Blood Runs Cold

24. Slut-Shaming

"I remember back when I still had my magic, over two thousand years ago," Iyanna remembered with a reminiscent smile.

"Back when life was more simple. I was simply a poor young woman, eventually powerful, confidence unwavering, trying to make ends meet."
"What was the story?" Bonnie asked.
"Well, it all started back when my mother sold me to a work for a mean old butcher in Bulgaria. I believe was just shy of ten. He was cruel and abusive, and treated me like absolute sh*t, up until the day he dropped dead, three years after the fact. I took that as my chance for freedom, and fled. But I didn't have food, or much money. I did anything it took to make ends meet. Anything."
"Like what?" Bonnie asked carefully.
"For the next year or so.... I was a thief, a killer, and a prostitute," Iyanna Anastasia confessed. "I had to do so many horrible deeds."
"You're not the only one," Bonnie promised. "Believe me; there's not much I haven't heard before."
"Oh, believe me, Bonnie Bennett. You're not even a tenth of my age; I lived in an entirely different time, a time of true barbarism and savagery, something men have since forgotten. I was doing things far worse than anything you've ever done, before my sixteenth birthday. I met the Devil himself before I could even read. Do not discredit me. Do not challenge me."

****

Two Millennia Ago, Bulgaria

All of the children in a small village in modern-day Bulgaria were either playing, starving on the ground, or helping their parents gather necessities and cook, depending on their age. One teenage girl in particular was sent out to gather and stock wood for the coming fierce winter; the gods were angry, the villagers believed. The girl of only twelve years of age clutched her cloak, shivering, as she rushed off to find firewood. In order to head off into the woods, where firewood was much more accessible and easy to find, she had to pass through a particularly crowded part of the village, which she had always dreaded. But of course, she could not disobey her owner, the butcher; she was literally a slave. Disobeying the butcher was not at all a wise decision, she knew, from past mistakes. The very last time she had dared to step out of line was two years ago. The butcher, a very controlling and brash man, did not take well to her insubordination. As a result, she ended up being with child, which she was cruelly forced to give up. It was beaten out of her. So, she kept her head down, making her way out of the town. She heard a large amount of whispering, chattering, and laughter, as well as a bit of disgust mixed in somewhere amongst the entire crowd. Of course, she knew that that wasn't anything new for her small village, and continued on, tuning out all of the nearby conversations, which were making her increasingly uncomfortable. She thought she could bear it only for another few minutes, until she was absolutely certain that she could clearly hear her name being spoken in ridicule and shame by many different unfamiliar voices.
"Constantin," someone chuckled. "A foreign name. Ironic it should mean 'faithful'; Constantin is now the name of a lowly village whore!"

Another woman laughed along, agreeing. Fighting the urge to run away, bursting into tears, Iyanna Anastasia Constantin attempted to keep her head up, paying no mind to the villagers. But, of course, it was no use. Their sharp and stinging words burned through her skull like fire, piercing their way into her brain. Iyanna knew, everything they'd said about her was true. She was a whore, for allowing the butcher to do what he did. She was a liar for allowing that to happen, even if he did have a wife. She was a coward for not fighting back. She was ungrateful for biting the hand that fed her. She was fertile to a fault, almost to a point of vulgarity. She was ugly and disgusting, and everyone around her could see it clearly. With that, she took off running deeper into the wilderness until she could run no more, sobbing, sinking her angry fist into a nearby tree, pulling her fist back immediately and crying out in agony. She felt angry, humiliated, and depressed. But she was the village whore; no one cared. She sobbed and sobbed and sobbed to herself, only able to think of all the times before she'd done the same, praying and praying for better days. Her prayers to the gods, it seemed, had gone unanswered. She was stuck, in a world full of people who either wanted nothing to do with her, or purely intended to abuse her. Anastasia cried hopelessly, sitting down in the woods and slowly lifting up the sleeve of her dirty and worn dress, revealing many both fading and fresh scars, all self-inflicted. She sniffed, feeling as if her face would soon be unable to hold the tears. Iyanna Anastasia reached into her pack, pulling out a sharp and jagged rock, took a breath, and sliced into her wrist, delicate beads of red blood coming up onto the surface, dripping onto the ground slowly. The process was, in an odd way, satisfying, and disturbingly ritualistic. She sobbed as quietly as she could to herself as she breathed in.
  "Rather me than them," she thought to herself.

She'd learned not to show pain when beaten or cut by the butcher, and there was only one way to learn.
  "Stop that, child," a voice told her.

She looked up in fright, staring up at a large strange man in dark clothing. Normally she'd be afraid of such a person, but she'd taken notice of this uncanny little glimmer in the man's eyes, that seemed to speak to her, to send out messages of benevolence.
  "You needn't fear me, my dear. I intend to assist you, to guide you. Nothing of the opposite," he promised.
  Anastasia Constantin only stared. "Why?"

She wasn't used to hearing such things.
  "Because," he smiled, sitting beside her on a tree stump. "I too was once like you. Helpless and suffering, and the hands of the people I believed to be my friends, and family. I do not care to see it happen to others."

She only nodded, staring at the stranger and taking in as much of him as she can. She noticed that he didn't look like most people she knew; he was somehow clean-looking; where the sun shined on his warm, dark skin, it showed not sweat or dirt, but merely flesh.
  "I don't even know your name."
  The strange man smiled, and took the tearful girl's hand into both of his own, softly wiping away the blood. "You, my princess, may call me Cade. Only true friends have that privilege, and I believe you to be of a pure and honorable character. My name is Arcadius, and I have much to offer you, sweet child."
  "You do?" Iyanna asked. "How?"
  "Well," he smiled. "I believe that, deep down, we are all capable of the perfect revenge on the ones who wronged us the most. All some need.... is a bit of extra help," he promised, touching a hand to her forehead as she stared.

He only chuckled, picking up a flower nearby, handing it out to her.
  "Go on, my dear. Touch it," he suggested.
 
She nodded, wrapping a hand around the flower, which wilted and shriveled into an ugly, dead bunch almost immediately. She gasped, dropping the flower in horror, only stared, then grinned back up at Cade, the stranger who'd given her such power.

  "Are you ready to have your revenge, Iyanna Anastasia Constantine?" he asked.
  She nodded without a doubt. "Yes."
  "That power that I just gave you.... I can give you more. Would you like that?"
  Anastasia smiled, nodding quickly.
  "Perfect," he nodded. "I promise, that should you remain under my arm, you will be the most powerful and loved young woman to ever live. Do you promise to continue practicing your magic, and serving me as an apprentice, so long as you live?"

Iyanna Anastasia nodded quickly, gratefully giggling excitedly, embracing the man who had given her the power of revenge. The Devil himself.

  "So," Bonnie Bennett nodded. "You were a servant of the Devil. How did that end?"
  "With my human death," Iyanna smiled. "But I think Cade's trying to collect again.... and I need your help, Bonnie Bennett."