Realm of the Runes: Blood Right

Chapter IV

*WARNING: SEXUAL VIOLENCE. SENSITIVE READERS HAVE BEEN WARNED! 

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Daphne stuffed her glossy brown hair under a dirty yellow bandana, and surveyed her work. She was standing in front of the dirty mirror in their cramped little bathroom, getting ready for work. Shapeless hessian trousers did nothing to accentuate the curves of her body, and her baggy old polyester top sported long sleeves and a high neckline. Worn wellington boots finished the hideous outfit.

Perfect.

She frowned a little. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, her eyes wide and startlingly blue. She had thick black lashes that needed no mascara, just like Mummy's had been. Her lips were naturally full and red, her cheekbones high and defined.

Although her skin was pale and white from lack of sunlight, she knew that her looks were her greatest enemy. She went to the kitchen and took a little oil in her hands, determined to make herself break out, or at least look shiny and disgusting. She surveyed herself again.

That'll have to do.

A commotion at the door caught her attention, and she hurried to help her father. He leaned on his cane, face twisted in pain as his thin body heaved with coughs.

She quickly grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and cringed when she saw the blood already staining the thin cotton. He took it gratefully, and she felt tears prick her eyes as he leaned on her shoulder, his hand gentle as always while he steadied himself.

“Sorry, Daphne, my girl. It was a long shift.”

“I know, Daddy. Here, let me help you to bed. I have some porridge ready, and there’s even a little honey left over. That should soothe your throat.”

“Thankyou.” His voice was so tired that she couldn’t stop a tear from rolling down her cheek. 

What has this world done to you?

She pulled back the thin duvet and helped him take of his coat and patched trousers, knowing he didn’t have the strength to do it himself. She bit her lip as she saw his ribs and spine showing through the thin shirt he wore, but mustered a smile and handed him a bowl of porridge, complete with a spoonful of that treasured honey.

“I need to go, Daddy, or I’ll be late for my shift.”

“Be careful, sweetheart,” he cautioned, pausing with the dented spoon in his shaking hand. “You know how it gets in the night shifts. You do have your knife, don’t you?”

“I do. I’ll be careful.”

“Good girl.” 

She leant over and kissed his forehead, knowing he wouldn’t remove his woolen cap or scarf because of the chill in the air, and the lack of hair on his scalp. He had the same thing Mummy had. The doctors called it tuberculosis, and the workers called it consumption, because it ate people from the inside out. His cheekbones were sharp and his eyes sunken, and she knew that the blood in his handkerchief would only increase, until he no longer had the strength to cough anymore.

“I love you, Daddy,” she said, a small crack in her voice.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he replied, and the sadness in his voice broke her heart.

“I’ll be back soon,” she promised, even though they both knew that was a lie. She had a twelve hour shift ahead of her.

“I know,” he said with a shadow of a smile. “I’ll have some breakfast ready when you come home.”