True Silk

chapter vii | The Misfortunate Truth

THE DOOR OPENED. Closed. I didn't bother moving at all; I hardly jolted at the sound.

"Get up."

I rose to my feet in a manner that seemed almost lazy and intoxicated. Wiped my face before holding my arms close to my body. He reeked of Savanah, dubiously.

I kept my eyes sowed shut as he walked closer. His approach was almost silent if it were not for the constant humming of his presence that just got louder and louder as he approached.

Salkamenos' fingers pressed my chin up, his knuckles brushing against my bruised neck. I flinched for more than one reason, wincing in pain and disgust. Once again, his touch was heated. "Who did this?" he enquired, indifferent.

"It's fine." I pressed myself into the wall as much as I could, lowering my head. I did not like it when he touched me.

He trapped my chin in his hand and made me look at him, his hold on my jaw almost painful. "I didn't ask if you were fine," sneered the King. Furthermore, he enunciated, pronouncing every word with ferocious elegance, "Who did this?"

I opened my mouth to speak, staring him right in the eye. "I did, My King. I took it off because it felt too loose. And so I put it back on but I slipped as I was tightening it. I bruised myself." It's funny how that lie just lurched off of my tongue.

I thought that I was an excellent liar. Of course, there are always those people who know you're speaking other than the truth no matter how much you try to persuade them. King Salkamenos was one of those people.

"Oh, really?" He narrowed his eyes at me, suspiciously.

I didn't falter. "Yes, My King."

Was it all of spite that I did it? I had no reason to lie for that man and I couldn't recognise my very voice. It sounded . . . different. It proclaimed anger and rebelliousness.

"Hm." Retrieving the diamond collar from my hand, keeping eye contact with me as he suited it around my throat once more. The man pulled the belt through the sliplock, slowly tightening it more and more. It became fastened so much that I lost sight of breathing again because I couldn't. "It appears that someone did, in fact, pull on it too hard."

He yanked on it suddenly, baring fangs at me. I opened my mouth to cry out but nothing resounded. I clutched his wrist. "Like this."

He held his grip tightly, harder than Adandé had. At least, I believed that's what his name was; it's what the blond guy had called him. I couldn't even manage to talk.

"You have a habit of lying to me, female. Have you forgotten that I hate liars?"

A little squeak crept out of my throat as I, without any hesitation, shook my head no. That I hadn't forgotten, the eyes in my head wide and almost bulging out of their sockets.

Stepping back, the man opened his hand. Immediately I pushed my fingers under the collar and yanked it free, falling to my knees, gasping wildly for too much air. Because the air was cold rather than mild, I began coughing, holding my throat, other hand to the ground.

"This is your second warning, Mávena. And the last." I gazed up at he who was glowering down at me, arms crossed over his chest. Swallowed. "You fabricate some nonsense story again, and I will punish you for it."

He walked away.

. . . That's the second time that's happened today! I'm just not having a very good day . . .

Sniffling, I stood and limped to the door, saddened. I knocked on the cherry wood softly. No response. So I just . . . walked in, closing the door behind me.

Sex and blood permeated the air like a second mask, hence why the back of my finger laid right beneath my nose.

Savanah's back was facing me, bare beneath the covers lying across her waist. She must've heard me close the door – for I thought she was asleep – because when I did, she stirred. Just barely moving. Whimpering.

I strode to sit gently at the edge of the bed. She sobbed, her body shaking as she tried to move. She was hurt, it seemed. Very hurt.

Felt like I should comfort her but I'd never had to comfort anyone, so I didn't know how. I lifted my right hand, rubbing her arm. What else do you do when you try to console someone?

"Do you . . . Do you wanna talk, Savanah?" I suggested. She shook her head slowly, her face in the pillow. "Do you want to play a game?" Again, she shook her head, in the same manner as the last time. "Do you want to take a walk?" Once more, she repeated the action with no words and only a sniffle.

"Can I . . . tell you a story?"

I don't why I asked that. Stories I read were only those that I liked, and I liked a story with a dark twinge. Oh, I didn't know what I would say! In that very moment, I could hardly conjure the thought of any story that's ever been selfishly read to me.

But she didn't object. In fact, she didn't move.

Perhaps, just going along with it would be fine, right?

"There, in a place formerly known as Syrodil, lived a pair. They were both, quite strangely, opposites. The girl, who's nickname was Tedy, had light hair, brown skin, and dark features. The other, Demetry, had dark hair, skin like ivory, and light features. The weren't brother and sister – for they were both adopted. But it didn't matter. They were both considered quite aesthetic, all beauties most sought after by those in their village.

"Even still that was something that ran close in the family. The mother and father, Sana and Corister, were both very beautiful people.

"One day – no, no. During a very chilly night, whilst the clouds cried and screamed with thunder, Demetry was out. He was not supposed to be, and he knew that very well. There was a monster living in the castle outside of their village. He had a secret just like the rest of us. He required certain – how should I put it? – victims. An insatiable appetite. For what, no one really knew. No one could really tell, but they never openly questioned it.

"As long as they gave him what he wanted, everyone else would remain untouched. But for how long did they think they could keep that up?

"That night, though. Demetry had committed a terrible crime. Out of pure spite – and because he knew the transgression, because he knew his soul would damned for this, because he knew it was something he was not supposed to do – he had taken a dagger, and cut out Tedy's eye. One of them, anyways.

"She had screamed and writhed while Sana and Corister were out, wrists pinned beneath his knees.

"And she had run from him. Out in the woods, stumbling and unable to see through an empty socket. There was blood on her hands, and on his, both figuratively and literally. She would be easy to find with all the marks she left behind in his trail.

"Tedy did, in fact, make it quite far by the time Demetry had found her. But she didn't know where she was going, so even if he had not discovered the girl, panting and shaking and crying, hands to her missing eye, she would be lost easily.

"However, Tedy did not hear him approach her from behind and it was easy to pin to petite girl. She screamed at him, unknowing of what had snapped in her beloved 'brother', as he fought her, dagger in hand.

"He called her many names, vulgar and discourteous. Demetry tried to stab at her many times, to take her other eye for whatever reason he wanted it. She may have been small to him, and only fourteen, but she had trained with the rest of the children and was probably just as strong, if not more, as he was.

"She cried, unsure of what to do. He laughed at her tears, probably with such melancholy.

"She pushed him away, to the ground where he slipped, dropping the dagger. In turn, she ran, not for the dagger, but just to get away. She made it seem as though she was going back to the village, back to Syrodil but she wasn't. She couldn't. How could she when he would think that she was there? He wouldn't even have to hunt her down. He would just kill her, him in his veins and the cause of every action.

"The misfortunate truth is that no one came to save Tedy. That she, in the end, was alone. Protecting herself with no one to watch her back. But in a sense, she was relieved. She would never have to be betrayed, and that pitiful feeling in her chest would never return. The thought of what he had done was most certainly painful.

"But there was no doubt that she would have to live with it for now. Wherever she was going."

I had taken to brushing out Savanah's tangled and dishevelled blond locks. She, by that point, had stopped sobbing, her weeping deceased to nothing but rueful sniffles.

"Where did she go?" she queried, just barely above a whisper.

Pursed my lips. "I don't know . . . " I responded cordially. "But I do know," I stood up, "that you are hurting. Despite that – and this may or may not sound cold – you can't just mope around in bed for the rest of this horrid day."

"Yes, I can," she whispered.

"Well, I mean. You can. But you shouldn't. What will thinking about it do other than upset you more?"

She slowly turned her head on her pillow, her eyes red and puffy from weeping. A blush coated her face with in fervid shade of pink, from one cheek, across the bridge of her nose, and to the other. Her eyes trembled as she spoke. "Do you know what the worst part about it was?" Savanah's voice shook quietly, words swerving as she started to weep again. She gulped. Her voice must've been weak from hollering.

I couldn't even imagine what the worst part might be. She looked me in the eye as I blinked away the rushing tears. Being empathetic was a curse. "What is that?"

The girl spoke into her curled hand. "That I was blissed by it. That I couldn't stop the pleasure running through me, no matter how much I fought him," she replied. I should've stopped her right there, told her not continue. But I was speechless. My tongue felt numb. "That even though it hurt so much, it felt . . . just too good at the same time."

I didn't know how to respond to that.

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THE FOOD AT THE table was marvellous, really. The salted baked potato and balsamic chicken accompanied by vegetables laced with garlic and pepper. It was breathtaking, and obviously put Crystal Squares' water soup to shame. The taste was splendid and just looking at it, the beautiful scent wafting in the air, made my mouth water. It almost made me forget about the things that's happened that day.

Except I sat right next to my tormentor.

But besides that, everything was fine – and quite delicious might I add. But anything might seem delicious compared to anything I'd ever eaten at Crystal Squares. And this was, to say the least, food of the King. Everything had to be molded into perfection, of course. Nothing could be befouled or disarranged, in even the slightest of a mark. I'm sure he would have someone's head for that.

At my opposite elbow was a woman of extreme disinterest. I mean, I was inattentive by her. A garrulous and effusive woman truly. She seemed to know everything about everyone. A prattling woman really as she spoke expeditiously to the woman across from her about, "Oh, dear me! Lord Marcus-Smith is quite the charming young man!"

"How many pets does he have again?"

"Four. Adrian, Cardie, Tina, and Reagan."

"Aren't they such exotic Domestics?" enjoined the girl beside her.

The woman beside me nodded proudly at her knowledge, straightening her posture in amour-propre. She stole a quick glance at me, planting her hand at the side of her mouth and whispered, "He's planning to breed them," as if that would stop me from hearing her. The red-head must've been only human because she obviously couldn't tell that I was hearkening in to her pettifogging conversation.

The two women gasped out, "Brittany!"

"What? It is most certainly true, I can assure you that."

I rolled my eyes in my chicken. How does this woman know so much? Is she stalking people or something? Does she have a third eye that no one knows about or something?

"It's frivolous though," divulged the King softly. I shifted to look at him, casually tossing what hinted at either red wine or blood. Maybe even both. "Their conversations are always so momentary. So skin-deep."

"Beauty is only skin-deep, My King," I behaved, raising my arm just above the table and poking the centre of my palm. "They would learn that soon enough."

"Humans," he scoffed. "They think they'll last forever. That's what they want to believe. They won't. They'll age and they'll die, always making unchangeable mistakes. A curse, I figure."

I shrugged, practically annihilating the remainder of my meal. I thought it was outlandish, the conversation. But I said nothing more, and inhaled the rest of my own drink.