Blossoms of the Dark

III Selene: Cursed

Trigger Warnings: 

- mentions of rape, lashings, choking, being chased by animals, death, depression

- mentions of disease, disease history, disease signs and symptoms

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I crash to the floor, writhing in agony.

Not now! Please! Not now!

But the pain doesn't stop. Instead, it increases in intensity, causing me to gasp. There's nothing I can do except wait the pain out.

For what seems like hours, I lay on the floor in a fetal position, quietly whimpering, sniffling, crying. I cry for more than just physical pain. I cry out from neglect, loneliness, and abandonment. I cry out from fear, terror, and horror. I cry out from helplessness, hopelessness, and utter despair.

When I was being raped, I did nothing. Because what could I have done?

Resist?

I would be bound to the bed and then raped.

Fight?

I would receive lashings on my back.

Scream?

I would be choked until I was unconscious.

Run away?

I would be chased by hunter dogs.

Ask for help?

Whoever I would seek help from would be found dead the next day.

I tried doing all of these things in the beginning. The beginning meaning approximately ten years ago. I didn't know what was happening to me at that time, but I knew that whatever it was, it wasn't right. It hurt. It stung. It burned.

And combined with my juvenile arthritis, it was utter hell.

Yes, juvenile arthritis.

I had developed it at the age of four, around the same time the Hanada family adopted me. Thinking about it now, I'm convinced that the onset of my disease was a warning about my hellish future.

I used to live in a well-maintained orphanage. Tasty food, cozy beds, clean clothes, matrons who told bedtime stories, and teachers who taught reading, writing, basic arithmetic, and control of the basics of our quirks. What more could a child want? It was an atmosphere surrounded by love and happiness. My atmosphere was about to change soon, though.

A few weeks before the Hanada family arrived, I woke up feeling particularly stiff. Thinking that I had slept in an uncomfortable position, I limped around the orphanage searching for the matron. After telling her about my pain, she carried me to the infirmary where I was massaged and given hot food to eat. I slept soon after.

But a few hours later when I woke up I felt the same stiff feeling in my joints. I knew that I had not slept in an uncomfortable position this time. The matron from before was present in the infirmary. She noticed that I was awake and asked me how I felt. When I explained to her that I felt the same pain as before, her face concentrated into one of concern. She told me that I would spend a few days in the infirmary.

After about two weeks of my constant complaining of stiffness, pain, limping, and this time prominent swelling in the knees, I was taken to the hospital. A series of tests were conducted, and the doctor told the matron that I was diagnosed with juvenile arthritis.

I was there in the room with the doctor and matron, not understanding much. But I did understand that the matron was crying and the doctor was somber. That did not bode well for me.

After that visit, I was given special care. Hot baths day and night, massages immediately after waking up and before going to bed, painkillers, and other medicines after every flare. The employees were also making arrangements for physical therapy treatment.

I felt morose over the situation. I felt as though I was becoming a burden to the orphanage. The other children could not play physical games with me, the employees had to work overtime, and the cost of my treatment was beginning to take its toll.

And then that cursed day arrived. 

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