Young Writers Society

(Thanks!)

"He must have been a well-read commoner," Marcella mused, raising an eyebrow. "I wish our subjects could read. Father would like them to be able to, but the traditions have been rather deeply ingrained." She reached the top of the stairs. "One more hallway and then we're there. Are you doing alright?"

((I don't think he's mentioned his 'father's' alleged trade yet? I think that was just his narrative figuring out what he was gonna say if he was asked; imagining the same line but probably just replacing the 'farmer' with 'commoner'?))

He shrugged slightly. "I suppose some of us just get lucky with our families."

Fear, adrenaline, had overtaken most of his awareness of his own skin. The cold. He wasn't quite sure he could feel the pain even when he thought about it simply due to the numbness. He was pale, but then again, he was always pale.

"Yes, ma'm. I've walked farther through worse." Another half-smile, more polite than authentic, a thin veil over reality. The reality that he knew he was in the belly of the beast, that he was surrounded by wolves, and he hardly even knew which direction was up.

(Oh, oopsies! I corrected it.)

"I can hardly imagine. You must have had quite a life." She led him down the hall. There was a door on the end, which was open a crack, and it was there that Marcella's gaze was fixed.

Quite the life. If only she knew.

"Y-you could say that." He fell quiet as they continued, eyes following hers to the door. Was that the end of the road?

Marcella stopped at the door and gave a small knock before pushing it further open. Sera was mixing herbs inside, her hair hanging down her back in a long braid. She looked up as Marcella entered and gave a shake of her head.

"The fool actually went through with it, did he?" she said, setting down the herbs and striding over to Cornyx. "Gods, you're a mess. Didn't he have a physician see to you in the village?"

"Father let him bleed in the carriage," Marcella informed Sera. "Like he did with that cook last year."

"It's a wonder he's not unconscious." Sera examined the damage. "Good gods, did they use a bullwhip?" At a nod from Marcella, she clucked her tongue and took Cornyx's arm. "Over to a cot with you, boy."

He must've looked worse than he thought he did from the way the woman reacted. Perhaps it'd strike him later. Maybe once the cold let up. He wasn't certain if he could feel anything at all. No warmth from the blood, no pain welling up in his body. Just...nothingness.

He didn't dare defy the apothecary, bringing himself over to one of the cots and then glancing back to Marcella. "Thank you for your assistance, ma'm," he said softly, sitting down. Quiet again. Gaze falling back to the floor.

"You're quite welcome. Come find me in the library when you're done." Marcella dipped her head and departed.

Sera set some bandages in a tub of warm water and strode over to him with a wet rag. "You got off lightly," she said grimly. "If it had been one of his children you'd killed then you'd have your manhood hanging on a stick in that village." She began to gently wash his back, eyeing the tattoo.

He tensed as she came behind him, yet there was no reaction to her touch. He couldn't even quite tell when it was there and when it wasn't. The faintest touches of frost had beaded on his skin, only to melt away at the water's touch. As the blood came away, she might've seen the scars there, were she observant: parallel to one another, straight and vertical, running in lines from the top of his back and down to his waistband. It'd been a long time since they'd been reopened. Now, they were scarce visible unless one was so close.

He leaned forward, trying to make it easier on her given his height, resting his forearms on his knees. His hands were shaking. Was it the chill? The fear? Was having her at his back simply the last thing of many that kicked that defensiveness into gear?

He hadn't quite realized just how cold it was until the water was against it. Slowly leeching the numbness from his muscles to be replaced by pain. Burning, fire-hot, replacing the nothingness. His breath was shallow but he didn't make a sound.

"If I weren't what I was, I'm c-c-c-certain that I wouldn't have a l-l-l-life at-at all," he murmured.

"Interesting proposal." Her finger traced one of the scar. "What are these?" She paused in her washing to study it more closely. "This looks deliberate."

The voices of the crows echoed against each other. The hand of the clock, tick-tick-ticking through the silence. The boy, eyes shut, trembling; the man, fingers around his shoulder, forcing him into stillness.

"All is forgiven in the eyes of the Father."

He inhaled sharply at the touch, as near-undetectable as it was through his semi-numbed nerves. Almost didn't answer. The silence stretched for long enough that it seemed he might've ignored the question entirely, but then his voice could be heard, muted as it was.

"My father had a mind for discipline."

Sera's hand jerked away abruptly, and she exhaled. There was a moment of silence, then she began to wash the lash marks again.

"I see," she murmured. "My apologies. I didn't mean to pry." Her eyes flickered back to the scars, dark with memories.

He shook his head slightly, rubbing his hands against each other as though that would generate some real warmth. Strange, how strong the winter could be, to the point that one only realized her presence when she weakened.

"It's alright. M-m-most people just don't see them anymore. It's...been a long time."

Cornyx let out a somewhat tremulous breath. Tension, pain, the temperature, some mix of all three, finally getting to him. He just wanted the nightmare to be over. Just wanted to be...human.

Sera didn't say anymore, fetching another rag to mop up more blood. "Am I hurting you?" she asked, unusually quiet.

"Am I hurting you?"

"You could never hurt me, Sera." A hiss of pain through gritted teeth as she examines the tightly clenched hand.

"Don't play the brave hero. You can't lie to an apothecary about pain, Gaius. You should know that by now." Silence, pale blue eyes fixing on the hand. She uncurls the twitching fingers one by one. "I told you you need to exercise it if you want it to work. Have you?" A guilty glare at the wall told her all she needed to know. "Would you rather lose the use of this hand completely?"

"Of course not."

"Then do what I say and stop being an arse about it."

((We need that Sera book))

It was hard to tell the nuances of it. When it hurt more, or less. Distant, almost, but close enough to the surface for him to be aware. It was easier to keep it all from showing if it was at arm's length.

"I-I-I--" Words. Words. Was he incapable of speech, now, too? How was he supposed to survive if he could even manage simple sentences? He fell silent, shaking his head. He wasn't sure. Didn't think so.

(Hell yes)

(Maybe I'll write a couple short stories first)

She glanced at him. "Tell me if I do, then."

He gave her a mild glare, turning away.

"Why do you antagonize him, Gaius?" She began to bathe the shining red scar on his palm. Gaius was silent again, jaw clenched.

"Because if I show him I'm not afraid of pain then he might leave me alone." The flat honesty shocked her into silence; Sera was unused to such a direct answer. She focused her eyes back on the scar, unsure of what to say. Only when he drew back from her, wincing, did she look back up to see his face was tight with pain.

"That's a stupid thing to think," she told him, taking his hand again. "He's a monster, Gaius, and that's not going to change. It's not about scaring you for him, it's about inflicting the pain."

"I know." Gaius pulled away a second time and stood. "I don't need you to tell me."