Bloody Shackles

Chapter 6: Spider Threads

Well, no song inspired me today, so I decided to put some words from the chapter as the title. I hope you all like it, and please vote and comment. :D

Marcus’s POV

            I had searched the bathing area. I had looked in the sleeping quarters. I had even considered venturing out into the gardens. But I still didn’t find her. Except here. In the blasted dining room, stuffing her face full of only god knows what.

            It didn’t bother me that she was eating. She was supposed to be with me. I told that blonde wench to clean her up then bring her to me. No detours. I guess I should have been more detailed on my orders. I chuckled quietly to myself as I stepped through the doorway.

            She would pay. That little brat. That sniffling child. That insignificant wench. I would make her pay. My footfalls radiated about the room filling the heavy silence every few minutes. Other than that it was quiet. Other than that no one looked directly at me. They lowered their gazes in respect. Or fear. Except for her, that wretched little harlot of mine stared straight into my eyes as I rounded the corner of the table.

            She stood when I reached her. I grabbed her chin roughly and held her gaze, my eyes blazing a fiery red.

            “Where have you been?” I growled, baring my teeth. She didn’t even flinch. I let my hand slip away from her chin and down her neck. Her hands instinctively grasped onto mine and tried to pull away. Her efforts were futile. I held her neck tighter and she let her hands drop.

            A voice rang out.

            “Let her go! You can’t treat her like that!”

            I glanced about until I located the source of that blasted screeching. It was her. That blonde maid. It was her damn fault that my servant girl here hadn’t come to my room when requested. No not requested. Demanded. Ordered. Commanded. And yet the both of them had the audacity to defy me.

            I let my servant girl go and moved past her as she fell to her knees gasping for air. The maid took a step back as I walked towards her. How dare she talk back to me?

            “What did you say?” I questioned, my voice low and gravelly. I gave her a piercing glare to go along with it.

            She shrank back. “I-I didn’t mean it, p-p-please f-forgive me,” she stutteringly pleaded.

            “I supposed I didn’t make my statement from earlier clear enough,” I mused. “When I said after you clean her up, to bring her to my chambers, I meant immediately.”

            I traced her jawline with my finger thoughtfully. “Since you obviously don’t know how to hold your tongue, maybe I should just rip it out.” I placed my finger over her lips. “What do you think?”

            Without warning, arms encircled my waist, pulling me away. It was my servant. She was shaking, crying.

            “Don’t hurt Emily!” she cried out, her sobs muffling the intensity of her words. “She didn’t do anything. It…it was my fault. Hurt me in her place.”

            Her words shook me. I felt my eyes sliding into the onyx hue that always meant that I was calm, yet anger still swirled within me. She wanted me to hurt her. That anger turned to happiness, to glee. Oh god, how I felt like a child in a candy store, shaking with excitement and anticipation.

            I grabbed the knife off the nearest table, and without bothering to wipe the remnants of blood and meat off the blade, I struck her. I watched her eyes grow wide as her braid unraveled and scattered onto the floor like a spiders’ threads. Her hands moved slowly upward to access the damage but I stopped her, placing the knife tip against her fingers.

            “I’m not finished. So unless you want your fingers to be chopped off as well, I suggest you move them.” She silently complied.

            As I hacked at her remaining hair I felt a sense of cheerful abandon. I’ve been told many times by concubines and the like that long hair is what makes them feel beautiful, feel feminine. Then I will take that away. I will take away anything precious. I will take away anything that can identify you as...something.

            I will make you remember little girl, I thought, you are nothing.

            When I was done, I allowed her to run her hands through what was left of the frayed, uneven locks. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

            “Why?” she questioned, her voice cracking on the word.

            “So I can see your face when you scream for me to stop hurting you, to stop touching you,” I whispered as I cupped her cheek and placed my lips next to her ear, “to stop violating you.”

            She shivered.

            I smiled.