The forgotten

cruetly

It had been a week since her supposed husband stormed out of the house, and Elowen found herself strangely unmoved by his absence. Although the silence was deafening, she didn't mind it, not at all. In fact, the one thing she cherished about this place was the newfound freedom she had. No more stifling expectations, no more forced conversations.

Mary, the housekeeper, knocked gently on the library door before entering. "Ma'am," she said softly, "your husband will be returning home tonight."

Elowen simply nodded, her gaze remaining fixed on the book in her hands. Well, that's that, she thought, a wave of indifference washing over her. She would simply ignore him, as she had been doing all along.

Later that night, as Elowen lay in bed, drifting into a peaceful slumber, she was jolted awake by the sound of the bedroom door being flung open with tremendous force. She sat up, her eyes widening in surprise as she saw Lorien standing there, swaying slightly, with a heavily made-up woman clinging to his arm.

The woman, whose name Elowen later learned was Ana, blinked owlishly at the sight of Elowen in the bed. "What's she doing here?" Ana slurred, her voice dripping with jealousy as she glared at Lorien.

Lorien stumbled towards the bed, his eyes narrowed with drunken annoyance. "Elowen, get out," he demanded, his voice rough. "This is my room."

Elowen was taken aback by his words. She had been sleeping in this room for the past week, ever since he had abandoned her. Where else was she supposed to go? She glanced at the clock on the nightstand – it was well past midnight. It would be terribly rude to wake Mary up at this hour.

"It's rather late, Lorien," she said calmly, trying to reason with him. "Perhaps we could discuss this in the morning."

But before she could say another word, Ana's hand shot out, and a sharp sting exploded on Elowen's cheek.

"You heard him!" Ana shrieked, her voice laced with venom. "Get out, you little nobody! Don't you dare question Lorien!"

Tears welled up in Elowen's eyes, and she turned to Lorien, seeking some sign of compassion, some glimmer of humanity. But all she saw was a look of utter disgust, a cold, contemptuous gaze that mirrored the disdain she had witnessed in her parents' eyes so long ago.

A wave of nausea washed over her, and she scrambled out of bed, her heart pounding in her chest. Without a word, she fled from the room, seeking refuge in the sanctuary of the library, the only place in this house where she felt safe.

The following day was an exercise in cruelty for Elowen. Lorien, fueled by a cold, calculated malice, decreed that she was to remain outside, exposed to the relentless sun. He instructed Mary, the housekeeper, to deny her any food or drink.

Elowen was bewildered and terrified. She had never experienced such brutal treatment before. In her parents' house, punishments consisted of a few sharp strokes and a period of confinement. But this... this was unbearable. The sun beat down on her mercilessly, her skin prickling with discomfort, her stomach twisting with hunger.

She glared at Lorien, a simmering rage beginning to bubble within her. He had roused her from a fitful sleep in the library by drenching her with a bucket of ice-cold water. Then, he had dragged her outside, his grip bruising her arm.

"If you move an inch," he had hissed, his eyes glinting with a dangerous intensity, "I will deal with you in ways you can't even imagine."

Elowen saw the chilling determination in his eyes and reluctantly complied. She was trapped, with nowhere to go and no one to turn to. This place was far from her home, a word that now tasted like ashes in her mouth. She had lost her home long ago, the day her parents had looked at her with such profound disgust.

The sun, a molten coin in the sky, beat down relentlessly. It was well past four, yet Elowen remained pinned under its oppressive glare. Every inch of her body throbbed, a symphony of aches that resonated with the fear coiled tight in her stomach.

A shadow fell over her, a brief reprieve from the sun's torment. Mrs. Mary's face, etched with concern, swam into view. Her hand, warm and calloused, reached out. "Elowen, child, you need to rest. Lorien isn't here."

The offer was a lifeline, but Elowen hesitated. The fear was a tangible thing, a cold hand gripping her heart. What if she was wrong? What if Lorien returned? "I... I can't," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

As if summoned by her fear, Lorien materialized. His laughter, sharp and cruel, sliced through the air. "Mary, Mary," he drawled, his voice laced with menace. "Disobeying orders? After all these years?"

The blood drained from Mrs. Mary's face. Twenty years she had served him, knowing the depths of his cruelty. Her mistake was a simple one: believing he wouldn't return tonight. "Sir Lorien, please, she looked ill. I only wanted to bring her inside, out of the coming rain."

Lorien's eyes, dark and fathomless, flicked to Elowen. He saw not illness, but defiance. Before Elowen could speak, his hand lashed out, the slap echoing in the sudden stillness.

Elowen's head snapped back, a red bloom of pain blossoming on her cheek. She stared at Lorien, confusion warring with a rising tide of anger.

He seized her chin, his fingers digging into her flesh. "Your mistake," he hissed, his breath hot against her face, "was looking so damn pitiful."

Something snapped. Elowen wrenched her face from his grasp and pushed herself to her feet.

The movement was a spark to tinder. Lorien's foot shot out, connecting with her ribs. She gasped, the air leaving her lungs in a rush, and crumpled to the ground.

Mrs. Mary cried out, a sound of pure anguish, and lunged forward, desperate to shield Elowen. Lorien shoved her aside with brutal force. She stumbled, her body colliding with a jagged rock. A sickening crack echoed in the air, and Mrs. Mary fell, her eyes wide and unseeing. The light in them died as quickly as it had flared.