The TwiceBorn

Every Touch of Flesh, Every Shard of Heart

 "...you can take this mouth, this wound you want,but you can't kiss and make it better..."--Daphne Gottlieb

Islinn understood. She more than understood and her face became hotter still at the thought of what Winnie was implying but what truly made her want to crawl in the nearest hole and hide was she didn’t understand the “how” of it all.  She had never heard of such a thing.  She pondered a moment, her brow furrowed.

“I understand…but…I don’t understand.”  It was the best she could do and the sound of her words brought her cheeks to an even higher burn.

Winnie snorted.  It was a sound she fell back on when she was truly speechless.  Granted she kept company with the dregs of town but she had gained a bit of knowledge from her unenviable position.  And that knowledge was that by the time other peoples’ offspring had reached head high to her elbow, they more than understood who was layin’ up with who. Somehow, Islinn had avoided this bit of common knowledge.  Odd but possible. 

The time with Behrin had left the mark of being well-used on the girl’s demeanor and that spook must have thought he was in high cotton to have owned a girl like this to push himself into without having to part with a coin.  So, her knowledge of something a bit more tricky than the usual he’n and she’n was possible as well.

 But the one she was keeping company with now, that was a different story.    Winnie didn’t think that one was truly partial to other women in spite of what she’d said to Islinn earlier.  No, that dark one was only partial to taking. That was what was truly stippled into her flesh. Taking based purely upon nothing more than whatever suited her fancy at the moment. And why that taking hadn’t extended to this young girl, she didn’t know.

“What part ain’t ya graspin?”

Islinn wanted out of the conversation.  She didn’t quite know how she’d gotten into it in the first place.  One desperate eye cast towards the bathtub told her it was almost full but apparently the girls had slowed down a bit in toting water.  A few of them met her quick glance boldly and gave her a gleeful grin. Islinn looked quickly away.

“I’m waitin.”  Winnie said.  Waiting was an understatement; she was chomping at the bit pretty much to hear the answer.  She hated to admit it, but she found the whole scenario fascinating in a sordid little manner.

“Well…what you said about me and…her.  Well…how is that possible? I mean…it’s not…physically possible. Right?”  Islinn stammered, feeling hot with self-loathing for her ignorance.  She didn’t know what the reply would be but it wouldn’t be a pleasant one.

“Yore her slave,right?  Winnie figured she would start with the basics.

“Yes.”

“Well..how do ya do fer her?”

“What?”

 Islinn was beginning to feel like nothing but an echo of the most annoying word spoken.  It never occurred to her to simply tell Winnie to mind her own business.  If she was not anything, she was cursed with a need to please in every way, a trait that had been nurtured in religion and abused by Behrin.  And the culmination of that was she was now tractability's miserable captive.

“I guess I need to simplify this a bit more.  Brede’s balls gal, ya are wide-eyed, no doubt there.  How’d ya spend yore time with the spook?”

Here was a question Islinn knew the answer to.

“On my back.” She replied evenly.  Winnie nodded, unsurprised.

“That all? Ya sew? Ya clean up his man messes? Ya take stock of his belongins?”

Islinn didn’t understand any of that but she was confident it had been nothing she’d been a part of.  Her life with Behrin had been simple. Brutal, but simple.