06-02-2018, 09:49 PM
Each step I take is painful. The wounds on my ribcage open a little farther with every movement, and I am only a quarter of the way back to my cave before I can feel the slow drip of red blood down my sides. I had returned from Ischia only yesterday, greeted by the King upon my arrival in the least welcoming way possible.
The blood he drew had served as a siren call to his minions; Kwartz had come to me in the night and his seed still dries on my inner legs, mixed with my blood and the remnants of Modicum Mortem and the pair of laughing bay stallions I have only just left. They are the cause of the bruise beneath my left eye and feathers that are missing from my broken wings.
My right wing drags along the forest floor as I move, and my left is held closer in the least painful way I can manage. My head hangs low, my vision obscured by the tangled mess of my mane. Had it really been just yesterday that I'd stood on a tropical island with the wind in my hair and white sand at my feet? It seems so long ago. I'd been happy, almost, even knowing that I would be returning to Sylva. My life in the woods has not been what I expected (no one expects to be repeatedly raped and tormented), but it had been tolerable.
The fear for my life that has been present since I first saw the crazed gleam in Modicum Mortem's eye remains. It is strong enough that when I hear the sound of my name I attempt to slip away, unnoticed by the man who calls for me. It's not until I duck behind a tree that I recognize the voice. My cracked ribs make deep breaths painful, but the scent is familiar.
"Arthas?" I whisper, my voice small and incredulous. "Arthas is that really you?" I'm scramble towards him before I even know it, desperate to press myself against his familiar warmth. A foot away I stumble to a stop, realizing in an instant how things have changed since our last interaction. He had left me in the winter, promising the position of queen to a bright-eyed virgin, and returns to find me broken, sullied by countless men whose scent and semen still cling to my body.
"I...I, uh." I struggle to find words, something to fill this terrible space between us. Dark humor is the first thing I grasp, though my split lip makes my attempted smile too feeble to be believed. "I guess Sylva liked your gift more than you thought they would, huh?"
The blood he drew had served as a siren call to his minions; Kwartz had come to me in the night and his seed still dries on my inner legs, mixed with my blood and the remnants of Modicum Mortem and the pair of laughing bay stallions I have only just left. They are the cause of the bruise beneath my left eye and feathers that are missing from my broken wings.
My right wing drags along the forest floor as I move, and my left is held closer in the least painful way I can manage. My head hangs low, my vision obscured by the tangled mess of my mane. Had it really been just yesterday that I'd stood on a tropical island with the wind in my hair and white sand at my feet? It seems so long ago. I'd been happy, almost, even knowing that I would be returning to Sylva. My life in the woods has not been what I expected (no one expects to be repeatedly raped and tormented), but it had been tolerable.
The fear for my life that has been present since I first saw the crazed gleam in Modicum Mortem's eye remains. It is strong enough that when I hear the sound of my name I attempt to slip away, unnoticed by the man who calls for me. It's not until I duck behind a tree that I recognize the voice. My cracked ribs make deep breaths painful, but the scent is familiar.
"Arthas?" I whisper, my voice small and incredulous. "Arthas is that really you?" I'm scramble towards him before I even know it, desperate to press myself against his familiar warmth. A foot away I stumble to a stop, realizing in an instant how things have changed since our last interaction. He had left me in the winter, promising the position of queen to a bright-eyed virgin, and returns to find me broken, sullied by countless men whose scent and semen still cling to my body.
"I...I, uh." I struggle to find words, something to fill this terrible space between us. Dark humor is the first thing I grasp, though my split lip makes my attempted smile too feeble to be believed. "I guess Sylva liked your gift more than you thought they would, huh?"
