The Mark of Thorn: Book of Scars

Chapter Seven

Within the darkest part of the woods, an old cottage made of stone sat in its own decay. The stacked rock was chipped and uneven, weathered, and upon the surface of it, insidious vines crept. To anyone who might have looked upon the nearly forgotten structure, it would have appeared sinister at a simple glance and cast dark tidings upon the heart. The windows were boarded, but there were cracks between the planks nailed on from the inside, and on a night like this one, a misplaced passerby might see a glow of light from within.

But the menacing image of the house through the shadowy woods was nothing compared to the scene inside it.

There were bottles of wine lined on a wooden table that had seen better days. The boards that made it up were bent with dampness, and there were scars and gouges all across its surface. A few flies buzzed over it, for there were stains of deep purple saturating the wood. The blots could not have been more than a few weeks old, still fresh enough for vermin to find attractive.

The floor was covered in spots of blood that stood in the cracks between the laid stones, which had dried now to a sticky residue. The walls supported numerous cutting and snipping instruments, none of which appeared to have been cleaned in quite a while, and a keen eye would be able to see blood and hair and bits of flesh adorning them. The only thing in the room that seemed fitting and regular was a cupboard that stood slightly open, showing shelves of vegetables and cheeses. A fire was built in a wide hearth, set with a rather large stewing pot. One might have mistaken the place for a witch's cottage, but instead of a witch inside, there was a strange-looking man.

Since he was not a full-flesh human, he had to be classified as a demi-human, though perhaps he was only half that—the birth product of a mixed union. The man looked predominantly like a human, save for two large, bat-like ears that extended out from the sides of his head. His nose was a bit small and upturned, but had the ears been gone, he would have clearly appeared as a human—a particularly hairy human, but a human all the same. He swaggered around alone in the candlelit room, carrying a wine bottle that he drank from periodically.

The poor maiden tied and gagged in the corner might have gone unnoticed if not for the choked sound of her crying. Her tears made trails in the dirt on her face, clearing the way to her freckles beneath. She was bruised and looked as though she had been tied there for an entire day's passage at least. She was crying quietly, but seemed to have found a calm resignation that she was not going to escape.

A particularly high-pitched sob drew the attention of the demi-human with large black ears, and he forgot about his bottle for the moment in order to step toward the young woman who was nearly hidden behind a large cask. The girl shuddered as he came nearer to her, every clomp of his boot rattling her heart. She tried to shrink away, refusing to look at his face, but one could only move so much when bound at hands and feet.

The fiend knelt down before her, tilting his head to look at her face. She kept her eyes averted. He took a drink from the bottle, and a bit dripped down his chin. Amused by her frightened and furious breathing, the demi-human stretched out a finger to touch her face. The girl twisted away, narrowly escaping his caress.

"Don' be so disagreeable, my sweet. You'll stay alive a few days yet, true enough. We like 'em fresh."

He reached his fingers out once again, this time brushing her warm cheek. The red-haired girl was repulsed by him. She shook her head violently to remove his touch from her flesh, roaring with rage behind the gag tied across her mouth. This show of aggression was not accepted well by the drunken scoundrel. A hand covered in dark hair rose up and quickly rushed across her face. Her cheek was inflicted with swelling pain as her skin bruised against bone, but the wicked one found his own discomfort shortly after. He'd hardly had enough room to slap her cleanly, and so when he swiped his hand past her, it hit against the stone wall, peeling up the skin on his knuckles.