10-18-2015, 10:09 PM
la jeune fille marquée
She feels at ease. The world becomes this moment of tranquility, a brief space in time that she can recall in difficult days to come. He breathes steadily, his heart beating in time with a reassuring tha-thump in her ear. The closeness of their bodies doesn't occur to her as strange. Minette has craved physical comfort. Gryffen doesn't prefer it and Leck despises touch of any kind. Magnus seems an answer to an unspoken prayer.
“He doesn't let me leave without asking first.” She hesitates, tentative, but her confidence is drawn forth by Magnus' gentle manner. “He's been away though and I was lonely. Sometimes the mountains feel oppressive and I really haven't seen much of Beqanna except there.”
She attempts an unfettered laugh, trying to ease her anxiety, but it only comes across as strained.
His next words make her genuine laugh bubble forth, a light musical sound. The idea that she could be pretty or appealing anymore is foreign. All she sees in glimpses of herself are the scars. The arching scar above her left eye from the first time Gryffen beat her. The poorly healed cuts along her legs and chest. The pain reflected in the darkest parts of her eyes.
She grins at Magnus, a playful scolding look in her gaze.
“And perhaps on your way to visit that pretty mare you can say hello to me.”
Her teasing look fades into one of panicked horror and she prances nervously, bumping his side and wincing apologetically. “Oh, but you couldn't. Not really. Gryffen is-”
Her voice trails away, as she searches frantically for words, any words, to describe the white wolf. The one who has been so many things to her. Kidnapper, rapist, potential lover, father of her children, abuser, comforter. There is no one word that can sum up the years she has spent under his rule. The thought of it makes her unbearably tired, as if the past is a weight pulling her constantly to the depths.
“He's possessive of what is his.” Minette finishes lamely. It isn't adequate and she doesn't see the danger in her words. She only know that this is the truth of Gryffen. Whether lover or abuser, what is his belongs to him alone.
“He doesn't let me leave without asking first.” She hesitates, tentative, but her confidence is drawn forth by Magnus' gentle manner. “He's been away though and I was lonely. Sometimes the mountains feel oppressive and I really haven't seen much of Beqanna except there.”
She attempts an unfettered laugh, trying to ease her anxiety, but it only comes across as strained.
His next words make her genuine laugh bubble forth, a light musical sound. The idea that she could be pretty or appealing anymore is foreign. All she sees in glimpses of herself are the scars. The arching scar above her left eye from the first time Gryffen beat her. The poorly healed cuts along her legs and chest. The pain reflected in the darkest parts of her eyes.
She grins at Magnus, a playful scolding look in her gaze.
“And perhaps on your way to visit that pretty mare you can say hello to me.”
Her teasing look fades into one of panicked horror and she prances nervously, bumping his side and wincing apologetically. “Oh, but you couldn't. Not really. Gryffen is-”
Her voice trails away, as she searches frantically for words, any words, to describe the white wolf. The one who has been so many things to her. Kidnapper, rapist, potential lover, father of her children, abuser, comforter. There is no one word that can sum up the years she has spent under his rule. The thought of it makes her unbearably tired, as if the past is a weight pulling her constantly to the depths.
“He's possessive of what is his.” Minette finishes lamely. It isn't adequate and she doesn't see the danger in her words. She only know that this is the truth of Gryffen. Whether lover or abuser, what is his belongs to him alone.