Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
It takes me a moment to reply with a mouth full of potato and bread. “They sound racist.”
“The purity they seek to defend is not of this Earth. It supersedes all races, all creeds, all philosophical inclinations. It is the blood of the angels they defend.”
"Wow. The blood of actual angels? And where is that?”
“Running in the veins of a blessed few.”
"In me?” I sound more hopeful than I am. I already know I am no angel. Demon, maybe. Angel, definitely not.
“Not in you,” he says, his lips quirking with amusement at the very idea. “You are as far from the angels as it is possible to be.”
“So why are they keeping me?”
“Probably something to do with the heinous murder you recently committed, I imagine.”
“Oh, yes. That.”
“That," he says.
I’m starting to get more comfortable. I sit cross-legged on the bed, such as it is, and make the most of my little feast.
“This was really nice of you. You and Mrs Crocombe have been so lovely to me. And the priests have been... absolute fucking assholes.”
“We recognize those who need kindness better than they do, sometimes.”
“I don’t think I can sleep here.”
“If you do not mind me taking the liberty, I think I will stay for a while. Perhaps you will find it easier to rest then.”
I almost question his niceness, but then I realize it might insult or embarrass him, and I don't want to do either of those things.
“Do you think I am a bad person? What’s your name? I can’t keep talking to you without knowing that, it’s rude.”
“My name is Edmund Crichton, and I am at your service. As for whether you are a bad person…” He pauses for a moment, gathering all his diplomacy. "You are a person, and people, generally speaking, are all bad. It's not their fault. It is merely the way they were made. Humans are flawed creatures full of desires and drives they can never physically satiate within the bounds of social proprietary.”
“They don’t usually do what I did today. Any of what I did today.”
What a day I have had. I killed someone with a hammer and then I let another near virtual stranger fuck my bottom with that same weapon… and then I came. I’m about as twisted as they come.
“Whatever you did today... and whatever was done to you today, it is done. The fathers will attempt to instill guilt, but that is not for you.”
He talks to me like he knows me, not personally, but specifically. Like there's some secret I am unaware of.
“Why isn’t it for me?”
“Because you are the kind to see an artifact of power and to lay hands on it no matter what. You will not follow the rules of men, because you know somewhere inside that they were never meant for one like you.”
“You should tell Thor that.”
“It is not my place to tell Thor anything. I hope to offer you a little comfort in what must be a dark and trying time. Mrs Crocombe and I have spoken about you, and we have decided to aid you as best we can. Direview Manor has not historically been a happy place for young women.”
“That's nice of you,” I say, because it is. My eyes are starting to feel heavy. A yawn begins to escape me. I lie down just for a moment, to rest.
8
Anita
Never thought I'd sleep in a cell, but I did.
With Crichton outside the bars, the dark was transformed from the terrifying solitary unknown to the warm and surprisingly cozy kind of dark.
I am now curled up under a scratchy military blanket in the dungeon. I wake up with my hands curled around something hard and warm, something that throbs against me. I am so cozy. So happy. There are things at the edges of my memory trying to push into my happy just-woken-up state, but I’m keeping them away for now and focusing on the simple joys of drifting between awake and not awake.
Crichton is no longer there; he has disappeared to bring comfort to some other captive, perhaps. That’s okay. I have made it through the night, and I feel better for it. Sleep restores more than the body. It clears the mind.
“It’s missing again!” Someone's shouting upstairs. Thor, I think. His voice has a very particular thundering quality that makes it difficult to ignore. It goes right through me, vibrating against the jelly parts and the not so jelly parts too. I am still gently aching from yesterday, and now I am blushing with the memory of punishment and pleasure.
I can hear feet pounding the old floor boards above. Judging by the way they crack and creak and let dust of god knows what outlawed compounds fall down here in a shimmering haze, it won’t just be the roof that needs replacing soon. This whole place is slowly falling apart — except the dungeon. This has been renovated to within an inch of its life. The money in this place has been spent on what is hidden and what is wrong.