A|N: Leaving a content ⚠️ WARNING ⚠️ for implied/referenced sexual assault.
If you would like to skip please stop at: "My next breath left my chest faster than I knew what was happening." And continue reading at: "It was more than an hour."
SOOT
I had kissed him. Grimm. I had kissed Grimm. He had kissed me... I— I had kissed someone, and for the first time in my life I had wanted it, enjoyed it. And I now wanted more.
No.
No no no.
I wasn't allowed more, I shouldn't have even been allowed any in the first place. Love was not meant to be waisted on slaves.
Goddess and I was lying to him. He thought I was a servant, thought I was redeemable, that I was worth his attention, that if he— that one day I could be more than a servant.
But with my fath—masters latest visit, I wasn't even sure I would be forgiven of my sins, of ever being allowed back into welcoming arms, into society.
I'd been deluding myself since the damning mark had been burned into my skin. A child's dream turned delusion. Lies lies lies.
My chest constricted around the realization. I wouldn't ever be free of this mark, this body, this life. But what more did I deserve.
I pushed my weight into my rag, shoving it over dirty cobblestone, hoping to wash the dirt and my feelings away.
I was in the kitchens now. The only hearths I hadn't cleaned this moon cycle. It didn't seem to matter to the kitchen staff that I was helping them, their dirty gazes were enough to indicate their dislike of my presence. Their reluctance to move away from their cooking fires long enough for me to scrub the stones was a clearer message though. I'd been forced to wait a whole after I was supposed to start for the head cook to finally cave and order one hearth to be left open for me to clean, though he didn't say anything about dousing the fire. That had been left to me to deal with.
Despite being the only living body on castle grounds to ever clean the hearths, I hadn't been near fire as much as I had water. Maybe they thought I would burn something down or kill myself and waste a precious set of working hands, but the fires had always been doused before I arrived.
I had tried fanning it out first, like I'd seen done with candles. But when it only caused the flames to lick at more of the logs I tried blowing on it, hoping a more direct source of air would stop it.
The heat leapt up and bit at my face. I stumbled back, falling before I could catch myself.
"Oi, you bloody idiot. Dontcha know not to blow on a fire?" I didn't look up to match the voice to the body, though I did see a pair of worn leather boots step closer.
I shook my head.
Don't speak unless asked a direct question. Ten lashes if this rule is broken.
I'd finally been given an actual list of rules and the following consequences if I were to break any of them. Though when I had been given the parchment at breakfast with the rules listed I hadn't been able to read any of them. Sara had stepped in however to explain the characters on the paper.
"You simple or somethin?" The voice continued.
Was that direct enough? I shook my head again.
"Stupid—" I heard him mumble, though I'd almost missed it over the pounding sounds of the kitchen. I watched his boots retreat towards the hearth. Stopping before it with an iron bucket in hand.
I wouldn't look higher than the young man's knees for fear of breaking another rule which had insisted my gaze reach no higher than that. He had placed the bucket on the ground beside his feet, on its side, mouth open towards the fire. I saw as an iron stick, hooked at the end, reached out and grabbed at the nearest log. Slowly the other boy dragged the ashy wood into the bucket.
"If ya had splashed em with water—which I recon was your next thought— you'd'a ruined the logs for being lit again, and I ain't looking to go chop more wood today."
The young man bent down, trying to catch my eyes as he picked up the bucket. I was lucky to avert my gaze quickly enough to keep from seeing his face. I didn't want another twenty lashes.
The boy scoffed and left though, leaving the bucket by the hearth for when I was done. It was quick work from years of practice, sweep the loose ash onto a cloth to be dumped outside, clean the reachable dust in the chimney, and then drip water over the space by wringing our a wet rag. And then scrub, and scrub and scrub.
It had hurt the first year of doing it, the kneeling and scrubbing, especially when I had disobeyed and was struck across the knuckles or knees, in the days before the whipping.
I felt it as I knelt on the hot stones though. Though there was no longer a fire or smoldering logs the heat scorched my knees. When I scooted onto my butt to reach my bucket I noticed that there were now holes in the knees of my pants where the stones had scorched them. And through the holes I could see red angry skin.
It didn't stop me from scrubbing. I couldn't let something as trivial as burn blisters get in the way of my work, especially not if I wanted to spare my back from a worse fate.
Another hearth, hot from raging fire, later my knuckles were aching and stuck clenched around my rag. I stopped scrubbing long enough to take a chest full of air, expanding my lungs and ribs as much as possible. Leaving my chest, the air shook my body like I was a dead leaf in the breeze.
Slowly I eased my hands into the bucket of dirty water. The cold bite of fresh spring water had disappeared in the warm kitchen but still the water was a balm to my hands. I stretched my fingers gripping and letting go of the rag. Soon though I couldn't use wringing the rag out as an excuse for a break and had to begin again.
Thankfully since lunch had past there was a slight lull in the kitchens before preparation for dinner would start. The silence dipped even lower and my head finally was able to stop pounding. There were still sounds of splashing water and a horse hair brush agains the iron soup pots, shuffling feet and broom bristles against the floor but it was like someone had put a blanket over the sound. Like the sound wanted to hide.
The hair on the back of my neck rose in alarm. I swallowed down the fear and pushed against the stone. My fear meant nothing, I was always scared. It was probably the constant screaming of my senses that kept me sane, I could depend on that fear.
I sighed, letting that fear melt into my muscles. The kitchens had six hearths, I had until tomorrow to finish polishing them all, if I could get one more done today I would be doing just fine.
With that thought I felt a surge of energy urging me on. I could actually be done in time for dinner, I'd be able to eat. It was almost enough to make me smile, I could feel the corners of my mouth tug upwards just a little. Goddess it would feel good to eat, to not fall asleep with pains in my stomach, to have energy and sustenance to feed my body.
My next breath left my chest faster than I knew what was happening. A large hand was gripped in my hair, pulling me back by it. I lifted my dirty hands to try and relieve the pressure that was pulling against my scalp, but remembered myself in time before I touched the other man.
"Oh Slave, look how clean you are. Your hair is almost as white as the day I met you. And that smell. You're a right whore aren't you?" I could feel the fingers tighten in my braid. The oils, from Madalena's bath, that was what he was talking about...
Nightingale.
My stepbrother hadn't come for me in ages. I forced my body to relax.
Resistance earns a hundred lashes.
Pliant, obedient, submissive. That's all I had to be.
But I really didn't want to.
My body twitched as it fought against me. It wanted to run and hide and fight this off.
Nightingale moved his face closer to mine, nuzzling against my neck. The hand which wasn't ripping out strands of my hair reached for my hip. His fingers closed around my hip bone and with no resistance from me he lifted me to my feet.
"I don't suppose you have taken a break from all this hard work, have you, Soot? You always push yourself."
His lips dragged up the side of my neck and I could feel the tip of his tongue leave a pathway to my ear. I held back a shiver, a wave of vomit.
It wasn't until I felt a finger slip under the waistband of my pants though that I lost control. My hips jutted backwards trying to escape his touch. His hand followed and I realized it was what he wanted as now my ass was pinned against his thighs and I could feel his groin at the small of my back.
Nightingale's breath was sticky and hot on the back of my ear.
"Pretty—" he pushed himself harder into my back.
"—little—" his fingers began trailing again under the waistband of my pants.
"—slut—"
I wanted to vomit.
"I'm going to enjoy your body."
My lungs clamped up, and my single heart beat furiously.
Fight, fight, fight. My whole soul screamed.
I didn't, i didn't, i didn't.
I could feel Nightingale turn us away from the hearth, until we were facing the room. I didn't feel a part of my body, as the kitchen staff looked at me. I could have sworn I was nothing more than a phantom floating above a very pale and frail version of my body. It was a sorry excuse of a sight, with a hand in my hair forcing my neck to lean wide and open and vulnerable to blades or teeth. And a hand, now under my shirt and splayed against my stomach, claiming me at my center.
Nightingale's voice sounded as if my head were under water. "He'll be back in an hour to finish his tasks, when he returns will someone send a platter of food to my chambers? I'm sure I'll be famished."
I felt my body being jerked and then he was pulling me out of the kitchens.
***
It was more than an hour. And when I returned to the kitchens, barely able to comprehend up from down.
A new fire had been started in the place where I had been cleaning. A cauldron full of aromatic stew hanging over it, I could see where my rag had been tossed to the back of the hearth, protected from more work by the fire.
I blinked at it. The fire. My rag.
I wrapped my arms around myself and pretended they were fire and that they would protect me from the world.
A|N: it's short, but I wanted to get something out even if I wasn't feeling motivated to do so. I'm kinda really upset about the S3 ending of Castlevania so that's ruining my drive to do anything but mope around, but there may be a one shot story coming about Alucards experience in that last episode because my poor baby deserves more than what the episode gave to him. And Hector, poor gullible Hector. Anyway I'll try to get another one up soon, thanks for the support it really does mean the world. Don't forget to vote and keep commenting! :)