Beyond the Glow

Chapter 3

The first lash is always the worst. I can hear the fabric of my dress rip, and then the pain lances between by shoulder blades. My body jerks up, arching me back away from the thing that hurt me. "Again." I hear Cynthia say. Almost immediately, the whip cracks, and a line burns its way across my back. I clamp my mouth shut, I will not give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

Another whiplash breaks the skin, and I can feel the blood trickle down my back. I bite my lip, trying to distract myself. But I can't get far enough into myself to shut down before I feel the next whiplash, dragging me back to reality. Then the next, brings a strangled scream bursting from my lips. I strain against my own muscles, locked into positing by Cynthia's own will. Cynthia leans down in front of me; my lamp hanging from her fingers loosely as she dangles it in front of my face. 

"How does it feel to have this, salvation so close yet you can't reach it?" She waves the lamp towards my straining fingers, just out of reach. Hangar chooses this moment to lash at me again, and my face contorts in pain, my fingers go limp. Cynthia lets out a cruel laugh, with no real joy. "Twenty-no, thirty lashes tonight Hangar! She was feeling rather rebellious today. Lets ruin that pretty little dress." 

Hanger only cracks his whip in answer, making me flinch. As the lashes start, it all fades into oblivion. Each hit burns, and I can feel to pain lancing across my back. Surely it will scar, if people notice the abuse I went through, somebody would help right? Scream after scream disturbs the silence of the room, echoing off the walls to the rhythmic cracking of Hangars whip across my back. 

I start counting the lashes, counting down till its over. Hangar goes up to twenty five, and takes a break. He's panting, the whip handing loose in his hands. I pant too, and every breath sends flashes of pain across my still raw back. Cynthia left at some point, I can dimly remember her leaving and telling him to meet her upstairs later. 

My skin hangs in ragged shreds, sliced to pieces by Hangars whip. Only five more, then I'll be done. I can heal. The dress, which had been so beautiful before, now hangs from me, nothing more than shreds of cloth. Whatever is left is covered in blood, the beautiful purple turned a deep maroon.  

All at once, Hangar starts lashing again. I gash in pain and surprise at the first hit radiates throughout my body. I count, waiting for the lashes to stop at five, for Hangar to let me free from Cynthia's orders, one of the many privileges he has by keeping my punishments a secret, because despite Cynthia's hate for me, she doesn't want me to die of blood loss in her basement. Of course she has the privilege to hide a body and smooth it over in public, but she will loose her only power over others.  

But he doesn't stop. Doesn't even slow down. 

He keeps on lashing me. He does ten, fifteen, twenty extra lashes, before he stops.  Then, with a snort of disgust, he leaves. I am left hooked up to the lashing post. "Wait! Come Back!" I try to yell, and it comes out as a raspy whisper. I can feel my body getting weaker, the blood draining from me drip by drip. If I didn't heal soon, I'll be good as dead. 

He stops, then walks closer, breathing his heavy breath in my ear. "Release." He mutters, letting out a sigh as my body droops, leaning on the leather handles for support. Then he leaves for good, and I collapse for good, too weak from the extra lashes to go look for my lamp in the dark room, despite the urgent pull it has. 

When the last of Hangar's footsteps up the stairs fade into silence, I am left in darkness by myself, and giving in at last, I cry. I cry because I am alone, with no family or allies. I cry because I am in the dark, figuratively, and literally. And I cry because this is my final stand. If nobody come to help, I will die.

In a way, I look forwards to death as I fade away. Dreamily, I can recall all of the times that I was beaten, or my privacy was invaded. All these years, working as a slave, and I never really have been able to truly experience happiness. But all the scars, from the whippings, and so many other personal violations, never healed, not truly. They didn't show on my skin, but they were there. I walked towards the oblivion with open arms. 

And even then, I just couldn't do it. Something was holding me back, something tugging at my mind. Or was it someone? I frown, marring my peaceful sleep to make the muscles move the way they were supposed to. 

Dimly, I register a gasp behind me, and quick, light footsteps. Then I am being lifted, a bright light appearing beyond my eyelids and making me wrinkle my brow in frustration. Why can't they just let me sleep? Why can't they just take pity on me and make this living nightmare end? Whoever it is doesn't hear my silent pleas, and carries me away from the whipping pole with quick hurried steps back up the stairs. "No," I gasp, reaching my hand out, I can feel my lamp, still in the darkness.

The person carrying me hesitates, and turns back. Their candle floods the room with light, and sweeps from one side to the other as if searching for what I need to leave. I see a glint, and my lamp came into view, for me as well as whoever my rescuer was. They rush towards it, grabbing the lamp, headed back up the stairs at their hurried pace. 

Let me touch it! I groaned, my fingers straining for the cool copper surface. My rescuer tied the lamp to their belt and it now swung like a pendulum, back and forth. I could feel my hold on consciousness slipping, and I knew that I didn't heal soon, it would be too late. My hand stretches towards the lamp, towards the power that could save me.

"Stop!" Our half sprint ground to a halt, and I raised my glazed over eyes to see Hangar standing in the hall, defiantly stopping the escape taking place. My head drooped, and my eyes went back to the lamp. My vision is going in and out. Then we shot forward with a lurch so fast, I was sure my stomach had been left behind us. Whoever was carrying me, had taken a running start at Hangar.

Maybe I really would die tonight, if my rescuer was stupid enough to take a running start at this bull of a man. 

Hangar was surprised too, he let out a startled yell, jumping to the side as we barrel past. Then, with an angry yell, he begins chasing us. My fingers stretch towards the lamp, the momentum of the run making it bounce off my saviors leg, right into my reach.  With one last burst of effort, I lunge forward, startling the person holding me, altering my aim. I nearly miss, but my fingers graze the surface and after a second, I'm inside. 

In the span of less than a second, I was falling to the floor in the hall, to the floor of my room. The power of the magic stored within the lamp, connected with the magic in my veins. I could feel the skin on my back stitching back together. The magic of the lamp automatically healing me. Slowly, I stand and look at the room around me. 

The fabrics on my walls are bouncing around awkwardly as the lamp lurches from one side to the other. Pillows are flying across the room, and I lean side to side with it. Whoever it is is still running then. My skin itches, and I rub my back absentmindedly. With hardly a thought, I am dressed in a pair of trousers and a short sleeved shirt. A dress doesn't seem very practical to run in after all. Especially one that has been ripped to shreds. 

Then with a deep breath, I make it over to the door, doing my best to avoid the flying pillows. Suddenly, the lamp gives a big jump, throwing me into the wall, and everything is still. 

Either we were just caught, or I might finally be safe.