Chapter Text
Pain blistered up your spine, striking at every nerve ending violently. Back pressed against the cold stona wall of an old rundown church. Apparently Mother Miranda had demanded your presence for todays meeting. A demand that your mistress was not too happy about.
Nevertheless the complied making sure you would regret the attention beforehand. Most of the morning was spent in the dungeons as she took the brunt of her anger out. Thick tail of the whip splitting open scarred skin until you could barely stand. Blood stained the ground below you when the maids had removed you silently.
Now stood in the church you hoped not to bleed through your shirt. Blood would not come out of the white fabric, Mistress would be furious if you ruined a shirt.
A chill blew through the derelict building as the lords slowly congregated in their meeting room. The goddess who bestowed their gifts yet to appear as they all took their seats. Lady Dimitrescu fought against her brother, Lord Heisenberg, insulting him in any way she could think.
In the corner the veiled lord sat, a porcelain doll in her lap. She remained silent just like the last time you were here. The day you were gifted to the lady of house Dimitrescu, by the prophet. A gift for the great work she had been doing. Something that your Mistress seemed to detest as the moment she returned home with you, she began a strategic torment.
The last lord to arrive was the lord of the lake. His blubbering voice muffled greetings as he dropped into his seat. No one said a word in response your mistress just sneering at the mess of a man.
As the room fell into silence you were blinded by a bright light. Looking toward the altar you discovered the prophet had finally joined you. Pressing your back further into the wall you watched silently as she began the meeting, admonishing the arguing siblings. Slowly she covered points that you had no interest in. Each one leading to you zoning out more and more.
Only being dragged back to reality when you were unceremoniously pushed away from the wall by the doll. Trying to catch up you heard your name and immediately met eyes with the prophet. Quickly dropping your head out of respect.
Behind you the doll began to cackle, “The hell did you do to them Alci?”
“Do not call me that!” Was she response, ignoring the question.
Mother Miranda demanded silence, her voice loud and carrying. Feathers brushed your arm as she passed by. Your entire body going rigid as she stepped behind you, expecting her to strike you. However the hit never came instead a calm demand to remove your shirt, the order clear as day.
Quickly you complied hands trembling unbuttoning the dress shirt. Shrugging the top off you pulled it to hold in front of you held between your hands. A low gasp escaped the prophet behind you cold fingers touching pained skin. Biting your tongue to remain silent, you weren’t allowed to show discomfort.
“You may redress yourself,” The surprisingly soft voice of the prophet echoed before passing by you once again. Now standing before your mistress arms crossed over her chest, “Is this how you treat my gifts? You ungrateful petulant child,”
You flinched at the anger in her voice but tried to focus on getting the shirt back on. Fabric rubbing on damaged flesh, white hot pain burning through your back.
Black wings spread out as the prophet yelled at the lord. Everyone remained silent as she lectured your mistress like a small child. Making threats of severe punishments completely oblivious to the way you trembled in fear.
When her lecture was over she turned back to you beckoning you over, your approach slow and head bowed. Now fully dressed as you stood near her. She led you toward the altar having you stand near the veiled lord.
Lady Dimitrescu was once again admonished for the glare she aimed toward you. Mother Miranda proving to hold all the power in this situation. No one daring to speak back.
Soon enough the meeting was over and she dismissed the lords, making it clear you were to stay. Before anyone could begin to leave she had wrapped you in her wings enveloping you in darkness.
When she stepped away allowing light back in you were in a tiled room. Beside you there was a metal cot, white sheets made perfectly in the clinically sterile room. Everything here but the desk was pristine white. Even the light that hurt your eyes cast a cold white glow.
The prophet gestured toward to the cot asking you to remove your clothes. You were quick to obey stripping and sitting on the cot nervously while she went into an adjoined room. She returned with a bag and looked at you for a moment, “Lay down on your front,” She commanded.
Your immediate obedience seemed to please her, a low approving hum coming from the woman. Once again cold hands touched burning skin soothing your injuries. A rag was wiped over the open wounds, burning spread through the area. Intense pain shot through you and you couldn’t stop yourself jerking away from her.
Instead of punishing you for your insolence she spoke gently, “I know it hurts just try to stay still alright. It will be over soon,”
Head reeling at the gentle treatment you didn’t notice her continuing to wipe your back. Flame was alight in your skin, slowly ebbing away at your will to hold still, yet you managed. She covered your back in a thick pad and tape that pulled at your skin.
Once again she left the room silently leaving you to your thoughts as you laid still on the medical cot. Would she send you back to Lady Dimitrescu now your wounds were tended to. What happened if she didn’t. Were you to stay here, or be released to try and find somewhere to live.
Hands tangled in the fresh sheets taking in the scent of pine wood. Soothing some of the worries. It felt like hours passed as you began to doze of on the cot, yet looking at the ever ticking clock it had only been a few minutes. You could nap while the prophet was gone, at least a few moments.
Eyes heavy and drifting closed you were engulfed in the darkness.