Long legs came into the corner of her eye. She paid them no mind, simply watched the blurry window. Complete catatonia had overtaken the Queen of France and Scotland, for she was content to sit here for the rest of her life, if permitted. She breathed in and out, unable to block out the memories of a man who would haunt her for the rest of her life. She could still hear his voice, feel his hands upon her. Feel him inside of her.
She remembered the strike upon her face as the blow knocked her feet from her. She remembered the screaming, the hands on her wrists, holding her down. The table knocking over, ringing in her ears. She remembered the way her body was forced onto it's back, the fear of death as his hand tightened and tightened around her throat. She remembered the weight of him above her, the ripping and tearing of her intimate flesh, now no longer the property of the one man it was supposed to belong to.
She would never, ever not remember the feeling of him inside her. His rough, hard, calloused hands parting her thighs roughly. She remembered the pain and the blood and the fear and the desperation. The darkness of her vision as he forced her look him in the eye as he took and he took and he took-
"Mary," she was too numb to even look up at the voice. She knew who it was. She'd always know who it was. But this time, he couldn't make it better. He couldn't heal her, he couldn't do anything to save her from this pain that, looking back, he had a hand in causing. Or did he? Did that even matter anymore? "I've been looking for you everywhere." her husband marched right over to her, stopping a few feet away. He seemed nervous around her now. Grief stricken and angry. Not nervous in the way he had as a boy, nor when she returned from convent. Unsure what to say or do, desperate to heal her, but not knowing how. The wanting to touch and hold, but the fear of scaring her.
She didn't look up at him, but she could still see him in the corner of her eye. The long black velvet jacket and the black boots. She hadn't slept in two days, and she could see his own exhaustion present in the purple bags under his eyes. She briefly wondered where the wound upon his brow had come from, but the memory of the last time she'd been able to rest was before the door was forced open took precedence. And then-
His voice stopped her. "We've caught and executed nine of the conspirators whose role in the... attack was confirmed, but Severin..." he trailed off. Even though he spoke softly to her, she could hear the vile hatred of the man who had dare lay a hand on her. But he didn't know what she knew of the farmer.
"He's dead." she cut him off, speaking for the first time in this encounter. That made him pause. Mary would always remember the words the two had said to each other, with his accomplices and Conde as witness. She would always remember the hatred she felt in her veins, letting it pound until suddenly the lamp wasn't in her hand anymore. She would always, always, remember the screams of the dying man as she burned him alive. The chokes of the vile filth that dared accompany him in this attack as she ordered them murdered. The scent of their burning hair and flesh as the house they were in burned to the ground. The heat of the flames as they evaporated the tears upon her cheeks. "As are his accomplices." she paused again. He looked back at her. She wasn't sure when he'd looked away. But, she used the time to talk again. "You were wise to use Condé. He helped me find them." she revealed. Her voice was croaky from disuse and abuse. The burning in her injured throat was there, every time she talked. She would never forget him, he would always be there, in one way or another. It didn't matter that he was burned alive just a few hours ago, nor did it matter that his ashes now fluttered like atoms in the air. Every single molecular being of her had been violated by him. And for that, she would never escape. How could she heal from this? How could any of them heal from it?
"You killed them? Together?" she didn't miss the jealousy in his final word, but that didn't matter. How could it matter?
"There wasn't time-" she paused, shaking her head. Would she ever forget her own screams and the roar of the bore that that held her down and- "I had to act. I didn't want them to escape." she swallowed thickly, the burn in her throat and in between her legs making her squirm and shift around. "But you can release the rest of the prisoners, Francis." she had heard of the men whom he had slaughtered in the hunt of the man who was now nothing but dust. But where he was now couldn't matter. He would always be with her, haunting her every movement for the rest of her life. "It's over." she breathed, holding her stomach in which once held their child. Their child, their little light in the midst of so much darkness. She wondered where their baby was now. She wondered if the child had lived, would he still take up residence in her womb? Or would he comfort her with tiny hands and tiny feet? Would Severin have harmed her child as he harmed her? No, no, that wasn't worth thinking about. There was no child. There may never be a child. That thought and her own trauma of the events of two nights ago brought tears to her eyes. She looked up at her husband for the first time since this exchange. Tears burned in her eyes as she looked into his. So blue and beautiful, grief stricken and desperate and exhausted. "It's over." she choked.
