Hope Embodied | ✔

01 | The Price of Refusal

TW: slight description of rape

She did not know how many aeons had passed since she had entered this accursed fortress of a palace. She still remembered, in the earliest vestiges of her memory, how life had been before everything.

Before that demon had ensnared her in his nets.

Her dry lips parted slightly in a need to breathe, as she allowed herself to dip into the memories which she had locked away so long ago, when she had finally passed the threshold of holding any more hope. One of her hands had been raised, shackled to the cold wall with a rusted iron fetter. It had long past gone numb from both the cold and pain. She knew it was futile to struggle, so she lay there, limp.

The wind brought no relief to her, when it once was soothing and playful. Here, it only exacerbated her hunger and thirst.

She let her consciousness seep away from her, into dreams. Her brief sojourn into the land of dreams provided some solace to her, little as it was, as she dreamt of the rich smell of wildflowers and grass; the soft caress of a rabbit's fur; love shining in eyes from a face she had long pushed away.

When she awoke, it was sudden; to the rough handling of one of her captor's servants of her jaw, nearly wrenching it open for another to pour water—no doubt stagnated water—into her mouth. She gasped and spluttered, but was in a roundabout way grateful for the water no matter how dirty.

Her coughing subsided after a few minutes, and the haze over her eyes lifted, to see the servant staring at her with a dark desire in its eyes—the gaze wandering down to the cleavage exposed by her dress. She shivered slightly, but stared directly into the servant's eyes, knowing that would either provoke it or unnerve it enough to make it scamper away.

"Servant, heel!"

That grating voice.

She closed her eyes, cursing herself at once for the ill luck that seemed to blight her stars, and she pushed her old memories deep down, once more cursing herself for even dipping into the well of memories. It hurt. That was a fundamental fact she had learned all those years ago.

There was no use hoping.

The servant bowed low to the looming shadow, and scampered away, but not before throwing a look to her.

The looming shadow seemed to morph into something human-like, and he entered the room, bearing a torch. She winced and shut her eyes again, for she had not been exposed to the light for the few days she had been imprisoned in the dungeons.

The soft footfalls only grew louder as he approached her, a click of disapproval sounding from his throat. The torch was set in a holder, and there was a soft clink of metal as her fetter was released. Her hand dropped to her side, but she did not make any attempt to move it nor open her eyes.

"How many times must I tell those maggots not to harm my Queens?" his voice was laced with disapproval, musical as it sounded.

He must have taken on his fair form, she mused silently.

Then there was a sigh.

"Will you not open your eyes to look at me, my Queen? Am I truly that unworthy of your doe-eyed gaze?"

She replied through gritted teeth, "Nay my lord, your brilliance is so utterly dazzling that I cannot open my eyes to bear your hallowed light."

An easy laugh.

"Well, that's an easy fix, my Queen."

Something changed, though she could not place it.

"Come now, my Queen, my oldest friend, will you not look at me now?"

"Don't call me that!"

But he had succeeded in getting what he wanted. In the firelight, his eyes glimmered like brilliant jewels, refracting the light. There was an easy smile upon his face, and he sat cross-legged as though it was two old friends talking and not a captor and his prisoner.

"What do you want, Narakasura?" she got out, past the closing of her throat.

His face darkened slightly.

"You will call me Bhauma, my Queen. Not that Asura name which others have forced upon me."

Then, his smile eased up again, and he picked up her now unbound hand, softly massaging it. She shuddered at his touch, but he would not let her pull away.

"Do not worry, my Queen, those who harmed you such will be punished. With death, perhaps. That should be aught to teach them not to touch my Queens, you in particular."

He continued to massage her hand, working to return the blood circulation to her arm, and eventually even the ache subsided, leaving her relieved in a way. But she would not thank him. To her surprise, he sat in her silence for a while, his eyes never wavering from her face, a touch of adoration in his gaze.

"Come, my Queen."

She followed him wordlessly, through the halls of what had been her prison for years uncounted. The rich displays of extravagance no longer amused her, but her gaze did seek out the women hidden in the crevices of the corridors, fear evident on their shadowed expressions. Finally, he paused before what had been called her chambers, and he unlocked the door, and let her in.

Once she was seated on the silk cushions, he took her hand.

"I have asked you many a time over the years, my Queen, and to you once more I repeat the question: will you be mine tonight?"

She almost wanted to give in, let him pleasure her as he had promised countless times over the years. The relentless questions had worn her down, but she had refused each time. But then she thought of the other women, and the utter fear in their expressions.

She was the oldest of them all, the first prisoner of Narakasura, the dearest to him as he professed.

If she allowed herself to be taken, what then would become of the other women, some barely having seen ten summers?

"No, my lord. I fear I do not find myself in the mood tonight." Her voice came out steady, unlike her inner mind which was still trembling.

He took a deep breath in, then out. For a split second she let herself fear that he would force himself on her, but then his smile reappeared as his jewel-like gaze settled on her again.

"So be it, my Queen. Do remember, I will never force myself on you. Despite what many say, I am a man of some virtues."

What virtues? She snorted inwardly.

"I suppose one of the younger lasses will have to suffice for me tonight, just like the other nights that you have refused me."

Horror pooled in her gut, as her hand dropped from his grasp, tears pooling in her eyes.

She knew something like this would happen. She knew his patience would eventually run out. And the younger girls were paying the price of her refusal.

"How—how long?"

He smiled that brilliant smile again, though it was edged by malice this time, at the distress in her eyes.

"Do not fear, they are quite happy."

She watched numbly as he stood and walked to the door. With his hand on the handle of the door, he looked back at her, answering her question, "Oh, yes. Ten sweet damsels have pleased me so far, and the count goes up by one tonight."

And with a final smile of malice, her captor shut the door behind him.

Tears ran down her pale face, as the screams from the girl reverberated in the halls as he took her by force in his chambers next to hers; and it echoed in her ears even longer.