~OUR BLADES ARE SHARP~ [Game Of Thrones]

Little Evils

The Next Day

     "My lady, please."

     "I said quiet!" Rosalie growled, reaching up to hold the blade of her knife to the servant's neck. Pressing in just a bit, blood pooled out from the thin line, spilling over the broken skin.

The woman hissed in pain, closing her eyes, clenching her fist together to claw at the skin of her palm. The restraints hold her hands and feet out, having her tied to the "X" shaped cross. Her flimsy little maids dress was still on, covered in blood from the woman's leaking back, and busted lip.

     "Good," Rosalie sighed, trailing the blade down the woman's neck, spreading her blood as she went. "Now, what are you again?" Rosalie asked, looking deep within the much older woman's eyes.

     "A...a servant of House Bolton." She cried, sucking in deep breaths to try and still her trembling voice. Rosalie smirked at the sight before her. The woman was a mess, her head failing to find support as the stress of the situation, and pain, overtook her body.

     "Indeed, so, why did you believe it was your place to make such brusque comments about my sister's behavior?" Rosalie asked, taking  her knife and pointing it behind her. The point directing the woman's eyes to the small girl sat on a chair in front of her.

Catherine looked on at the sight of the woman, a small sadistic smirk pooling on her lips as she imagined replacing the servant with Lady Carrie. The thought of having that old hag stretched out, and peeled like an orange amused Catherine, but she knew her father would never allow such actions to be taken against the woman. She was the only worker here safe from the children's sinister games, and torment, and it angered Catherine.

     "I only meant correction, my lady, not offense."

     "Oh, really? Was that your place? You're not my sister's septa, nor mother?" Rosalie questioned, her head falling to the side in a small tilt as she narrowed her eyes.

Her lips, those damned lips, Ella thought, were curled up into a smile as she looked on at the women's suffering. "Please-"

     "Say please one more time, and I'll punish your sister right beside you. I'll flay every bit of her skin, and keep her alive long enough to learn what being whipped after such an event feels like, got it?" Rosalie asked, her small voice as steady as the night's wind blowing about. Catherine felt a jolt of excitement rush through her veins at her older sister's words.

She sat up straighter, and watched on with interest as Rosalie circled the servant, and danced her fingers across the woman's exposed flesh. The servant's heart clenched in her chest at the thought of her sister being treated in such a way due to her mistakes, so she bit down on her tongue, and stayed silent.

     "Do you think all that has happened this morning, will prove to be a good reminder to not overstep your boundaries again, sweet Ella?" Rosalie questioned, her eyes flickering toward her sister to see what she thought.

Catherine sucked in a breath, giving a stern shake of her head, causing strains of unbraided hair to fall in her eyes. Her grip on the arms of the chair tightened, but the words she wanted to voice were stuck in her throat. Bring me her skin as a reminder, Catherine thought to herself, glaring holes into the woman's bruised, dark eyes.

     "Yes, I promise my Lady's, I won't speak of such offensive things ever again." She wept, tossing her gaze to the bloodied floor, allowing her hot tears to flow, and join the spilt blood below her. She didn't want to die, not like this. The moment her father sold her to the Bolton's as a servant, she knew her end would be fatal if she screwed up. So, she made sure to do everything that was commanded of her, and did it in speed and grace.

     "Tsk," Rosalie let out, stopping in front of the woman, her eyes beaming with boredom. "I don't believe you." Ella's head shot up, her eyes wide as she began shaking her head furiously. More tears gathered in her eyes, her mind picturing her sister being brought in here by force, skinned alive, whipped, possibly raped, and then left to die.

     "My lady-"

Sticking her hand up, the one holding the blade, she pointed it at Ella, a soft smile coating her lips, but her eyes showed the sinister look deep within them. Ella watched herself through the reflection of Lady Rosalie's eyes, and began uttering a prayer. Hoping the gods would hear her, and have mercy.

     "Catherine, come forward." Rosalie called out, the early morning sun revealing the excitement on the child's face as she jumped out of her seat, her shoes made a loud thumping noise on the floor, and her hands clasped together in front of her, her slow, taunting steps toward the servant, dragged out the tension and fear in the woman's heart.

     "Yes, sister?" Catherine asked, coming to a halt beside Rosalie, and looking up at her through her thick lashes. A small bat of them, and the beautiful, toothy smile on her face, and Ella would believe a ray of light had come to bring her comfort through her pain, but alas, the gods love a foolish human to step on. Catherine was as corrupt as her father, and sister, and if those three continued down their path of wickedness, soon little Royce would be on the wagon with them.

     "Tell me, sister, what was it again that she called you?" Rosalie asked, placing her right hand upon the girl's shoulder, bringing her into her side and looking down at her with a playful gleam.

Catherine's pale, gray eyes met Ella's pleading ones. The hopeless look buried beneath them, the trembling of her busted lip, the blood covered material she was clothed in, all of it caused a shudder to run down the child's spine. Raising her hand, Catherine's fingers found the ends of the rope holding Ella's left hand on the board. Wrapping her hand firmly around it, she smiled up into Ella's eyes. "She called me a beastly little thing," Catherine finally spoke, her voice low, mimicking a hurtful tone, her bottom lip sticking out as she looked up into her sisters eyes.

     "And what, pray tell, do you believe we should do to her, so she never forgets her place?" Rosalie questioned, feeling the room shift around her. Ella began thrashing around as Catherine took the knife out of her sister's hand, and looked up at her. Her eyes shining with hate, and mischief as she pressed the end of the blade on her thigh, and pressed, and pressed, her eyes locked with Ella's, not even looking away when she sealed hers shut, and wailed.

     "She believes she has a pretty face. I see her all the time waving her hands, swaying her hips, and looking down all flustered when she's in the presence of our father. She thinks she's cute. Adorable. No, she's only fuckable. I want her face as a reminder." Catherine says, looking over at her sister, and then toward the guard in the corner of the room.

Ser Malerick, Rosalie's new guard, sworn to protect the young woman, even in the dead of night. The man held the whip in one hand, his sword in the other. Blood stains were on both, seeing as Rosalie had him take care of their problematic servant. His eyes shifted from the small Bolton, to the taller one, the question lingering in his eyes.

Nodding at him, Rosalie took hold of Catherine's hand, and backed away as Ser Malerick took a step forward, and grabbed hold of the knife. His face was stone, unreadable, unmovable, and his stature still the same. By now he was unfazed by the Bolton's ways of handling punishments.

Ella shook her head as Ser Malerick stood directly in front of her, the whip discarded on the floor, his sword fully sheathed, and his hands busy with keeping her head still. The blade he used was Rosalie's personal blade, the one that was given to her by her father on her tenth name day, perfect for skinning someone, perfect for her fathers daughter.

     "My lady, please reconsider. I promise I won't ever speak out of line toward your sister, nor any other ever again." Rosalie didn't respond. She looked down at her satisfied sister, and walked over toward the barrel of warm water. Dipping her hands into it, she cleaned the blood from her hands, knowing Ser Malerick was waiting for her approval to continue on with the little Bolton's wish.

With a rag in hand, she walked right back to her earlier position, directed Catherine to take a seat, and looked down into the candles flames. "I have reconsidered many things, sweet Ella, and this, well, this is not one of them." She said, not even bothering to look up, knowing the look she'd be met with.

Screams erupted from Ella's throat, her head snapping back, away from the blade as it dug in, and began peeling. Her small, tan head in Ser Malerick's much larger hand, gave off the illustration of a potato, causing laughter to leave Catherine's throat.