Chapter Three-Invisible wounds
1265 Words
The smell of mold clung to the back of my throat. My empty stomach twisted in slow, nauseating waves. Every inch of me ached from the cold stone floor, but even pain eventually dulled into exhaustion.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Then came the icy splash across my face.
A sharp, sour reek burned my nostrils. My eyes flew open, stinging viciously. I squeezed them shut again as the bitter liquid slipped between my lips and down my throat. I coughed violently, choking, tears streaming down my cheeks. The room spun.
A heavy boot halted inches from my nose.
One of the guards smiled down at me. “Up.”
My arms wouldn’t obey.
“I said, up.”
The whip cracked. Fire exploded across my back. A scream tore from my throat before I could stop it. Another lash landed on the same spot. The pain sharpened from sting to tear. Warm blood spread beneath my dress.
Another strike. My body folded against the stone. The skin on my back felt flayed open.
My legs barely held when he finally stopped. Knees shaking, vision blurring, I forced myself upright.
He waited. When I moved too slowly—
Crack.
The whip kissed the broken flesh again. The sound that left me barely sounded human. It echoed off the damp walls and died unanswered.
No one ever came.
Cold drops struck my face once more. That same sour stench flooded my nose. I coughed weakly.
“Still alive,” the guard muttered. He tilted the bottle again. The liquid ran down my neck and into the fresh wounds. My whole body convulsed. I bit down hard enough to draw blood from my lip, refusing to scream.
He crouched, peering into my eyes. “How did you get on the floor, huh?”
“I… I don’t know,” I rasped.
“Ooh.” He feigned surprise, then laughed. “An angel must have carried you, then.”
Why didn’t the angel save me earlier? The thought drifted through the haze. The ropes still bit into my wrists. Strange things happened in this place.
He studied me for a moment, debating whether to strike again. Finally, he jerked his head toward the door. “Out.”
I dragged myself to my feet. Each step sent fresh agony rippling through my back. The guard followed close behind as I shuffled down the dim hallway. He shoved open the heavy iron gate—it groaned like a dying thing—then thrust me into another guard’s arms.
The second man gripped my arm hard, bending close. His breath reeked of alcohol. “Be back on time, slave.”
Slave.
The word burned worse than the whip. I yanked my arm free, wincing at the jolt of pain. He only laughed.
I continued along the marble pathway, the world tilting around me. Cold air stung my exposed skin where the uniform had torn. I could manage only one careful step at a time. My balance failed. I crumpled to the ground.
Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.
You’re stronger than this, Lyra.
The punishment room door slammed shut behind me. The sound chased me up the stairs like a curse.
My legs trembled. The cold stones beneath my feet blurred. I reached for the wall, missed, and dropped to my knees. For a few heartbeats, I stayed there, cheek pressed to the icy floor, every bruise screaming.
Just one minute. One minute of rest.
No. No one would come. No one ever did.
I pushed myself up, swallowing every sound of pain. A servant who cried too loudly was labeled weak. Weak servants didn’t last long in Voss Villa.
I brushed the dirt from my torn skirt with shaking hands. It changed nothing. The blood on my sleeve, the rips in the fabric—I looked exactly like what I was: someone freshly broken.
Lady Lilith despised disorder.
I made my slow way across the servants’ courtyard toward the main villa. The mansion loomed ahead like a crowned tyrant, its towering walls devouring the last light of sunset. Warm lights glowed behind polished windows while long shadows stretched across the gardens.
Beautiful. Cold. Untouchable.
“Lyra.”
I stopped at once.
Ma’am Cornelia stood beneath the archway, hands clasped behind her back. Her face revealed nothing—no anger, no pity.
“You intend to appear before Lady Lilith looking like that?”
I lowered my gaze. “No, ma’am.”
“Then why are you still standing here?”
“I was on my way.”
Cornelia stepped closer, her sharp eyes cataloging every stain and tear. “If Lady Lilith sees one mark on you, who do you think she’ll blame?”
I stayed silent. We both knew the answer.
“Not the punishment room,” Cornelia said with a humorless laugh. “Me.”
She snapped her fingers at a younger maid. “Prepare a bath. And bring a fresh uniform.”
The girl vanished without a word.
Cornelia turned back to me. “Do not mistake this for kindness.”
“I wouldn’t, ma’am.”
“You belong to Lady Lilith’s household. If anyone is to mark you, it will be by their command. Not because you wandered the halls looking like a stray.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Only then did she step aside.
The warm water stung like needles in every cut. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood and made no sound. I scrubbed away the dirt, the dried blood, the evidence. When I finally slipped into the crisp black-and-white uniform, the mirror showed a girl who almost looked presentable.
Almost.
The bruises hidden beneath the fabric still belonged to me.
I tied my apron, smoothed the skirt with tired hands, and headed for the west wing.
Lady Lilith ruled this side of Voss Villa with quiet, elegant cruelty. The east wing belonged to Lady Seraphina, the Don’s wife. Servants whispered the two women were nothing alike. I never listened to whispers. Whispers got people buried.
My job was simple: head down, eyes lowered, hands steady.
The closer I drew to Lady Lilith’s chambers, the quieter the mansion became. My footsteps echoed softly on polished marble. Sunlight poured through towering windows, turning the floors into mirrors of staggering wealth. The beauty felt deliberate—designed to remind people like me exactly where we stood.
I pushed the doors open quietly.
Lady Lilith waited.
She sat by the window, framed in golden light. A black silk dress clung to her figure, one pale shoulder bare. Gold gleamed at her throat and wrists. Her dark hair spilled over one shoulder in soft waves.
She was beautiful the way a blade is beautiful.
“My lady,” I murmured, bowing low.
I placed the tray before her and lifted the silver spoon with a steady hand. No one tasted Lady Lilith’s food before I did. If it was poisoned, it would kill me first.
Pain flared through my shoulder as I raised my arm. My fingers trembled. I tightened my grip until my knuckles whitened, took a mouthful, and swallowed.
Nothing.
“It’s safe, my lady.”
She reached for the spoon, then paused. Her gaze fixed on me.
“Come here.”
My heart stumbled. I obeyed, moving with careful grace.
She lifted her hand and brushed cool fingers along the side of my neck, tracing the faint bruise hidden bene
ath my collar. Her touch was gentle. Almost tender.
“Who did this to you?”
- Writer
