantly through the streets, every brass player sounded out each note clearly, the scantily-clad soldiers marching with the clear blue sky as their backdrop. Instantly, she had noticed that the army was indeed all female, and she questioned her father about it, knowing well that this was not the case in Lindblum or Burmecia.
"Father, why is the army all women here? Women are not supposed to take up arms!"
"Well, Trixie, darling…they take up a different philosophy here in Alexandria," he answered warmly in his rich baritone. "You see, Alexandria has what you would call a matriarchy, meaning women are seen as all divine and as the most powerful in this country, which is the opposite of most places."
Beatrix nodded and noticed a woman at the train of the parade of soldiers—a young, vibrant redhead with piercing blue eyes. She was tall and muscular, carrying a sword longer than her entire body.
"Father! Who is that pretty lady?"
He chuckled. "That is General Marceline. You know Beatrix, she was just promoted as General a few months ago after General Leanna stepped down. I hear she is quite the fierce warrior—and woman! She is rumored to have the best swordsmanship in the land, and at the tender age of 20! But alas, Alexandria is known for their superior soldiers, trained with the highest and most strenuous techniques of the holy sword."
The young girl was mesmerized. She had never seen a woman so strong, so independent, walking with the grace of a thousand fairies and the strength of 100 men. She was confident, and made of pure class, much more than any noble from Treno could hope to have.
That day, Beatrix was sure Marceline felt her gaze. The general looked over, face bright, yet stone cold, and warmed up for a smile once she noticed the young admirer. As quickly as she grinned, it was over and she was out of sight. Beatrix could hardly contain her excitement, and hugged her dad's neck. In a rush of ecstatic joy, she blurted out something her father never thought he'd hear.
"I want to be an Alexandrian solider!"
Gideon chucked, reaching up to stroke her silky brown hair.
"No you don't, my rose. Admirable as it may seem, it is a life of subjugation and strife. It is a dark hole of misidentification and pure nothingness. You would be but a pawn, and your life's purpose is much greater than that," he started, lifting her from his shoulders and kneeling down to face her. He stoked her cheek. "I just know it."
Beatrix looked down, holding her tummy in disappointment, but nodded at her father's counsel.
"Ok daddy. I won't be a solider. Can we go to the vendors now and buy some fresh strawberries?"
The memory washed away in an instant of pink and blue hues, the colors of her own nostalgia. The young adult was transported back to the present moment, as she had finished her song. The crowd sat silent for a moment, before breaking out into applause. Her eyes glossy, she managed to look out into the crowd. Her mother sat with her stepfather, and neither looked particularly impressed with her. Sitting next to them was the man she was to marry, Charles Boston, a man 7 years her senior. He appeared to be quite enthralled with her, but she knew he was merely infatuated with her post-puberty physique, one she herself was still growing into, and could not accept another person desiring her in what she felt was such an ugly way. She looked down at her chest, and recognized how her cleavage billowed outwards in the dress her mother forced her to wear. While it was true that proper womanly charms were a must in Treno, she still felt like a child inside a woman's body.
At once, she heard hissing behind her, and her instructor was yelling at her to get up and bow. Shook from her trance, she did stand to bow, but the applause was already dying out. She was quickly shoved off stage for the next performer, a girl two years her senior who happened to be much better at playing with feeling.
She sat down next to the rest of the music students, and anticipated the whispering she was to hear. They always talked loud enough so they made sure she knew exactly how much she was detested. They would talk about how talentless she was in the face of mere beauty, that beauty was the only thing she had going right, that she was messed up in the head and thank god for her looks.
She was so tired of hearing about how beautiful she was, because she didn't see herself as beautiful. She started to believe them, that she really couldn't do anything quite right. She had let her father down in too many ways to count since his death, and her entire life was just one vicious cycle of powerlessness and despair.
There were times her suicidal tendencies took over her consciousness. The constant darkness of the city didn't help. Internally, she felt frail and deficient of vital life force. She would sit in the bright, sparkling cleanliness of her porcelain bathtub, taking one of her dad's old hunting daggers to her legs, and would cut and cut until there was no more white left on the tub's interior. When the screams of her mother went unanswered as she banged on the door, her step father often found himself knocking it down. Clementine gasped audibly upon finding her in there, resting in a pool of her own blood, sobbing. Wasting no time to consider her own wrongdoings, she took a handful of Beatrix's thick hair and dragged her out of the tub, still in the nude. She wrapped a robe around her and moaned of the blood that now soiled the carpet, and called for the doctor. They took her away to the psych ward, a place she called home for a few months.
These hadn't been the last incidents of her cutting, but she was more careful about how she cut. She would often do it early in the morning during her bath, with a full tub to conceal any blood. Knowing that there were white mages on her mother's side, she took up reading about white magic, and managed to teach herself cure in a short amount of time, if only to make sure she cured herself before any more bleeding could take place. Her handmaid noticed the cuts, but said nothing.
It was as if she had so much pent up emotion, that bleeding out felt like she was somehow releasing it, while punishing herself for being so defective.
She went about like this day to day, feeling thankful that long, extravagant, puffy dresses were the only thing she was allowed to wear as a noble girl in Treno. During her studying hours, she would caress her legs through her tights, and assure herself she was only hours away from her next round of cutting. It was an addiction, the only thing keeping her away from the psych ward again.
She knew cutting could not save her from Charles, however. She was forced to see him twice a week, two nights in his mansion, and one night with her family. Always, they had a family dinner, and always he sat right next to her, forcing her hand underneath her dress and stroking her scars for her. He knew she was a cutter, and used it against her in the most psychologically cruel way imaginable. He had a way of making her feel like her body was not her own, though it was the only thing she felt she had her own power over.
She despised every fiber of his being.
"All arrangements are in order. May 1st. We will finally be wed, paid in full by my family with a dowry for yours."
"Not as if we need it," Clementine drawled lazily, pouring herself more wine from the large decanter in front of her. She swirled in around the glass before taking a sip. She presumed her daughter wanted more wine as well, and poured out some for her in addition. Beatrix was starting to feel ill, and wanted no more wine, but accepted the gift as her glass was pushed at her. She looked at Charles, who smirked at the ruby fluid and squeezed one of her more recent scabbing, busting it open. Beatrix yelped internally, but stayed quiet.
"And that's the day after Beatrix's birthday, too. She will be fifteen, then," her mother said smugly, almost as if she were not present at the table.
Beatrix looked down at the dark wood of the table, tracing her fingers over the swirls evident on its surface. She wished her father were here to protect her from such a tyrannical union. He'd have never agreed to the engagement, and he'd have found her a better suitor. It was the money, she knew, though Clementine denied it. But her mother wasn't always like this, so easily persuaded by the material things in life, so obviously corrupt by the comfort it seemed to provide to her.
Once, she was a kind, gentle, and loving mother. After her father's death, she had gone to a deep depression, and was only able to come out of her fit once she met her step father, Archibald. His influence on her changed her entirely, and she ceased to be the loving, attentive mother she used to be.
Beatrix blamed it on herself, wondering what she had done as a daughter to deserve being so suddenly rejected by the women who meant the most to her in the world. She often pondered how she could have been different somehow, perhaps even normal. She often fantasized about being a middle class working daughter in Dali, or perhaps Alexandria, where she had a laborious life, but was loved, and whole.
Dreams of going back to Alexandria were far out of reach ever since her father died. Her fiancé forbade her going, knowing her penchant for the city and rightfully assuming that it would lift her spirits. He used things like this against her; to keep her in depression was to keep her in chains.
She knew this, but resigned to it. The pain of the cut he forced open throbbed hotly, blissfully on her leg as she felt the warm ooze run down her stocking. Somewhere inside, she prayed it bleed her out.
"Yes, keep me here. Keep me here," she thought, focusing faintly on her mother's mouth as she spat drunken drivel. She looked back over at Charles, who had finally removed his hand, and then at Archibald, who poured himself another glass. They were all drunkards, and partook readily, regularly, and liberally. She often wondered if they would come to be different people if they quit the drink forever.
Beatrix took another sip of hers when her mother started to eye her suspiciously.
"Beeee-aaa-triiixx," she sounded out. "You're acting quite strange, what's the matter with you, silly girl?"
Archibald, always present at the small family dinners, chimed in with insidious curiosity. "Yes, darling Beatrix, I have noticed you do not look well."
Beatrix twisted her hands in her lap, and looked over at where Charles's parents sat across the table, silent as stone. Their quiet, yet condemnatory presence enraged her. "There…is nothing the matter. How, pray tell, am I acting different than normal?"
Clementine caught the slight edge of sass. She reached over the table, swiftly, and back-handed the girl square across the cheek, and watched her fall from the table in her righteousness. Beatrix crumpled to the floor, raising her hand to her wound, but didn't look up. She would never let on that the pain was mild compared to cutting.
"When your elders ask you a question, you answer properly. Do you understand me?" the woman asked, suddenly voracious, out for blood, and intent on Beatrix's. She saw a slight nod set forth from the girl on the ground, and settled herself back into her chair in satisfaction. Her eyes travelled to the placated expression on Charles's face, and he nodded, understanding her wishes. He helped the young girl back up to the table as if nothing had occurred. Beatrix sat gingerly and composed herself, hair a bit tousled, grabbing for her glass of wine and taking another sip to her mother's wishes.
"…I am simply nervous for the wedding, is all mother," Beatrix finally answered, feigning a smile at Charles. He squeezed one of her wounds once more. "In a decent manner, so to speak."
"There is nothing to be nervous of, dear Beatrix," Charles's father, David, answered. "Charles will provide you with a good and secure life, and he will be a fine husband. You will want for nothing till the day you die."
His mother, Irena, concurred, nodding her head fervently, but never speaking. Beatrix did not believe her genuine.
Powerless as she was, they could not imprison her within her mind. Her father had always taught her never to let anyone sway her or alter her convictions. He used to tell her she was strong as any man, physically or otherwise. And she knew, better than the whole lot of them, that she was better than everyone present at this table.
There was no convincing any of them that she was worth a true gil farthing, however. It was hard to keep herself in check, to keep herself from going to those dark places that they resided in her consciousness. Her father's voice swam back to her in waves of relief, every time, reassuring her that she was not like these people in the slightest.
Dinner finally came to an end after grueling hours of listening to these terrible nobles rip each other apart. She sat in complete silence, never once asked for her own opinion. The truth was that Beatrix didn't have an opinion, as she usually tuned out from all the vitriol. It made her stomach ache and her head pound.
A carriage was called for the two of them head back to the Beauford Estate, separate of his parents, who wished to stay longer. They stepped out from the Griffin Estate in the rain, and Charles opened an umbrella for his mate, and she begrudgingly thanked him. She climbed into the cabin first, as ladies usually did. Beatrix had, historically, tried to exit a stagecoach by opening the door and flinging herself out to escape his sexual advances, uncaring of possible death.
She allowed the pitter-patter of the rain and the sound of the wheels against the cobblestones sooth her soul. She loved to get lost in sounds, imagining that they were carrying her off to distant lands on their waves, even if it were just for a few moments, a few minutes, an hour. Of all her coping skills, this one was by far her favorite, aside from sleep, which she rarely had.
She tried to ignore the small voice in her head that was praying Charles wouldn't try to have sex with her in the coach.
A few minutes passed and she realized he would not try her tonight, at least, not inside the coach. She glanced over at him in her curiosity and found him preoccupied, arms crossed, focusing on the passing sights. She was grateful, but also a little afraid. What was wrong with him? His irritation never meant good things for her.
The rain stopped.
She noticed that the coach was starting to slow down, much sooner than she anticipated. She checked her surroundings and found that they were not stopping at the estate. When signaling that she would question, he beat her to the punch.
"We're making a small stop. Get out of the coach, Amira will be waiting to keep you company."
"Amira?" Beatrix questioned, the first light of joy in the day crossing her mind. Amira was her only friend. "And Alastor as well?"
"…Yes." Charles answered quietly, and slid out of the coach, beckoning her come forward. She scooted over and was helped down by him, and immediately saw Amira. She ran up to the girl and hugged her, but as she pulled away to read her face she saw great dread and trepidation overcome her countenance.
"Amira…what is—
"Come," the slightly older girl urged, and took Beatrix's hand. They made their way into an alleyway a street over, and stopped their brisk walk in relatively well-lit spot. She reached into her reticule without a thought and produced a cigarette and matches. She bid Beatrix hold the cigarette while she lit the match, and demanded she place it in her mouth.
"So I can light it, darling," Amira said, noticing the bewildered expression present on the younger girl's face. Beatrix did what she was told and the cigarette came alive in a blaze. She took a drag and brought it down to her side, taking care not to blow into Amira's face. Beatrix noticed her dark purple hair was tied up elegantly, yet hanging down in pieces fashionably against her alabaster skin. Her admiration always set her in awe of the young woman.
"Worry does not suit you," Beatrix said finally after a long-winded pause, and passed the cigarette over to her friend. "What troubles you so?"
The girl's emerald green eyes rung out in pleading for a split second, before she waved Beatrix off and brought the cigarette to her lips.
"It is nothing, believe me. Alastor and Charles have business to attend to that we are not allowed to take part in."
"I don't believe you, that it is nothing. Do you have any ideas on what that business may entail?"
She merely shook her head and dragged ashes into dust with her foot. "It does not matter. When Al says walk away, I know he means it."
Beatrix watched her inhale again, then tried to pass it over. She took it, but wavered. Amira focused on the smoke billowing from the stick, blooming upwards majestically into the yellow light of a streetlamp.
"I…I always looked up to Alastor. Thought he'd be a good example to Charles, maybe shake him of his darkness, his vitriol for some of the non-humans here in Treno," Beatrix started, trembling a bit at the thought of a fall from grace. "I…I don't want to hear that he is one to blame for Charles's wretchedness, somehow."
"Not responsible, no," Amira shrugged. She then shook her head with reckoning. "But I do now believe he himself has gotten involved in the same brand of garbage as Charles…"
"So the reverse is true," Beatrix accepted, shaking her head and taking another drag. Amira approached her swiftly and got so close, their noses nearly touched.
"Don't ever tell anyone what you witnessed here tonight. Do you understand me, Beatrix? No one."
The green cast of her eyes bore hard into her own red ones. She could feel the intensity, the panic. She gulped.
"Not to one soul."
"Bound by your word," Amira accepted, grabbing the younger girl's hand and leading her back farther into the alley, where they made their way around a corner and into another alleyway. She allowed her body to be dragged by the urgency, feeling her heart pound in terror in her throat. She older girl stopped abruptly, peeking around the corner, then beckoned Beatrix forward to take a look. She looked to her for assurance, but found nothing. She somehow found the courage to look, and balked violently at what she saw.
There was a girl, a few years older than her, on her knees. She was not human. Her sobs were heavy and desperate, and could be heard from yards away. At first, Beatrix could not quite make out what was going on, but her eyes drifted over to two bare, male bottoms, concealing the girl's face.
"Quit your crying, you slut! Do what you're told…"
Beatrix recognized the voice immediately. Sinister and overbearing. It belonged to Charles. She put a hand over her mouth, partially in disgust, partially due to the nausea she was beginning to feel. She realized the other man was Alastor, and he was just a guilty party to what was happening as Charles.
"No…please…I…I need…to be paid for my services…it's not my fault—
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
This time, it was Alastor. The girl's moans, pleading and sobs soon became muffled, and Beatrix had to hide her eyes from the rest.
They were both raping her.
Beatrix moved away from the corner and knelt down to the ground, retching. Amira ran up to her and held back her hair, shushing her.
"Beatrix! Please try to be quiet—they'll hear you."
"Amira," Beatrix croaked after coughing, and wiping away the saliva that escaped the corners of her mouth, "They're raping her. What—we are going to do nothing?"
Amira shook her head and grabbed Beatrix's face. "No. Never. The same will happen to you if you tell someone. They have absolute power in this city and no one will ever stop them. You must know your place and that only."
She became deviant, incredulous.
"And why? Why should any of us have to put up with this? My father…he always said, we women weren't created to be obedient to our husbands, puppets if you will. We are meant for so much greater than this…" she said, slamming her fist on the cobblestones, regretting it immediately. It made a large, echoing clap, and Amira looked behind them just to make sure it didn't draw attention. Luckily, it wasn't loud enough.
"There's got to be a better way…a better life than this," Beatrix insisted, half defeated.
"Well there isn't!" Amira yelled quietly, whipping her head back around. "Be thankful you have the life you do! The money, the clothing, the food, the prestige! You could have been born into a family in the slums, like that poor girl!"
Beatrix bit her tongue, knowing she was right, even if she still wished herself poor. She shook her head, and turned her back to Amira, letting out a tiny, weak sob. She began retching once more.
"Beatrix, come. You must stop crying, now. I think the coach is finally back 'round…"
She lifted the young girl by the hands, and both dashed back to the coach. Beatrix hopped in, waiting for Charles. She looked down into Amira's face for comfort. Under the light of the streetlamp, it glowed with warmth, motherliness, beauty. All things she felt her own mother now lacked. She pursed her lips, and squeezed her eyes tight to keep the tears from leaking out. She wished so very much that she could have had a loving mother, that her father were still alive, that things could have somehow been different for her.
"I'm telling you, beautiful wonder…" Amira started, climbing halfway into the carriage to cup Beatrix's face one last time. The sincerity in her eyes tipped Beatrix over the edge, and the younger one could not hold back her tears. "Appreciate the life you have. You are so lucky, so talented, so wonderful. Use those things well, and you will not only live, you will soar."
The warm, soft hand was taken from her face, and she reached out after it, only just realizing it was replaced with Charles. He climbed violently into the carriage, straightening his collar as thought what he had just done was a matter of business. Sweat beaded his forehead and coated his hair in greasiness. He sneered at Beatrix before demanding the coach driver pull the beasts hard.
He didn't know it, but Beatrix, in that moment, was aware that Charles was somehow involved in the very large, very profitable, but very underground business that was the Treno sex trade.
Sex trade.
She didn't look at him the entire ride home, and he didn't care. She only made herself dizzy watching the cobblestones fly by.
IXIXIXIXIXIXIXIX
The two of them were finally back at the estate, Beatrix rifling through her mind about how she could possibly get out of having sex with him that evening. Knowing where he had been and what he had been doing made her impossibly ill, and she knew it would be quite difficult to fake any sort of arousal, as she usually did.
His parents were still not home, however, so she was not presented with opportunity of excuse. She wondered if they knew about his side business.
They entered the bedroom, the sight of the many artifacts from the auction house and the walls adorned with gold leaf, reminding her somehow of her father. She turned to him once she sat gingerly on the bed, feeling the panic run immediately from her heart to her intimate parts. He slammed the door behind him and whipped around, wasting no time in the removal of his own clothing.
"What were you doing out there that took so long?" Beatrix had the courage to ask, daring to stall him. She was unsure if she could handle him psychologically; she was too broken from what she had witnessed earlier.
He was unbuckling his belt when he stopped abruptly in response to her question, a look of incredulity possessing his features.
"Since when do you ask questions? Lay down on the bed."
"No," Beatrix fought back, insistent. "If we are to be married, should you not be honest with me? And do you believe I'd…never find out?"
He snickered, and put his foot down. "You won't find out. You're not very well connected, and as your mother and myself had made sure of it. Mentally unstable and unfit women have no place in society besides being obedient wives. Now quit mouthing off, you shrew, and do what I say."
"I won't." Beatrix stated daringly, the last remark sending her to a breaking point. She stood up, one trembling finger pointing in his direction. His expression remained smarmy.
"I warn you…I cannot take much more of this. I may well go mad."
He trudged up to her with quick, heavy steps and forced his hand around her neck, pushing her down on the bed into a struggle. Beatrix did her best to fight him off, even attempting to awaken some type of holy magic like she'd been practicing, but it was no use. She made one last attempt to try and claw at one of his eyes, and managed to get his right one briefly, but he never let go of his grip.
"I…don't…understand you…" Beatrix whimpered through gasps, bringing her hands back to her own throat to try and pull his hands off. He was too strong. Pure terror registered on her face once her vision started to go spotty, and she thought she may die there. She could see well enough to look into his left eye. The evil had never quite left it, and he was still full of hatred in all his vigor. The energy was so overwhelming, that Beatrix would have welcomed death. A bead of sweat dripped from his head onto her chin, and she understood how the sex worker felt in her moment of dark night. He leaned down finally, and his rancid breath filled her nostrils. Her panting worsened as he leaned into her ear, going to do god knew what.
He simply whispered.
"There is nothing here to understand, woman-child. Only darkness resides inside me."
He was still for a moment, relishing in his own nature, and laughing at his own words. The stillness gave Beatrix no relief. She knew what was coming.
He suddenly removed his hands from her neck, knowing she was full out of fight. He dug both knees into her legs so she could not move, and she howled in misery. He forced his hands inside the lace of her dress, and began ripping it to shreds. She sobbed hard for the duration, fully understanding her hopeless state, and succumbing to that. Charles got sick of the noise, and slapped her five times until she was still again.
She was completely naked, exposed, prime for his kill. She closed her eyes, and couldn't bear to look. She had no choice but to accept it, and though it wasn't the first time, her exhaustion in the mere beginning told her it would be the worst time. The chill she felt across her skin awaited his burning touch in agony. The cold was so unbearable to her skin, exposed to the hostile air, that she began to quake, and wished only for him to get it over with.
There was no touching, no fondling, no kissing. No sign of a man that loved her at all. Just entry, painful, brutal, torturous entry, the weight of him bearing on her with no thought of her feelings, her consciousness, her soul, her humanity. He forced himself upon her in such a way that she knew she was bleeding, thankfully lessening the traction. She tried to blare out the sensation of him hitting her inner walls cruelly, unfeelingly. Her body knew instinctually that this was the only way she would be able to survive this. She instantly forgot the sensation of pain, and dissociated.
Why are you so intent on keeping me alive?
It was finally over. She was mildly aware of the leaking sensation of his seed inside her, and felt blessed by the heavens when he jumped off her and curled up on the side of the bed, panting heavily. She didn't move. She didn't feel that she was capable of such. She felt as if she were merely a rag, a used up rag, ready to be thrown out with other vile contents of trash. She felt subhuman. She let herself feel something—the pain was so acute that she was a hair's breadth away from feeling absolutely nothing.
She was sure she was straddling insanity. She was so sure of it as she lay there, bleeding. Charles blew out the candles as he heard his parents enter the home, and Beatrix knew she was then allowed to curl up underneath the blankets with him.
She never even had to see the clean up. By the time she woke up the next morning, Charles had long since been gone along with any evidence of her rape from the night prior. A rap on the door alerted her to her surroundings. A servant burst through the door and held up a fresh, newly bought dress for her to wear to school that day.
IXIXIXIXIXIXIXIXIX
She tapped her quill on the first line of the blank page. Writing wasn't really her forte; it frustrated her so much that it made her nose itch. She blinked a few times at the parchment, then pardoned to concede to Doctor Tot, her philosophy professor and tutor. He cocked his head to look down at her face, and the pained expression she wore was both beautiful and unbearable to look at. The disparity between the two made Dr. Tot chuckle.
"I don't know. Is he perhaps talking about the impermanence, or inconstant state of any one person's emotions or ideas?" Beatrix asked, nearly giving up.
"Well…look into it further. What do you think Moses Akerchink meant when he said 'the world cannot truly be made of the stuff people are made'?" He countered, already knowing the academic answer.
"I think he was quite out of his mind," Beatrix said, throwing down her quill and crossing her arms. She mostly pretended to be frustrated. On most days, she would have taken the time to think up a proper answer, but she had been sick to her stomach for the 5th morning in a row and could not grab at her concentration.
"Think of it this way," Dr. Tot continued, putting up his finger and disappearing behind one of the many bookcases in his observatory. He came back with a book as large and thick as a fist. "Maribell Transi writes of his musings, 'the consciousness of the person on Gaia is vast, and quite effortlessly complicated'…"
Beatrix couldn't take it anymore. She buried her head in her hands and started to shake, unsure if she would throw up in ten seconds of if she could hold off for another 30 minutes until her session was over.
"Miss Griffin, surely you do not believe you will pass your test by giving up?"
He was quick to judge her, before he saw her cradling her head in her hands.
"What is wrong, Beatrix? Do you feel ill?"
The weight of pressure to perform was lifted off her shoulders, and she was relieved he noticed. He seemed sympathetic enough, so she spoke up about her condition.
"Please forgive me, Dr. Tot…it's just that for the past few days I have felt very ill."
"What do you mean by ill?" the bird-man asked, rubbing his beard with his fingers.
Beatrix tried to think how she would explain it without sounding like she was deathly ill. She was starting to think that she might have been.
"I…I have felt…for the past few mornings, so sick to my stomach that I could throw up multiple times, and I have. The waves hit me every hour of the morning, then stop once I eat lunch."
He tapped his finger on the table, furrowing his brow and inspecting the flush of her cheeks. She barely had one at all, and was quite sallow.
"Are you hungry come lunch, or are you forcing yourself to eat?"
"That's the weird part…" Beatrix trailed off, tapping her temples. "I…have been voraciously hungry after these waves of nausea end."
"And do you find that your moods have been changing lately?"
The young woman winced and nodded. "Yeah. I've been pretty irritable and quite tired lately, now that you mention it."
Dr. Tot nodded with all this information presented to him, and eased himself down into a chair next to her. He clasped his hands together and looked her square in the eye.
"Beatrix…do forgive my intrusion into your personal life, but are you by chance…sexually active?"
The question took her by surprise, but she answered, curious as to why he was asking. "Well, yes. I am, but hardly by choice. It's commonplace for girls my age, anymore. Why do you ask?"
He hesitated, and his voice creaked for a moment. He didn't know how to suggest what he might…
"…Beatrix, dear. I think…you might want to see a doctor. Have you told Clementine how you're feeling?"
Beatrix scoffed, turned her face away from him. "Hmph. No! I'll tell her nothing of my life if I can help it."
"I won't interfere into your personal life anymore, young one, but I reiterate that perhaps you should see a doctor," he insisted, adjusting his glasses, which were falling off his beak.
In that instant, as she watched the glasses almost slide off his nose, she had an epiphany. She knew exactly what he was hinting at, and her stomach dropped so hard that she actually had to run over to the balcony and throw up. Once she was done retching, she wiped her mouth and turned around to find Dr. Tot leading her to a little cot one floor above his study. As they mounted the ladder, Beatrix was grateful that he seemed to care so much about her well-being.
"Just rest here," he insisted, laying her down onto the small bed and covering her with a quilt. "I will grab a doctor for you. There is a practice just down the road."
"Call whomever you want," Beatrix pleaded, "But whatever you do, do not call my mother."
Dr. Tot look at her gravely for a moment, then nodded, and turned away to rush down the ladder. Beatrix was so sick, that it felt like hours before one came. She half fell asleep in the mean time, and was woken up by a light touch on the shoulder. She squinted her eyes to focus on the features of the doctor's face. Dr. Tot saw that they got settled in, and left the room. He had Beatrix sign a few forms, then started hs work.
He had long, straight blonde hair and teal eyes, which were gentle and caring. He smiled at the young girl, and asked her if she would scooch to the edge of the bed, where he could do a full body inspection. Beatrix nodded and obeyed, and watched him gently set down his briefcase, inside a variety of different medical tools, herbs and potions. The sensations of having cold, alien hands touch her all over her were somehow comforting to her, and a welcome change from the scorching, searing hands of her fiancé.
Once the body inspection was over, the doctor went back into his toolbox with a small, soft hum and brought out what looked like pliers and a long metal rod.
"Please open your legs, if you would, Beatrix."
She froze in fear for a moment, her body and mind collectively taking her back to the time she was raped, but she realized where she was and finally was able to breathe. She nodded her head in consent and watched as the doctor stuck the uncomfortable objects in her body. There was another hum from him, this time a more disapproving one, and Beatrix could feel her begin to ask the dreaded question, almost knowing why she was asking.
"You…are sexually active, my dear?"
"…Yes."
There were no more hums, no more sounds from the tools, only silence. Suddenly, the doctor stood up and began packing his tools away. His hands hovered over a few potions for a moment, then he grabbed one before shutting it. He rolled the glass container in his hands as he walked over, and handed it to Beatrix, a sad look present in his gaze.
"As a doctor, I have to deliver all news, good or bad. I don't know how you will receive this, but it is prudent that you know now," he started, pausing for another few moments, then continuing, "Miss Griffin…it appears that you are with child. And about 6 weeks along."
With that, he pursed his lips into a flat line, went and grabbed his suitcase, and walked down the stairs, leaving Beatrix in a state of total shock, disbelief, and terror.
"I'm pregnant with…his baby," She thought.
IXIXIXIXIXIXIXIX
Her legs felt like jelly. Every person in the city of night's face blurred so that it was indistinguishable from the rest. She was a martyr for their sins, a lady to hold the blame for Eve existing, the fable of Adam and Eve. She felt the weight of her own implications as a woman, of their actions against her, of their power, of the very little she had herself.
She hated every face she looked at that day. Downturned, scowling, downtrodden, joyful, neutral. She hated them all. Every beggar she walked past, every decked out, rich man. Every woman, especially the happy ones, the ones who laughed at her as she passed by them.
She didn't even try to keep composure. The moisture leaked out of her eyes, her mouth gaping, gasping for some type of relief. Her eyes must have been puffy and red, her hair amassed with tangles, her underclothes torn. Her skin torn, her body ruined.
She wanted nothing more than to punch herself in the stomach, to kill the damn thing and rip it out and throw it on the sidewalk. She imagined it as the likeliness of Charles, in deep pain, throbbing, pulsating, begging for it to be over. There was no identification of herself in the seed planted, and she knew she was remiss, on the train to the underworld for the way she thought about the fetus inside.
6 weeks pregnant.
It was shameful even in Treno to be pregnant with a child at nearly 15 years old. Most waited until they were at least 18. She knew she didn't need any more shame, any more guilt, infamy or attention brought to her life. She just wanted to run away from it all, to live somewhere else, be someone else, where nobody knew her face or her name. She was sick of being a famous noble girl, and at that instant, closed her eyes and prayed to be but a beggar.
Then, a clicking noise filled her ears. For some reason, there was a resonance, a comfort that came along with it. She promptly took off her top hat and turned to see a thin, short, sickly-looking blonde man tap dancing on the cobblestones. Beatrix watched him in awe, transfixed by the sounds, and the technique. She reached into her change purse and found a few gil to throw into his hat. Their eyes met, and instantly there was an electric wave that ran through her.
"Why, thank ya miss!" the boy said, clearly of a lower status by the sound of his accent. "I really 'preciate the help. Living dance to dance, ya know?"
All the while, he kept up his performance, until there were a final few taps, and he took a bow.
"You are certainly quite the performer," Beatrix noted, impressed.
"Ah, yes…and you, miss? Your name, I mean?"
Beatrix hesitated, not knowing if she wished him to know. She ultimately decided that he seemed trustworthy enough.
"I am Lady Beatrix Griffin, daughter of Gideon Griffin, as you may well know."
The boy wracked his brain for her name, but could not find likeness.
"Don't know either of ya, I have to say. You're a noblewoman, I 'spect."
Beatrix nodded. "Yes. Couldn't you tell by my dress?"
They both laughed in unison, and again she felt the electricity emanating from his deep brown eyes. For the first time in a long time, her heart fluttered a bit.
"Ya look pretty troubled for being a noble woman. I'm sorry my dancing didn't cheer ya to the bone. May I ask…what's troubling ya, miss?"
Beatrix instantly shook her head, knowing she couldn't take herself that far to reveal her new secret. "It is nothing. I am simply tired."
The teenaged boy drew closer, inching toward her expression. It turned downwards in a general fashion, and it was evident that she was lying.
"I don't believe ya. It seems to me like you don't have no confidants, either."
She was taken aback by his forwardness, then looked to the ground to try to hide the truth that lay in plain sight. She rubbed her hands together for a second, and felt that maybe telling a stranger her truth would do her some good. After all, he didn't know who she was.
"Well…if I'm being honest…I am…unexpectedly with child."
The boy's face drew back in shocked. He pondered her troublesome situation for a moment, and bowed to her.
"I'm sorry, miss. That must be stressful for ya."
Beatrix laughed a bit, then sighed dejectedly. "It is…I don't know what I'm going to do."
She realized immediately that the boy was very forward.
"Well…don't you want the child?"
The question struck her like a stake in the heart. She was forced to reckon with the true fact that she, indeed, did not want her own child.
"I…I do not. I am not prepared to be a mother," she resolved, shaking her head and throwing her hands to her side. "But what can I do?"
He eyed her up at the moment, figuring that she wasn't that far along. He shrugged. "You could always get an abortion, ya know. I know a lot of noble women that have done it. They hate their husbands and don't want to bear their children, I guess."
Beatrix recoiled in shock.
"A-An abortion?! I didn't know people actually did such things!"
"Yeah," the boy continued, pacing the sidewalk. "I know a good doctor who does 'em under the table, if ya want. Your guy would never even know you were pregnant in the first place…"
Beatrix blinked furiously, blushing, not knowing exactly what to say. She was stunned to silence. The boy caught on, and reached inside his pocket, pulling out an address slip with no name.
"Here…that's the name of the place if you wanna go…he does 'em for a small fee and is real clean. Even knows a bit of white magic, I reckon."
Beatrix took the paper with shaking hands. The boy picked up his tip hat, and raised it to her as to signal good day.
"Wait!" Beatrix yelled after him as he began to walk away. "I didn't catch your name!"
He turned back around to face her, walking backwards and waving.
"Just call me Boy Dutch," he yelled before disappearing into an alleyway.
IXIXIXIXIXIXIXIXIX
She sent a telegram in the night.
They sent her a telegram back, not long after.
It had been a week after she had found out, and this was the soonest they could fit her in. The clinic wasn't too far from the observatory, she and she could see the shining fires lit on giant torches when she looked above. For a moment, she prayed for some fire god to burn the city to destruction, but she realized it was no use. For the transient flame that danced on the reflection of her eyes…every man, woman and child in the city was just as transient. And they would never be captured, destroyed, brought to their knees…
Beatrix has been brought to hers many more times than she cared to count.
She turned back toward the large, tall, iron doors and waited for the doctor to come get her, as instructions stated. She was told very plainly not to use the front entrance, as that was for the normal patients. Abortion was illegal in Alexandrian territory; legal in the rest of the world. It wasn't the first time she wished she wasn't Trenian. Treno always twisted Alexandrian laws to the rich man's liking.
She tried to act nonchalant. She propped herself up against a brick wall, and looked down at the commoner's clothes she wore, just to disguise herself. God forbid anyone recognize her—she would likely be briefly jailed, then beheaded under Alexandrian law. There would be no trial.
She shivered so deeply it rocked her bones. She pulled up the hood on the cloak she was wearing, mentally kicking herself for not doing it sooner. She placed a hand to her belly when she suddenly felt it move. In addition to her violent shivering, she was beginning to doubt herself.
"Do I really…want to kill my own child?"
At that moment, as a pang of fear ran through her gut, the door opened quickly, and a slender woman with blue hair in a white coat was signaling at her.
"Delina?" she asked.
"Yes," Beatrix answered, referring to her fake name.
"Come in, then," the woman whispered, and Beatrix followed her into a dark, mildly grungy hallway. She held her coat close to her chest as she crossed her arms, feeling the chill of the draft come upon her skin. The bright torches illuminated every hallway so brightly that she felt out of place—every detail seemed impossibly stark against the light, and it made her head feel like it was going to spin off her neck.
"Do not fret now, my dear," the nurse reasoned, reckoning her reactions with all the girls who came before her. "These are the back rooms. Nobody official will find you here."
That didn't make Beatrix feel better. Her first thought was of all the second-rate doctors who performed abortions in this place. She thought she saw a blood stain on the wall.
"H-How many…doctors here have performed abortions here?"
She smirked, and directed Beatrix to a door, leading to what she assumed was the "operating" room.
"Only a few…there aren't many that risk getting caught, mind. However…a lot care about these women and lay their lives on the line…like the one you're getting today…"
"So, my doctor is experienced?"
The woman cocked and eyebrow, then smiled warmly, as she ushered her into the room. All that was there, was a tiny bed covered in a few layers of linens, and a small bedside table of tools, presumably for the doctor to use. Beatrix turned to her promptly, a look of terror sullying her gaze.
"It's ok…just put on the gown laid on the bed and the doctor will be in momentarily," the woman insisted, pointing to what Beatrix had assumed was an excess of linens.
She said no more before shutting the door on Beatrix, leaving her alone in the cold, dimly lit room, and even worse, with her thoughts.
She didn't know what else to do but obey and put on the gown, and she slipped off the commoner clothes she donned, slowly, but forcefully. The slipped off her body with more ease than she wanted, and another shockwave of pain and guilt ran through her spine. She came to face with her belly. The fetus was hardly anything at all but still a presence in her life since she discovered it. She raised her shaky hands and hovered over the skin, feeling the warmth emanate from it. She closed her eyes and tried to fight back the tears forming in them, but it was no use. A few rolled down her cheeks and onto the surface of her stomach. She opened her eyes, and through the warped veil of tears she wanted to make a cry for help, help from anyone who would hear her, but it was no use. It was do this, or live a hell alongside Charles for all of eternity. It would be the very one thing that would bind them forever, and she could never have it. Instead, she found the voice to apologize to it, however hoarse and weak the apology was.
She laid herself down on the bed, and wondered how many women had laid in this spot before her. Probably more than she could have thought. She at once thought of all these women in disdain, aborting their own flesh and blood, before coming back to her own reality. She felt she had a good reason, but at least she had money. More guilt filled the empty spaces, and she just wished it over with. She stared up at the off white ceiling, and pulled the flimsy blanket over her body, and waited. She tried very hard to quiet her mind, but it kept shouting at her.
Shame. Shame. Shame.
The voice was, of course, her mother's. Not that she believed her mother would care about losing the child so much as she cared about shaming her own daughter. It seemed to be a pastime for her.
Her heart was pounding. She was rigid with fear. She felt the desperate urge to cry out again, a coldness running over her body, a cruel stream. Right as this feeling hit, she heard the doctor come through the door, and she had the urge to look at the person that would be taking the life out of her womb, but for some reason, she did not look.
She heard the door shut with a short, soft click.
"Delina?" the voice asked. It was that of a woman's. Beatrix almost didn't respond, partly because of the shock that her doctor was a woman, not the man she had expected.
"Uh…yes?"
"Hi. My name is Doctor Orlagh. That is not my real name, of course. You must understand…"
Beatrix nodded her head solemnly, feeling the coolness of the sheet against her chin. It comforted her, somehow.
"I do understand."
The doctor did not speak again for a while. She walked over to the table and prepped herself.
"I am limited on time here, and have many more appointments today. I am quick, thorough and clean. With my methods, the baby does not suffer any pain and will die immediately. Do you understand?"
Beatrix reiterated that she understood, cringing at the word "die".
"Good. I just need to sterilize my tools entirely, then I will be ready."
The doctor did just that, then Beatrix felt the lower blanket be lifted off her legs. The chill air funneled to her nether reasons, and her violent shaking only increased.
"Ok, I am going to enter your cervix. There will be a small amount of pressure for about a minute, then you will feel a sharp pain shortly after, then it will be over and I can send you on your way. Are you ready?"
"Yes," Beatrix lied, and her voice was hoarse again. The doctor said nothing else, and entered her. It was all exactly as described, and was over within three minutes.
"There. All done. Take your time putting your clothes back on. One of my assistants will be in shortly to let you out."
And that was it. Beatrix didn't raise her head to get a look, and let the doctor leave without ever knowing who she was. The words "all done" rang out in her head. It was over.
She sat up and frowned at what she had just done, but felt relieved, knowing that she could go home and nobody would ever have to know that she was pregnant in the first place. They were all too absorbed in themselves to even notice whether or not she had acted differently in these past few months.
What scared her most was the idea that she may have to come back. She knew she had to figure out some way to escape falling pregnant again, now that she knew she was more than capable. She clumsily slipped her clothes back on, and eagerly waited for the assistant.
The one who entered was the same one of whom led her into the room. She was escorted out of the building brusquely, too brusquely, even. Beatrix noticed this with an bad feeling in her gut, and started to slow down her walk.
"Come, we must be quick."
"What is the real rush to have me out? Should I not have time to recover from what I just went through."
"You mean what you did to that poor child?" the assistant asked, coldly. Beatrix stopped walking, alarmed by the comment. They were already very close to the door out. The assistant walked up to it, and turned around to face Beatrix.
"I know who you are," she said gravely, snarling as her hand reached for the handle. "You're Lady Beatrix of house Griffin."
The young girl took a step back in shock, her first reaction being to snap off the girl's wrist before she could open the door.
"Wait!" Beatrix shouted, panicked. "Who are you and how do you know who I am?!"
"Your clothes don't fool me," she stated, turning the handle.
Beatrix's eyes narrowed, and she suddenly understood what was going on. She balled her fists with growing rage. She had been duped.
"You…the tap dancing boy. Both of you know my fiancé, I presume?"
The girl scowled. "Of course. He has lots of connections in this town, and many eyes watching you. You're a silly girl for thinking he wouldn't be monitoring your every action."
"And you're all wretched, filty, horrid people," Beatrix insisted, not backing down. "Look at you. A woman betraying your own."
She shrugged. "What do I care, really? He pays me handsomely, after all. More handsomely than these silly doctors."
"Why then, huh? Why would Charles let me do this if he knew about it? Let me kill his own child?"
"He wanted to see if you actually would. And you did. You've proved yourself a nasty, disobedient mate—and you're going to pay the price for that."
Without another word, she opened the door. Standing in the way was Charles, fists balled in rage, barely giving her time to process what was happening before he lunged in, running at her. She tried to turn and run but she wasn't fast enough. He pulled her by her curls all the way down until they were out the doorway. Her body flew onto the street, hitting her head and scraping her arm badly. He picked her back up by her hair and hauled her off.
To god knows where, she thought. Maybe she deserved it. She heard the voice of the assistant in the distance:
"Don't trust everyone you meet on the streets, foolish girl!"
It seemed like he dragged her forever. Her head was agonizing from the pain of being pulled by her scalp.
"I have eyes everywhere!" she heard him shout. He sounded distant, somehow, and his screams faded away. The alleyway went blurry. She wished for a brain bleed so she could just die.
He threw her down on a trash heap somewhere. She felt the sensation of some rotten smell, and a goo attached itself to her uninjured arm. She recalled him faintly pulling out a knife, waving it around as if he were dancing with it, making promises to it, courting it, loving it. Things he never did with her.
Then, it was there. Some unbearable pain in her nether regions, immediately snapping her out of her trance. She realized he was raping her with a knife.
Death finally stared her in the face, but she didn't want to go painfully, like this. She raised her arms in fight or flight response, and he didn't expect it She was able to plunge her right hand toward his right eye, and hit him hard. He dropped the knife and stood up, backing away to complain about the pain for a moment.
"You bitch!" he screeched, holding his face in agony. Beatrix realized this might be her only time to escape, and grabbed after the knife he dropped. She kicked up dust with her hands, wildly. Her vision was still blurry, the scape of the land spinning, but she managed to find it's handle. She attempted to stand up and stab him with it, but he recovered in time to stop her. He grabbed her wrist mid-stab and threw her back down onto the pile of trash, holding both her wrists down. He left his dominant left hand free to wield the knife and held it to her face. Beatrix willed herself to scream out for help, but she had no voice left.
"You…you killed my child!" Charles accused, but he was insincere. "You must pay!"
He painstakingly placed the knife against her temple and paused it there. Beatrix felt the cold blade not quite pierce her skin, portending of her terror, of the eye she knew may very well lose.
He started to drag the blade up her cheekbone, and this time Beatrix did manage to scream out in agony. Wherever they were, no one could hear her screams, or simply ignored them. Her trembling only intensified, and this cause for the knife to go wonky with an already unsteady hand. A sharp pain ran up her entire face as she felt him carve a deep wound, finally feeling him enter the area of her right eye socket, before pausing, as if he had hesitation.
"Please, please, I beg of you!" Beatrix pleaded, now crying. "Do not do this!"
He was breathing deep, heavy, rough. He then chuckled, and stroked her eyebrow gently.
"You think it's all fun and games to kill my baby, then you fuck with my eyes. I told you...you're going to pay."
He left the desire behind. He acted in his rage. He plunged the knife full force into her eye, and she had never felt such overwhelming pain in her life. She wailed out desperately for him to kill her, but he just kept moving up her face. He next maimed her eyebrow, but her head was in so much general pain that she did not feel it.
She knew one thing; if he was not going to kill her, then she didn't want to live through the pain of this. She was going to try and kill herself, somehow. Perhaps move her head around in a way where he accidentally stabs her in the neck…
Then, there was some type of divine light shining on her. Treno was never light, and she never had hope of her rapist's body being lifted off hers before. But it was true: his crushing weight was suddenly gone, and the first thing she knew to do was throw her hands to the hardness of the ground, and scramble her legs to stand up. She backed herself against the wall and tried to steady herself, knowing that if she didn't get away quickly, she would never escape him
She tried to focus her eyes on the figure standing there in the mix of light and blurry darkness, but she could not make out a face. All she saw was a tall, muscular man in a suit, looking down at her. She shook in anticipation and gratitude, wondering what he wanted from her.
"W-Who are you?" Beatrix barely managed.
The figure didn't answer immediately. He stood there for a moment. He raised a hand and pointed toward the west side of the city.
"It doesn't matter. Free yourself, Beatrix. Go, now. Run. Before it's too late."
Beatrix decided not to ask questions. She nodded her head and felt more clarity than ever. She knew exactly what he meant by "run", whoever he was.
He meant to get out of town. If they found her, she was dead.
She bowed her head and thanked him, mustering up the energy to run. She sprinted down the alleyway and found one of the main drags, and by memory, thought of the only person she could turn to for help.
She ran for about 20 minutes, unstopping, though she felt she may collapse at any moment. She realized her one working eye had to adjust to every sight, and her head thudded. Her adrenaline was pumping, her thoughts racing. Her life was on the line. She finally made it to the observatory, and grabbed the steel rail that led up the ramp. She looked up at the brightly-lit globe that was its landmark, and shouted up to see if Dr. Tot was home. She made a small prayer in the back of her mind, and closed her eyes.
"Dr. Tot!" she screamed. "Dr. Tot!"
She waited for a moment and heard nothing from him. She started to run up the ramp and up the stairs, when she heard him answer.
"Hello? Did someone call my name?" he asked into the open air. Beatrix looked up mid run and saw his beak protruding from the top rail.
"Hello! Dr. Tot!" Beatrix shouted, almost breathless. "It is Beatrix! I am coming up!"
"Why, Miss Griffin, what are you doing up here this late at—
"I don't have time to explain!" she said forcefully, turning the corner so he could fully see her. He opened his beak to try and reason with her, but recoiled at the sight of her bleeding eye, and the blood stains on her clothes.
"M-My goodness!" he stuttered, almost too shaken to speak. "What...what's happened to you?"
Beatrix shook her head and grabbed him by the shoulders.
"Again, I don't have time to explain to you! I need to get out of Treno at once! I know you have access to the Gargants—
"You need a doctor at once!" Dr. Tot insisted, sitting her down on one of his benches. "I cannot even believe you're walking, you must be in so much pain. How did you get here?"
Beatrix shook her head fiercely, and swallowed. "I disobeyed Charles again. This time…it had real consequences."
It was a half-lie, but one she could live with. "I won't live past tonight if I don't get out of here. You must understand. I don't have time to tell you the whole story—perhaps someday."
Dr. Tot looked her over with much trepidation, and looked behind his back and all around for a sign of someone looking for her. Once he knew he was in the clear, he kneeled down to look up at her face, and decided she was sincere. There was great compassion written in his eyes, and he nodded.
"Ok. I will get you out of here. But you cannot tell anyone I helped you. I could be executed as an accomplice."
"Thank you," Beatrix said, relieved, bowing her head.
"Where will you go?" he asked. Beatrix had never really thought about it, but the answer became clear as day in that instant.
"Alexandria. I want to go to Alexandria," she said, thinking about her father.
"Alright. But you must promise me one thing, dear Beatrix," he noted, raising a finger and putting one hand on her shoulder, "that if you go to Alexandria, you must not tell anyone who you really are, and you must get medical assistance immediately…"
Beatrix nodded again, this time more eagerly. "Yes, yes. I promise."
"Ok."
He was resolute in his decision. He took her hand and led her up a few ladders to the ladder and hole that went down into Gargant Roo.
"I will go first so I can lead you down. You probably can't see too well…"
He climbed down the shaft without another word, and Beatrix followed suit. They made their way safely down to the platform, and Dr. Tot took her hands in his own. He reached into his pocket and pulled out some yellow Gargant weed.
"Now, listen to me, Beatrix...you are going to find the tunnel connection sequence and pull the lever. Once you hop into the cart, I will pull the lever at the left end of the platform to change the trajectory to Alexandria…then once you get on, you're going to get off three stops from here, which is Alexandria town. Get off at the castle, and you'll find yourself in more hot water."
The both of them worked as a team, and thankfully no monsters popped up during their work. Before long, Beatrix was hopping in the cart and thanking Dr. Tot with what little energy she had left.
"I cannot thank you enough, kind sir."
Dr. Tot shook his head. "Just remember what I told you. Please be safe, Miss Griffin."
He walked away from her at the moment, and pulled the lever on the left. Beatrix watched him slip away in the distance as she was off, and waved to him. Suddenly, her eye and head started to scream in pain, and she knew she would probably get an infection if she did not heal herself quickly.
She took her right hand to her eye and tried to perform white magic, but it was no use. She was starting to get dizzy and could barely concentrate.
"Will I die on this Gargant?" she questioned, thinking of how lucky she was to even get away. She didn't want all that effort to go to waste, for Dr. Tot to put his life on the line for nothing. If she was found, he would be tried.
She made another attempt to perform some weak magic, but failed. She was too tired, too out of focus. She laid down on the bench and prayed that she make it to Alexandria before it was too late, but then remembered that she must watch for her stop. Painstakingly, she sat up, and held her throbbing head in her hands. She held onto consciousness by focusing on the wind on her face, and tried to think more pleasant thoughts.
Finally, the stop arrived. Clinging onto life with every breath she took, she pulled the mechanism to stop the Gargant, and hopped out of the vehicle, tumbling to the ground as she did. She wasn't sure if she had enough energy to make it up the steep slope she saw ahead, into town, but she told herself she was going to die trying.
Beatrix didn't remember the rest of that night.
She woke up in an infirmary the next morning, utterly confused, vision blurry, limbs aching, tender in her nether region. She sat up gingerly as to not aggravate any of her injuries. She rested the weight of her body on the arm that ached less, and brought the other to feel a bandage that covered a quarter of her face. In her slumber, Beatrix almost forgot, blissfully, that she had only one eye.
The fact of the matter hit her like a stake in the heart, and she started to sob. It was a queer feeling, the righteousness of safety, the warmth in her belly of gratefulness. She gazed around the off-white room at all the others sleeping in beds next to her, and her sensitive heart swelled with deep compassion and love for each and every one of them. They didn't know how lucky they were to be sleeping peacefully, undaunted by a single thing, being looked after in the best way. Beatrix missed that feeling. She missed her father. And how much she missed him hit her, really believing that he, or some visage of him, had saved her that night. She clutched the blankets to her chest in her gratitude, in her love of him…but in the back of her mind she wondered if he had been the only good man on Gaia, and what her next move was, and how she would hide from the authorities that would surely be looking for her.
Her head began its throbbing again. She had to lay it back down. A young woman of around 17 entered the room, and laid a bowl of warm water next to her bedside table. She reached into it and wrung out a cloth, before placing it on her forehead.
"You're awake," she noted, and Beatrix basked in the feeling of the warmth. She didn't answer, as she was afraid to speak and be somehow identified by the deep, yet honey-laden tonality of her voice.
The woman sat on the side of the bed and studied her pensively.
"How old are you, miss? And where are you from? We found you unconscious on the outskirts of town, looking like you got a bad lot."
Beatrix didn't answer at first, and her one good eye shied away.
"I…I'm 16," she lied.
"16, huh?" the girl asked, not moving from her position. She had a trace of compassion in her gaze, and frowned. "Well I have to ask now…what happened to you?"
She shook her head just barely so the cloth wouldn't fall off, and refused to answer.
"Well, you don't have to divulge. I'm supposing you know that we had to perform a bit of heavy sleep magic on you and take out your eye, and sew the lid it shut."
Beatrix still said nothing, taking all the grief of it into her awareness.
"And the doctor would usually inform you of this, but she's out a bit busy right now. So, she told me to tell you."
The young nurse waited in the silence for a moment before carrying on.
"You see…this may be hard you hear. You…will probably never be able to bear children ever again. Whatever was done to your insides has you severely deformed, structurally. It is highly likely you would miscarry at the earliest stages of any pregnancy…"
She trailed off and looked away, sorry for her fellow woman. Beatrix almost expected as much, though it didn't hurt any less.
"I…I forgot…" Beatrix said finally, causing for the nurse's ear to perk up. "…that females were allowed to be doctors here."
The nurse looked puzzled, but went along with it.
"Why…yes. This kingdom is somewhat of a matriarchy, so I would hope women can be practicing here."
"Thank you," Beatrix said abruptly. "I wish to be left alone now, if you will."
The nurse nodded and got up from the bed, and walked toward the entryway. Before disappearing behind the white curtain, she spun around on her heel with a dark look about her face.
"Um…whoever you are. You sound like you speak with perfect manners. I presume you come from a wealthy background. So you should have no trouble paying for services. Just let me know who I need to page…"
She left the room with those words hanging sullenly, dreadfully in the air about Beatrix's head. Her eyes burst open in horror. She realized, at that moment, that she couldn't afford to pay the medical expenses—she had no money on her.
"Wait!" she shouted, and shot up in her bed, not caring about the warm cloth that flew on the floor. "I…I actually don't have a dime to my name. How will I pay?"
She did not come back through the veil, but merely stood there, her still shadow against the whiteness of it produced a sinisterly nature that chilled Beatrix to the bone. She saw the woman's fingers press softly against it, as if in shock herself.
"…As we are a matriarchy, we must oblige our men, too. We have ways the women can pay."
That was all she said before she fled.
IXIXIXIXIXIXIXIXIX
Beatrix hated what she had been petitioned to do, but she did it willingly. It was the best way she could hide from the authorities, anyway.
She knew they were looking for her, but nobody gave a thought to check the whore-house. And those who occupied it, didn't dare rat out Oliver Menton's best girl. Supple, supposedly sixteen, fresh…not a virgin, but could pass for one over and over, she was so incredibly, irresistibly beautiful.
At least, that was the line that was fed to her. Over and over, every other night. And the men believed him, too, and they paid top dollar for her. She was given one night to recover, and one night sold off.
Her experiences were mostly far from pleasant, some truly degrading, but nothing was worse than what she had experienced with Charles. So she tolerated every act, and thank god she was so good at dissociating from all those years of abuse.
"Your body…we know about your defect, but apparently it makes ya pretty tight, what with all that scar tissue!" one of the girls said to her.
It made her the perfect whore, really. She could not keep a pregnancy.
She raked in the money for the owner, and kept very little for herself, after the medical unit got their cut.
"You're almost through, just a couple more nights, and you're free to go," Oliver would say, but the end never came. She suspected that the hospital had already been paid in full, and he was just keeping her around until she was "ruined".
But she didn't really care all that much. There was no thought to what her life would be after the brothel. She was fed, clothed, given a room and a bed, and paid, though it was very little. Her only fear was being sold out to a keeper, and kept as a concubine.
She still often thought about suicide. How her life had very little meaning beyond selling her sex to much older, wealthy men.
There were no good men. Only evil, she thought.
She was thinking about that very subject while awaiting her guest of the evening. She laid out on her dingy bed in her designated lingerie, a new pair bought for her every night. The owner decided to have a signature look for her, decked her out with a special blue bandana that was tied specially to cover all of her scars, and hanging, gold and jade earrings that looked quite elegant with her curly hair.
She noticed that her 9PM appointment was running a bit late. Beatrix used this time to sulk a bit, and focus on the torches aflame all around her, bewitched with her own white magic to give a multi colored glow about the room. The beads at hung off the door frame concealed her from the next room in all their shimmering glory. Beatrix sometimes wondered about the other girls beyond, and wondered about how horribly the more common men treated them. She did not envy them, and feared her own inevitable days in that section.
Suddenly, there were screams from the girls, and men shouting. Beatrix jolted up to listen, and heard a couple glasses shatter, before there were footsteps coming in her direction. Too petrified to get up to face what was happening, she sat upright on the bed and waited. Her skin felt like it froze over. She was sure they had found her.
It was a few minutes of agony while Beatrix listened to the sounds of female voices gently conversing.
When the intruder finally entered her room, who came through those beads shocked her more than anyone ever could have. It was General Marceline, red curls aflame as they always were, a beacon of beauty and hope from her childhood. She stood proud in the doorway, hands on her hips, Save the Queen strapped to her by her hilt.
"G-General Marceline?!" Beatrix blurted out, stunned.
Marceline cocked an eyebrow, then simply laughed. She was full of more mirth than Beatrix had pictured.
"Why do you sound do shocked?" the general asked, moving a bit closer. "I've never seen you here before, on my monthly scouting appointment. And who might you be, young one?"
"I-I-I—
"Go on, spit it out. I don't have a lot of time."
"M-My name is…Delina…"
Marceline's eyes narrowed, and she looked Beatrix up and down with suspicion.
"That's not your name, girl, I can tell a lie from the moment it is uttered. What is your real name, and where do you hail from?"
The jig was up, Beatrix thought. She was going to be airshipped back to Treno and executed.
"…My…name…is Beatrix Griffin. I hail from house Griffin in Treno."
The general didn't look shocked. In fact, she looked satisfied. She smirked, and pulled out a scroll with Beatrix's face on it. The large print underneath read:
"WANTED FOR MURDER. BEATRIX GRIFFIN. HAS ONE EYE, CURLY BROWN HAIR."
"Word has gotten to me that you were here at The Cherry on Chariot, you see."
Beatrix hung her head in shame.
"Yes…I am guilty of that. If you're going to take me, just do it now."
She held out her wrists to be bound. The awkward silence filled her ears, then another small, jolly, but deep laugh emanated from the older woman.
"My dear child…I am not here to arrest you. I am here to recruit you."
Beatrix looked up, hope and inspiration welling in her eyes. She blinked.
"R-Recruit me?"
"Yes, darling." The general almost interrupted, checking her beige lacquered nails. "Don't think I don't remember you of old. A child in the parade. I knew your father quite well, actually. You deserve a better life than this one. Come."
"B-But I'm not really 16! I can't enlist in the army!" Beatrix fought back, astonished at what she just heard.
General Marceline waved her forward. "It does not matter, not as long as I set the rules around this kingdom. Come now. Get up and follow me."
IXIXIXIXIXIXIXIXIX
Author Notes: HOLY CRAP. I am so sorry this took so long to post, but I needed to make sure I write it to my liking and that I covered every piece of her story that I wanted to. And I think I really accomplished that. Let me know what you all think!
Beatrix's backstory is not yet finished! It will be a two part series within the story. Thanks for reading!