Misery

Strength is a trait most often attributed to males, and in the physical sense of the word, it is true, but females also hold within them the power to be strong. I have known many women who possess this quality, the characteristic of willfulness, the badge of stubbornness, the birthmark of pride. These virtues have often been absent in me, whether due to my genetic makeup up, or the fact that I was raised with a more gentle hand, my parents knowing what lay ahead of me. I held no illusions, no prefabricated fantasies of how my life would play out, always leaving my destiny to chance, and the cards.

I have been many things in my life. A slave, a mother, a lover, a companion, a reader of worlds. But now I play my most important role, that of whore.

He holds my daughter captive, as he does me, promising to keep us safe, but only if I do as he says, will we both come out of this alive. I have my doubts, but fate has left me little choice.

I cannot, will not deny him the shell of my being, for to do so would bring more misery than I could bear. The loss of Magnus haunted me, the loss of Olivia injured me, but the loss of Charming would annihilate me.

My word has been given to a man whose promises I do not trust, my future, my life, my very existence his. When I look upon him, I feel true terror, an undiluted emotion that flows like a river from every yawning pore.

I am an open wound, an unperfected poison that spreads like a liana vine, whose toxicity continues to contaminate those I love.

Just add water..

Scratches

Words scratched into the paint of the walls above her sleeping mat, the implement, a spoon, laying beneath.


It’s late. Or at least I think it’s late, given the fact that it’s quiet beyond my prison door. I still have little perception of time and I’m still not sure what they plan on doing with me. I’m not so sure they know either.

I missed Charm’s birthday and I have no doubt I’ll be missing Olivia’s as well, if I haven’t already.

There’s something in the dark. It seethes and twists around me like a vaporous cloud, an intangible miasma that controls my emotions.. my thoughts.

I can hear him sometimes, calling my name, whispering only horts from my ear. My imagination runs away with me, pulling me back into time while chaos echoed all around me.

Mentally stalking me. Promising to give me no rest.

I miss you.

The Perfume of Purgatory

I don’t know where I am. I’m not sure how long I’ve been here, and though the capture scent as long since evaporated from my system, I’ve yet to see a face or hear a voice.

My food is pushed through a slot in the door, one that barely allows a sliver of light in. There are no windows in my prison and no way to count the days I’ve been awake.

My memory comes in patches. I remember the chaos, fighting, seeing Castor battle the intruders and glimpses of Elektra and Nia trying to ward off their attackers. . I don’t know if anyone else was taken. Or worse, if any of them are dead.

It started like any other night, a visit to see Magnus with Castor at my side, Nia joining us and then Elektra. I had wanted to hold him, my son, but Castor would not permit it even though Nia agreed that it might do some good, for which she received a slap, and even though I was not under the misconception that she did it for my benefit, I was grateful nonetheless.

Something bubbles between the two, as it always has. There is a connection between them that we will never have and at times I can’t help but be jealous of that bond. They too, share a son, Aiden. She has never approved of me, of our relationship, and yet, she has taught my daughter and she’s trying to heal my son. For that alone, she has earned my respect and my loyalty, though we are not what I’d call .. friends.

We left the third floor and made our way down into the main room by Castor’s orders, his hand readily attached to my upper arm, half dragging me out of the room so that I could not refuse. There was something he wanted to talk to us about.

When we were all settled, he spoke of Phelps, a name that never ceases to make my stomach churn. We heard a crash, more than one and before the room was invaded and the chaos ensued. I felt myself being dragged from the room, and then.. all is blank.

I still don’t know who my abductors are, whether it be Phelp’s men, or those with another agenda. I don’t know what they plan to do with me. I’m not even sure if anyone knows I’m gone or if anyone is looking for me. If something did happen to Castor, then my destiny is sealed, but even that is something I can live with if only I knew my children were safe.

I think they are, for if they were not, I’m sure I’d know.