Enlighten me, my Lady?

Chapter 9 - Now I Know

TWs: violence, flashbacks to abuse, being treated like property, broken bones/injuries, blood, murder

"I'm not interested!"

You don't know why that's the first thing bubbling from your chest. The words are laced with such vigorous disgust it shudders your entire being, giving you confidence to cock your head up more and to bare your ineffectual, dull teeth at the werewolf in front of you, the man who could probably rip your throat out with his fangs by the time you'd be finished with your foolish courage.

His snarl is both disgusted and amused, as if your little outburst would have made it hard for him to decide which path of emotions to take. Maxneir goes with slight revolt.

"Hmm? And when did I ask about your opinions, your silly little wants and needs and demands?" He rolls his eyes, as if the longer he'd take in your words, the more rotten they'd grow. "Unbelievable... how some people really think they have the right to speak to a prince like any of their tiny whimpers would be worthy of my radiance..."

When you thrash against your binds and glare at him with new-born abhorrence, he merely gains arrogance in his approach. That, and the dangerous gleam of annoyance that shadows over his pale eyes of greed and malice.

Maxneir steps closer again, prompting a primal reaction in you as you flinch and back away, the chains gripping down to your skin painfully with each movement you force out of your injured body. He snorts at this, his grin only growing wider, and when he gets close enough to touch you he does it with the exact violence and bruteness you'd expect yourself to be graced with.

His fingers dig into your hair, the tug that tilts your face up closer to his not holding back any of the roughness it carries. You hiss between your clenched teeth, a flame of fight still strong in you after the initial shock.

As Maxneir leans closer, you wish you had the strength to dig your teeth into his disgusting, arrogant face. His whisper feels cold against your skin, like poison itself.

"Not much of a talker now, huh? Though, humor me, enlighten me even, is there a reason I've had to hunt you down like a prey, going through all this trouble, when the plan from the beginning had been to just pick you up from that repulsing little farm..."

There's an overwhelming surge of memories that flood you the second Maxneir's question hits you, enough to make you gag from the sudden onset of— of something boiling in your veins, burning you up from inside. It's a feeling that is both wonderful and the most horrid ache you've ever experienced; like this very thing would smother you with the sense of belonging, the bliss of your true nature. Combined with the flashes of recollection, your body twists under it.

You had been wandering the Dimitrescu forest because of him. The argument with your mother. The sole reason you had been mutilated so horribly that night after your hours of labor, had been because you refused to marry this man. This man, this greedy, disgusting, entitled prince, standing in front of you.

You had been disgustingly abysmal in your family's eyes, an abomination only waiting to be sent off to someone who would pay enough money of your disobedient, worthless self.

The terror in you had won as you fought back ferociously during the late hours of your awakened fury. Your mother had treated you like property your whole life, and in her eyes, you were to die as one too. A tool.

And oh, how you had clawed against your mother's cold grip and the searing steel of violence, tainted with your precious crimson. How, after the sickle had slashed deep into your bones and flesh, you had finally managed to struggle free and escape to the lands that would eventually become your true home.