A Grim Fairy Tale

Chapter Eighty-Nine

At last, they arrived at the cottage. The moment they stepped inside, Moxxie and Alastor were swiftly ushered to Blitzo and Millie for treatment of their injuries. Moxxie had a bruised head and a twisted ankle, but poor Alastor was in much worse shape; his back was marred by bleeding welts from the brutal whipping he had endured. Charlotte, too, bore a wound—one that bled not from the skin, but from the heart.

She leaned against a sturdy oak tree, her face buried in her hands as tears streamed down her cheeks. She cried not only for Alastor's physical pain but also for the emotional scars that such cruelty could inflict. A profound ache settled in her heart, a reflection of the suffering that had been unjustly thrust upon him.

Inside, Blitzo and Millie worked efficiently, their expressions grim as they tended to Moxxie and Alastor. Moxxie winced as Millie wrapped his ankle, her gentle touch a stark contrast to the chaos of their recent encounter.

"You'll be alright." She reassured him, though her eyes flickered to Alastor, whose condition was far more dire.

Alastor lay on the bed, his usual bravado dulled by pain. Blitzo applied ointment to the welts, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"This is going to sting." He muttered, not looking up. Alastor clenched his teeth, forcing himself to suppress any sound of discomfort. He remained silent, lost in the replay of the day's events. The world could be so cruel and ugly.

As the ointment met Alastor's wounds, a sharp intake of breath escaped his lips, but he quickly swallowed it back, refusing to show any more weakness. He had endured worse, after all. Yet today felt different; it had chipped away at his carefully constructed facade. The whip's bite was not just a physical assault; it was a reminder of his vulnerability, of how easily someone could inflict pain.

Meanwhile in the main room, Vagatha, Anthony, and Cherri sat by the fire, waiting and trying to keep warm. Vagatha, close to the hearth, watched the flickering flames dance, casting shadows on the walls, but the warmth didn't reach the chill in her heart. She had never seen Alastor so hurt before, not since that first night when he had knocked on her grandmother's door, half-frozen and desperate for warmth. From that moment on, he had exuded confidence, arrogance, and an unyielding strength.

What an infuriating, cocky pain in the ass he could be. Always acting like he knew more than her about the world. Walking around with that smug grin of his and speaking with his annoyingly, proper tongue. Oh, why did those people have to hurt him like that? He had never done anything to deserve it.

"Do you think he's going to be okay?" Vagatha finally broke the silence, glancing at Anthony and Cherri, her concern evident.

Anthony, leaning against the wall, sighed deeply, his expression somber.

"I hope so. What happened today was brutal."

"He didn't deserve that. None of it." Vagatha replied.

Here's a revised version of your writing:

"You seem to care a lot about him," Anthony observed. "He must be very special to you."

"Well, don't tell him I said this, but he truly is. We grew up together, and he drove me crazy, there were times I wanted to rip his antlers off! But there were also moments when he really looked out for me. Sometimes, when I wandered off alone into the woods, he would hide behind the trees and follow me, as if I couldn't hear his enormous footsteps, just to make sure I wouldn't get eaten alive or worse."

She smiled slightly.

"Honestly, he's like a brother to me. It can be a nightmare to be around him, but at least I know he'll always be there when I need him. Not that I really need much saving from anyone."