Limbo between Kings

Day 16 - The pain of memory

Olivia's honey eyes adjusted to the lack of sunlight, blurring her vision of the small bathhouse. As they focused, she was stunned by the size, larger than the exterior had led her to believe, easily being able to house ten villagers at a time. To the far right, hand-carved stone pillars lined the wooden wall, supporting the hay-lined roof. Behind her against the lattice windows stood fine pottery, scattered about in odd shapes, each more different than the last.

Olivia's eyes caught a Silas-sized statue of the god Zythone in the center of the crystalline bath, whose worship had long since been banned by King Henry. The deity of the water and keeper of life itself. It was said that Zythone had cursed Henry's lands, filling them with neverending torrents of rain and floods, killing massive herds of livestock while decimating the bustling crops that flourished without fail year-round.

The reason why has always been unknown, yet Olivia could think of a thousand reasons for his curse. His arrogance and blatant disrespect for the gods were but a small sample.

His sister's body had been a tool for him to use to gain power, selling her to dozens of trusted allies. She was a means of negotiations, a promised reward for compliance. Screaming and begging had done nothing to dissuade Henry of this bargaining tactic, for it nearly always worked. Their loyalty always remained with the offer of such a gift.

However, when loyalty was refused, villages were burned by the dozens, slaughtering all that stood in his soldier's way. Until the lord of the land burned alongside his people, the killing would not cease. The rain couldn't wash away the blood from his hands quick enough before more filled his palms and doused his face red.

The worst of his cursed crimes was unimaginable. The murder and rape of women, the torture of young children born from his assault. Babes were hung in front of their mother's eyes, children were burned with oil as their families screamed in helpless horror.

Olivia's eyes scrunched with the memory. True she had suffered by Henry's hands, but by the gods, she would never feel the pain those women felt. She would forever hear the deafening screams of torture. She could never forget the hint of death on his clothes, the smell of pleasure on his skin after he would leave the room.

Olivia placed her fist against the bridge of her nose, resisting the urge to scream, wanting to escape her past, if even for just a moment. Even if it meant losing who she was.

If only the tranquilizer had been permanent, she thought, setting the pile of towels and clothes at her feet beside the water before undressing.

Flecks of lavender and jasmine floated around her naked body as she stepped down, soaking into every pore and drenching her long, dirt-crusted hair. Olivia's muscles unclenched from their weeks of sleeping on the hard ground and being thrown on a horse large enough to single-handedly pull a carriage. The tender skin of her thighs scorched with the oils in the water, causing a hiss to form on her lips.

Leaning her head back into the water, she let her body float, her eyes tightly closed. The hot water burned her skin with memory, drowning her in self-hatred and pity. She felt as if she were back in the luxury of her brother's castle.

And she hated every second of it.

Pulling herself to stand, Olivia rushed herself from the water. The stone floor splattered with the liquid dripping from her, puddling beneath. Olivia's skin tightened with the cool air, her bare body shivering, not from the chill but from horror. If only she had the power to forget who she was, to lose her past and the burden it carried.

How was she supposed to move on? To move past the hell of her childhood and adulthood.

Absentmindedly, Olivia dried off her body, pulling on a sapphire nightdress a size too large. Ignoring her memories was the only way she knew how to cope and it barely worked. Olivia pulled the handle with force, watching Silas jump to his feet from the wooden stool blocking the doorway, "What's wrong?" He breathed, glancing behind her.

"Nothing," She snapped without intention, shuddering at her voice. It was raspy and broken, hints of unshed tears speaking from it. She refused to cry, refused to show this weakness to the man before her. She had already let slip more than enough in his company.

"It seems like something, Olivia." He spoke her name for the second time since their meeting, though this time was more aggressively. Her name on his lips sent a jolt of electricity through her body, confusing her senses. It made her feel comfortable and safe while her insides remained fragile and her heart felt broken.

"What happened to Feral Princess? Or what was it you called me the other day? Beast?" Olivia scoffed, rubbing her hand across the fabric on her arms in an attempt to soothe herself. She was panicking, working herself into an attack. The doctors at the castle had called them hysterics, saying it was an overreaction to things she couldn't control. It always felt like she was dying on the inside, burned by searing fire.

"You're still both of those things," Silas smirked, taking a step toward her. His hand raised to the side of her face, pinching the wet hair between two fingers. She wanted to jerk away from his touch, instinct and every wise thought in her mind told her to push his hand away but she couldn't move, if she did, she would shut down.

"Little beast." Silas addressed her, letting his hand fall, watching her chest shiver beneath her clothes.

The tears streamed down her face without her permission. Dropping to her knees, Olivia clutched into herself, desperate for a piece of stability and comfort. "I just want to die," Olivia muttered through the tears. She couldn't stop the cycle of memories barraging her, trampling onto her heart like a herd of buffalo.

She could hear the blood-curdling screams of the women Henry would lure into the castle, the mangled bodies violated and tortured. The children, murdered before her eyes, the fear she saw within them as she helplessly watched. Her body traded like a prized mare, used and discarded for the next to claim. The force of Henry's strike, bruising her cheek and busting the skin until she bled. The quick whip of the leather lash against her clothes so the marks wouldn't scar the skin. The sluggish feeling of the Jokester's tongue invading her mouth, his hands wandering her body. It all cycled through her head on repeat, dancing across her vision.

"You should have listened to your King and killed me!" She yelled.

Silas lowered himself to meet her, though he didn't say a word and she was thankful for it. What was he to say? I'm sorry you're sad, even though I have no idea why? Was he supposed to tell her to get over it and drag her back to the inn? She could never tell him the reason, nor would she want to. It was her own personal torment, her demon to shelter.

A rattling scream ripped from her body, raw and untamed, demanding its release. The ceaseless flow of tears followed suit.