Compos Mentis [Rávamë's Bane: Book 2]

Part I : Chapter 10 ~ The Deepest Scars Are Invisible

*!*Trigger Warning: Attempted Assault*!*

A/N: Ok, it's been a bloody long wait, and while I'm trash for making you all wait so long for this (slightly shorter than planned) update, I am indeed still alive! Just been super busy for the past few months. The biggest reason for that is I am finally off the job hunting market after landing a shiny new job with lots of lovely new people! *happy dance*

Now on a slightly more serious note, before we get started, a brief explanation for the above warning:

I'm putting a trigger warning here not because anything truly traumatic or graphically upsetting happens (beyond the usual brand of fantasy violence and evil cliffhangers) but because this was quite difficult for me to write on an emotional level. And if it was difficult for me to write, then chances are it'll be difficult for some people to read too. A lot of what I poured into this chapter is unfortunately from first hand experience, and while I don't want to sugar-coat or downplay the emotions in it, I also don't want to upset any of my more vulnerable readers either. So if you are either sensitive to the kind of things in the warning, recovering, or just want to avoid it in general, please feel free to skip this chapter; I've deliberately written this and the next so that you won't need it to continue understanding story.

~ ♛ ~

I really wish I could say that over the past few months I'd become a little better at sensing when anyone - be they friend or foe - was attempting to sneak up behind me. Sadly, if I did, I'd have been lying through my teeth.

I part squeaked, part jumped out of my skin at the sudden voice behind me, and spun inelegantly to find myself looking down the alleyway at a man. He was probably only a couple of years older than me if I were to guess, and handsome enough to get himself into a lot of trouble if he'd come from my world. He was leaning a bit heavily against a wooden wall, and grinning like the cat who'd stolen the cream, the cow, and the milkmaid to boot. Looking a bit closer, I realised he must have been one of the surviving soldiers from Theodred's company; he was dressed a bit haphazardly in the same uniform of the platoon I'd seen at the funeral, minus the chainmail and weapons.

Also - unlike his comrades - he'd apparently decided to numb the pain of his friend's fall with booze instead of war preparations.

A lot of booze. Like, enough to float a small battleship. He was still clutching a mostly empty bottle, and I could smell the fumes from over eight feet away now that I was facing him. I hitched my bag a little higher on my shoulder, noting that my body had instantly gone taught as a wound spring without me even telling it to.

"I-I'm sorry?" my voice came out an octave higher than normal.

His grin widened into a leer.

"No need to be sorry, sweetlin'. They suit your... assets beautifully."

A significant part of me wanted to snort-laugh at the truly terrible pun. But the rest of me - the sensible part - knew that nothing good could come of sticking around, and began urging me to burn rubber, now.

I tried to turn and move back the way I'd been headed, but suddenly found myself unable to move, like a deer caught in the beam of headlights. He took one lumbering step towards me, then another, eyes drifting non too subtly over the areas of my figure Tink had been praising not ten minutes ago, and a familiar feeling of dread I hadn't experienced in a long time began pooling in my stomach.

Cornered, frozen, alcohol fumes, glassy eyes looking at me like I was a dessert on a plate...

I'd been here before.