I shut my eyes, trying to imagine if it could get any worse than this, if my husband could do worse than this. I thought handing me around to all his guards would be it, and yet, here we are.
I wince, letting a laugh that feels so out of place.
Those fuckers. Those absolute bastards. I’m going to show them. I don’t know how. I don’t know when, but I swear on my very soul that I will get my revenge.
My stomach churns violently, it feels like my entire bowels shift and then, with horror, I realise what is happening, what I cannot stop.
“No,” I whisper, as the stench hits me, as the feel of it pouring down my thighs, as it slithers between my toes.
Bile rises up so fast, I can’t keep it in, and I wretch, choking up more bodily fluids, turning this tomb into a soup of literal human waste.
It’s disgusting. It’s more than disgusting.
But in my mind, I can imagine what will happen when they open that door.
They think this will humiliate me. They think that this will shame me.
But all of this, all this muck is gonna bubble right out, it’s going to be like tsunami.
I let out a cackle, imagining the disgust on their faces as it covers their shiny floor, as it covers their shoes too.
I’ma mess by the time that door opens.
More than a mess.
I can’t string a sentence together. I can barely stand, let alone walk.
The Priest drags me out, cursing about the disgusting state of me – as if he expected any different outcome.
I’m thrown outside, thrown onto the hard, dirty ground.
The impact jars my back further. I land funny on my wrists and though I know they’re not broken, they absolutely kill.
I force myself up, force myself to my knees and just as I look up, I realise what he’s pointing at me, what he’s aiming right at my face.
Freezing cold water hits me at full pressure. I collapse again from the impact of it but that doesn’t make him stop. He continues to cover me, he continues to all but drown me.
I’m shivering, shaking so violently my teeth are chattering hard enough that I think my jaw might shatter.
When the tsunami finally stops, the silence that follows is deafening.
The Priest doesn’t even bother to dry me, he just hauls me up, dragging me by my sopping wet hair and parades me nakedthrough the Palace, through all those halls and staircases, past every watchful, every leering guard, and back to Gunther’s suite.
Devin
The Cathedral is filled with the sweet sickly scent of incense. It mingles with the soft rustling of silk and the murmur of hushed voices. My eyes dart around the room, taking in the masked faces of the Lords and Ladies before us.
Gunther looks almost resplendent in his golden robes. He stands at the altar beside his wife as if they’re the very image of what a perfect marriage should look like.
It’s been two weeks since he burnt her maid alive. She’s been kept in her room since. Locked in.
We’ve all heard her screams, heard her attempts to get out.
Silly bitch just doesn’t learn her lesson, does she?
Today, she looks regal, royal even, her posture is perfect, her eyes fixed on her husband as if she has unwavering loyalty for him. The mask she wears, is an exquisite piece of craftsmanship, hiding her bruised and battered face while the mouthpiece ensures her silence.
I can’t help but wonder what thoughts are swirling behind those beautiful eyes.
