Chapter 8
906 Words
Consciousness surfaced from darkness and pain.
Aurelia found herself stuffed inside a sack, her hands bound behind her back, a rag forced into her mouth. Through a tear in the fabric, she could vaguely make out an abandoned construction site.
Lucien stood not far away, his posture straight and rigid. Cynthia stood beside him, eyes red and glistening. Nearby were Eleanor Higgins and two men in logistics uniforms.
"Ambassador Hawthorn," Eleanor stepped forward, her tone respectful but cold, "the 'criminal' who vandalized Ms. Winsor's residence and left threatening letters has been apprehended. How should we proceed?"
Cynthia tugged lightly at Lucien's sleeve, her voice choked with tears.
"Lucien... please, let it go. I wasn't really hurt, just a little frightened. Maybe she just acted on impulse..."
"No."
Lucien's voice was decisive and icy, cutting cleanly through the sack.
"Cynthia, you've just contributed to the nation. This kind of behavior cannot be tolerated. If it isn't punished severely, people will think they can humiliate national contributors at will—or even be encouraged by those with ulterior motives."
He shifted Cynthia slightly behind him, his gaze sweeping toward the sack.
"For scum like this, an example must be made."
Turning to Eleanor, he ordered, "Proceed according to protocol. Keep it proportionate, but make sure the consequences are made clear to everyone."
Cynthia leaned against Lucien's side, softly sobbing, hiding her face against his arm. No one could see the cold smile curling at her lips.
"Lucien... I'm scared. I'll leave everything to you."
"Don't worry."
He patted the back of her hand. "Once this is handled, I'll make sure things at 'home' are brought under control as well."
Aurelia went completely cold. Her blood seemed to freeze.
The next moment, she was hauled up violently. Ropes bit into her underarms as her body was suspended from a wooden beam at the site.
Eleanor and the two workers approached carrying heavy steel rods.
She tried to scream, to call Lucien's name—but the cloth in her mouth reduced everything to broken, muffled sounds.
Bang—
The first strike slammed into her back. Bone gave a dull, sickening impact.
Pain detonated through her body. She arched violently, then sagged again.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Blows rained down like a storm—on her spine, shoulders, thighs. Each impact felt like it was trying to tear her apart.
Her consciousness flickered in and out under the pain.
A sudden tearing agony ripped through her lower abdomen again. Warm fluid surged out uncontrollably, soaking through her clothing.
The child... the last trace of its existence ended here.
There was no pain more absolute than this.
Eleanor noticed the dark fluid seeping more and more from the lower part of the sack. She hesitated, about to report it.
"Lucien..."
Cynthia let out a timely weak groan, leaning heavily against him. "My head is spinning... there's so much dust here... I can't breathe... can we leave first?"
Lucien immediately supported her, glancing at the motionless sack. His brows tightened slightly, but Cynthia's condition held his attention more firmly.
He gave Eleanor no chance to speak.
"Enough. Stop when appropriate. As planned, publish the 'results of the disciplinary action' in the newspapers."
With that, he left without another glance, half-carrying the seemingly fragile Cynthia into the distance.
Through the blood-stained gap in the sack, Aurelia saw his retreating figure for the last time—protecting Cynthia as they disappeared into the dusk and dust.
She laughed.
And as she laughed, hot tears mixed with blood slid down her face.
Love drove people mad. Hatred twisted them.
But at this moment, there was nothing left inside her at all.
Before consciousness sank into darkness, her final thought was calm and clear:
"Lucien... this beating, and the child... will count as repayment for your five years of 'taking me in'... from now on... we owe each other nothing..."
*****
When she regained consciousness again, it was bone-deep cold and relentless pain.
She had been dumped among the rocky banks of a suburban river, her body freezing, clothes torn, soaked in dried blood and mud.
Every bone felt as if it had been broken apart and hastily reassembled. Even the slightest movement sent stabbing pain through her body.
Not far away, an old scavenger was rummaging through trash and startled at her movement.
Aurelia used her last strength to ask, "...What... time is it?"
The old man noticed the ruined military spouse badge on her torn clothing, still faintly visible beneath the blood. His cloudy eyes widened.
"Afternoon... it's... almost four, I think?"
Four o'clock. Less than two hours until the ship sailed.
Her heart pounded violently. A final surge of will to survive erupted within her.
She fumbled in her inner pocket and pulled out the old pager—its screen cracked but still functional.
"Sir... this... for you. Please... take me to Pier No. 3..."
The old man quickly took the pager, then tremblingly helped her onto a tricycle, laying down clean cardboard before carefully placing her on it.
"Hold on, girl!"
The tricycle was stopped at the pier entrance.
Aurelia got off with difficulty, thanked the old man, and staggered forward step by step toward the ship "Eastern Star."
At the boarding ramp, she paused.
Slowly, she turned back.
She looked at it for a long moment, then silently moved her lips:
"Goodbye, Lucien. Goodbye, Crownia City. Goodbye... to the Aurelia who once was."
- Writer
