Grimdark Future: Now with more creepy
The silver tray trembled in Lara’s hands as she set it down on the polished table, making the chipped wineglasses cling against each other. A hint of fear shot down her spine at the sound broke the room’s silence, and her hands tightened on the tray as a laugh followed on the heels of the sound of clinking glassware. Hatred burned in her stomach for the fear, the instinctive flinching of her body as if waiting for a blow.
“What could you possibly be afraid of, cousin-mine?” She hated the voice even more, the self-satisfied tone, the pleasure she could hear in it. Even though she kept her eyes on the tray, Lara thought she could feel Madrigal’s eyes on her, following the curve of her spine, lingering on the fall of her hair. Now that the silence had been broken, she heard his footsteps too as he neared, and with every step came the foreign warmth, the unquestioning trust that marked the chains he’d laid on her broken mind.
But that was all she could feel. The bottomless ocean that had been her empathic awareness was gone. Within her mind, there was only herself, only her emotions, and the cold hard knowledge that even her feelings were no longer her own, that they had been surrendered to the man who stood next to her.
His hand rested against the small of her back, and Lara could feel heat pool where his skin brushed hers, spreading slow and languid through her body. With every ounce of will she possessed, she gritted her teeth against the onslaught, knowing it would fail, knowing it was only a matter of time before even that tiny defiance melted into desire, and hating herself for it.
Madrigal seemed to take her silence as his due and threw himself into his chair. “Come now, Lara, you know what I want, so why don’t you just tell me?” he taunted, his eyes lingering as she moved to pour. The smell of cheap wine, nearly gone to vinegar, rose into the air. It was barely fit for salads, much less drinking, but that was Madrigal’s style, doggedly following outdated customs without a drop of actual class.
“Go to hell, you weak-blooded bastard. If you were even half a man, you wouldn’t have needed-” The words came tumbling out, rushed and full of vitriol, as if Lara knew there wouldn’t be enough time to let him know exactly what she thought of him. And there wasn’t. Madrigal’s expression froze, and Lara could feel the touch of him in her mind, the chains there tightening, emotions spinning out of her control, their intensity flooding her senses, driving her to her knees with a soft, wanting cry.
When she could open her eyes again, Madrigal was smiling down at her, his hand twisted into her hair. “That’s better,” he said, and the sound of his voice made her tremble. “Now tell me what you think I should do about these rebels I’m meeting with tomorrow.”
“Meet with them, bring the food and medicine you promised.” Lara could barely recognize the sound of her own voice, breathless and eager to please. “Tell them patrols have been spotted in the area and that you will leave first to draw them off. Then leave, and have Baelheit’s men storm the location. Wipe them out.” In the tiny part of her broken mind that wasn’t flooded with desire, Lara hated Madrigal, hated how he had twisted her empire into this, how he couldn’t even manage it without constantly tapping into her mind, demanding answers to how he should proceed.
It was a tiny ember, the last she had of herself, and Lara nursed it carefully. If she could only have a few minutes, long enough for one of the knives in the kitchen to do its work, long enough for her lungs to fill with water, she could escape it all, with the knowledge that Madrigal would crumble under the weight of his own inadequacy without her advice. It had been days since her last attempt. Surely he wouldn’t suspect she’d try again so soon.
Maybe tonight, if she could convince him to let her bring him a snack with his nightcap, she could. There was still bleach in the bottle beneath the sink, and the kitchen was far enough away from his influence. Just a few swallows.
As if completely unaware of her thoughts, Madrigal took a sip of his wine and frowned at it. He’d never admit it tasted like vinegar. Not after that one time when she’d managed some half comment about good wine tasting that way. Now he hid his disgust behind a smile. “Good girl, that sounds like a plan worthy of my talents.”
Lara bobbed her head and risked raising her head. “Shall I bring the apples we received today?” she asked. They were worm-eaten and foul, but they were better than rations, and a symbol of wealth. More importantly, they were still in the kitchen.
Madrigal paused, a semblance of a thoughtful expression on his face. “Yes, cousin-mine, do bring me the apples.” Some hint of eagerness must have betrayed her as she rose, because Madrigal added, “Just the apples. No knives, pet. We wouldn’t want a repeat of last week.”
Choking on every emotion that raced through her mind, Lara shook her head and kept her eyes on the ground. “No, we wouldn’t.” Worried that another second in his presence would reveal her plans, Lara left the derelict library and headed down to the kitchen.
((If anybody wants to blow this house up, feel free))
“What could you possibly be afraid of, cousin-mine?” She hated the voice even more, the self-satisfied tone, the pleasure she could hear in it. Even though she kept her eyes on the tray, Lara thought she could feel Madrigal’s eyes on her, following the curve of her spine, lingering on the fall of her hair. Now that the silence had been broken, she heard his footsteps too as he neared, and with every step came the foreign warmth, the unquestioning trust that marked the chains he’d laid on her broken mind.
But that was all she could feel. The bottomless ocean that had been her empathic awareness was gone. Within her mind, there was only herself, only her emotions, and the cold hard knowledge that even her feelings were no longer her own, that they had been surrendered to the man who stood next to her.
His hand rested against the small of her back, and Lara could feel heat pool where his skin brushed hers, spreading slow and languid through her body. With every ounce of will she possessed, she gritted her teeth against the onslaught, knowing it would fail, knowing it was only a matter of time before even that tiny defiance melted into desire, and hating herself for it.
Madrigal seemed to take her silence as his due and threw himself into his chair. “Come now, Lara, you know what I want, so why don’t you just tell me?” he taunted, his eyes lingering as she moved to pour. The smell of cheap wine, nearly gone to vinegar, rose into the air. It was barely fit for salads, much less drinking, but that was Madrigal’s style, doggedly following outdated customs without a drop of actual class.
“Go to hell, you weak-blooded bastard. If you were even half a man, you wouldn’t have needed-” The words came tumbling out, rushed and full of vitriol, as if Lara knew there wouldn’t be enough time to let him know exactly what she thought of him. And there wasn’t. Madrigal’s expression froze, and Lara could feel the touch of him in her mind, the chains there tightening, emotions spinning out of her control, their intensity flooding her senses, driving her to her knees with a soft, wanting cry.
When she could open her eyes again, Madrigal was smiling down at her, his hand twisted into her hair. “That’s better,” he said, and the sound of his voice made her tremble. “Now tell me what you think I should do about these rebels I’m meeting with tomorrow.”
“Meet with them, bring the food and medicine you promised.” Lara could barely recognize the sound of her own voice, breathless and eager to please. “Tell them patrols have been spotted in the area and that you will leave first to draw them off. Then leave, and have Baelheit’s men storm the location. Wipe them out.” In the tiny part of her broken mind that wasn’t flooded with desire, Lara hated Madrigal, hated how he had twisted her empire into this, how he couldn’t even manage it without constantly tapping into her mind, demanding answers to how he should proceed.
It was a tiny ember, the last she had of herself, and Lara nursed it carefully. If she could only have a few minutes, long enough for one of the knives in the kitchen to do its work, long enough for her lungs to fill with water, she could escape it all, with the knowledge that Madrigal would crumble under the weight of his own inadequacy without her advice. It had been days since her last attempt. Surely he wouldn’t suspect she’d try again so soon.
Maybe tonight, if she could convince him to let her bring him a snack with his nightcap, she could. There was still bleach in the bottle beneath the sink, and the kitchen was far enough away from his influence. Just a few swallows.
As if completely unaware of her thoughts, Madrigal took a sip of his wine and frowned at it. He’d never admit it tasted like vinegar. Not after that one time when she’d managed some half comment about good wine tasting that way. Now he hid his disgust behind a smile. “Good girl, that sounds like a plan worthy of my talents.”
Lara bobbed her head and risked raising her head. “Shall I bring the apples we received today?” she asked. They were worm-eaten and foul, but they were better than rations, and a symbol of wealth. More importantly, they were still in the kitchen.
Madrigal paused, a semblance of a thoughtful expression on his face. “Yes, cousin-mine, do bring me the apples.” Some hint of eagerness must have betrayed her as she rose, because Madrigal added, “Just the apples. No knives, pet. We wouldn’t want a repeat of last week.”
Choking on every emotion that raced through her mind, Lara shook her head and kept her eyes on the ground. “No, we wouldn’t.” Worried that another second in his presence would reveal her plans, Lara left the derelict library and headed down to the kitchen.
((If anybody wants to blow this house up, feel free))