Vengeful Creations || ONC 2021

Chapter Eleven

My breath caught in my throat. I felt a sickening twist in my gut.

Across the room, Peter fought against the bonds that held him to the gurney. His eyes were alight with fury, and he uttered a series of muffled curses behind his gag.

Hamlet continued to stare down at me, his expression cold. The hardness in his eyes made my chest ache.

Madam Longwenier, on the other hand, looked positively smug. She reached up and wrapped her slender arm around Hamlet's shoulders.

"It hurts when opportunity is snatched from you, doesn't it?" she taunted me. Her smile was a chilling combination of sadistic and gleeful. "I suppose I should extend a word of thanks to you, creator. After all, Hamlet and I met at your little rooftop soiree. We chatted over your champagne, and hatched our plan during your dreadfully monotonous speech. I suppose not everyone can be an impressive speaker. Not like my darling Danish Prince."

I swallowed against the lump in my throat. This couldn't be true. Hamlet wouldn't betray me. He hadn't been written as that sort of character — by Shakespeare, or by me. The hand holding, the lingering looks, the chemistry, that was real. This was a ruse.

Right?

I searched Hamlet's face, but his expression offered no answers. He placed a swift kiss on Longwenier's temple, then walked over to the tea settings on the desk.

My eyes stung with the all-too-familiar prickle of oncoming tears.

"As previously agreed upon, the creator has been delivered unto you, my lady," Hamlet said. He poured himself a cup of tea and took a sip. "Let her commence with the scratching of her quill so that we may be done with her, and presently."

"I couldn't have said it better myself," Longwenier concurred. She rounded the massive desk, opened the top drawer, and pulled an ornament fountain pen and a stack of paper from its depths. She then took her place behind me and shoved my chair up to the desk. "You really outdid yourself with this one," she said to me, tilting her head in Hamlet's direction. "He's so handsome, it's indecent. And the poetry that comes out of his mouth! Très excitant! My nether regions are all atwitter to discover what else he might do with that mouth."

I looked over at Hamlet, desperate to see some reaction. Some distaste. Something. But he had his back to me and was causally appraising the Rembrandt above the hearth. His posture betrayed nothing, as though he'd heard Longwenier speak this way on countless occasions.

"He really is much too good for you," Longwenier continued. She released my right arm from the straps. "But your loss is my gain — as it should be, after all you've forced me to endure. Hmmm, you are right-handed, aren't you, creator?"

"Yes," I heard myself say.

"Excellent," Longwenier said. She shrugged one dainty shoulder and retreated to the sofa. "Get to work."

My brow furrowed. I swallowed. "Hamlet?" I said. I hated how weak my voice sounded. Weak and heartbroken. Just like Ophelia's. I cleared my throat and tried again: "Hamlet, please—"

Hamlet spun around, one eyebrow arched in irritation. He approached me where I sat anchored to the chair and let his teacup clatter noisily to the desktop. "Do not address me so informal, madam," he said. He gazed down at me, his lips pressed into a thin line. "For I am a Prince of Denmark, and thou art but a commoner. Worse! An artist. Full of pomp and bluster, but in possession of no utile vocation with which to better the world. Empty words, unworthy of remembrance. Fulfill thy purpose, whilst thou art yet found useful."

His words stung like a slap to the face. I felt the prickle in my eyes grow more pronounced until my vision blurred.

Another string of muffled shouts came from Peter.