The Thorn in My Shed-Chapter 24: A Good Father

Eilownia squinted against the darkness as she heard the heavy wooden door be shoved open, its hinges creaked loudly.

It was rougher, more frantic, than how it sounded when her father opened it.

The figure was tall and wore armor that clinked together as he approached. His hair was tied in a high ponytail behind him which swayed back and forth.

His hand reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"The Little Flower is wilting." He said as he knelt down to untie her.

Her eyes widened.

"Marix?"

It was too dark for her to make out his facial features, but his voice and touch were unmistakable.

"Of course. Did you think I’d leave you here until all of your petals fell off? I’ve come to replant you elsewhere. Somewhere you can bloom properly."

The chains around her ankles fell to the floor with a ’CLINK!’

He then began to work on freeing her wrists. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

"My f-father." Her throat was hoarse, dry and scratchy. She lowered her head to cough.

"Don’t speak. Just relax and let me do the work. You don’t need to worry about your father. No one can go up against the Viraaz Army. Let alone, me."

She nodded her head as he finished freeing her and gently pulled her to her feet. She swayed a few times, but he wrapped his strong arm around her to steady her.

He leaned down and pressed his lips gently against hers, cupping her face with his other hand as he did so.

"Marix I-"

"Shh." He pressed his finger to her lips, "Let’s get you out of here."

He pulled her arm around his neck and supported her weight as he helped her walk out of the dungeon.

However, as they exited, she was only met with more darkness.

"M-Mar-" Her voice was muffled and drier than before. She let out a cough that rattled in her throat. "I can’t see anyth-" She coughed again – this time much more painful than the last, her voice still muffled.

Eilownia reached to grab him, but was met with a harsh tug against her wrist.

Her gaze slid upward and over to her left.

A large wooden rack stood behind a cell door.

Knives, hammers, crops and extractors hung neatly on rusted hooks.

Whips, pliers, drills and lobotomy devices lined the shelves.

So she was still in her father’s dungeon, huh?

Unlike the dungeon at Marix’s estate that was cold and freezing, and despite being underground, for some reason this stone prison truly embodied the feeling of hell. It was hot like a sauna.

Sweat covered her body. It rolled down the sides of her face and down her chin, dripping onto her lap and keeping her dress damp.

It was difficult to breathe, and she felt light-headed. Was it because of the thick humidity in the cell or was it because she was suffering complications?

As her consciousness started to solidify, pain started to take hold of her, grabbing on tightly as it shot through the entirety of her body.

What was dripping onto her lap, wasn’t just sweat. Her eyes fell down to the wet patch to see it was dark red. Not just on her lap, but across her ribs as well.

Bruises covered her calves, arms and cheeks.

Her nails were partially torn off, the ends of them red and sticky.

Her hair was matted with blood and sweat. She could even feel how thick it was against her neck and scalp which only served to make her feel even hotter.

She tried to swallow. Despite her throat going through the motion of it, no saliva actually went down.

Now that she was conscious of it, her mouth felt extremely drier than straw in the middle of heat wave.

She wiggled her tongue and felt something thick and cottony inside her mouth. She expected to taste the fibers of whatever it was, or perhaps feel some sort of fluff or defining feature.

Instead, there was a metallic taste spreading across her tastebuds like a virus. Then she remembered; Lord Evans had shoved a gag in her mouth to stop her from screaming. It was a cloth he’d used to try and clean up some of her blood, complaining that it would stain his clothes if it were too messy.

Her eyes flickered as the memories set in.

How long had she’d been in there anyways? Days? Weeks? Months?

What was reality? What was memory? What was an illusion?

Eilownia’s head slowly lulled from side to side as her eyes fluttered shut again.

’How long have I been out? What happened earlier?’

It was a muddled mess in her brain, and no matter how hard she tried to think about it, all she could hear were her own screams, her father complaining about her blood and shoving the gag in her mouth.

She took a few deep inhales through her nose as she tried to help her breathing.

As she finished coming to, she realized that the room was actually dimly lit and standing before her was her father.

He held up a bottle of clear liquid and poured it over her fingers.

Her body tensed as she let out a muffled scream.

Alcohol.

Once her screaming subsided and she was reduced to groaning and sharp exhales through her nose, Lord Evans torn the gag out of her mouth.

Inside her cheeks and tongue were numerous cuts, ones she didn’t realize she had yet.

Her lips were pale and cracked from dehydration as well.

"Aren’t you glad? I’m saving you from infection."

Tears poured down her cheeks like a waterfall as she cried. With the heat, they should’ve given a slight reprieve, but instead they only added to the pain.

They felt like tiny little knives as they popped out of her tear ducts, they mixed with her sweat and debris that had yet to be washed away from her face, causing her eyes to sting.

Lord Evans smiled as he stood over her, but just as soon as his smile had come, it disappeared into a disgusted glare.

He grabbed her chin and squeezed painfully, his fingers fit perfectly against the purple bruises that lined her around her chin.

"Are those tears? Are you crying?"

She jolted and shut her eyes tight as her lips downcurved. A quiet whimper escaped her throat.

"Are you a baby?! To cry?! Are you?! What a spoiled brat! You have clothes on your back, a roof over your head, food, water! What complaints do you have?! Huh?! What complaints are there for you to express that you must cry like a whimpering baby!"

He roughly wiggled her head back and forth, causing her to whimper more.

"SMILE!" Lord Evans let go of her cheeks to jab his index fingers into the corners of her mouth, which he then shoved upwards.

Her eyebrows furrowed. The cuts inside her mouth protested hard as pressure was put on them and they were stretched.

Lord Evans stared as though he was hoping his eyes would shoot lasers into her as he shoved harder, now pressing into her cheek bones.

"Are you? Answer me, girl!"

She flinched and sniveled as she tried to take a deep breath – which stalled 3 times.

"N-No, Father."

"A stutter? Are you hesitating?!"

"No, Father!"

Finally, he released her and pulled his fingers back.

Her cheeks throbbed hard. She wanted nothing more than to reach up and rub them but her wrist didn’t even attempt to move against the chains that bound them.

Lord Evans smiled as he watched the corners of her mouth gently twitch downwards in an attempt to soothe the stretch of her muscles.

He then slid his index finger along her cheeks in an upward stroke.

"I could cut you. From here to here. So you wouldn’t disobey me anymore. So your complaints will know not to come out again. But I won’t because I’m a good father. So what do you have to say to me? Anything?"

As she was in the middle of taking a breath, he smacked his cane against the wall, causing her to jump.

"I said, anything?"

"Thank you!" She said frantically.

"Good." He praised with no affection in his voice, "I expect you to be quicker tomorrow."

When he departed, she was left in the darkness again.

Apart from the searing pain that was pulsing and traveling through her entire body, ping ponging from nerve to nerve, all she could think about was Marix.

That gentle touch that she now craved so much...why had he done it?

Her mind drifted back to the moment he almost branded her with the branding iron, how he had hesitated, how he’d listened to her when she told him to wait...

Had that really happened or was it nothing but a dream she’d made up to cope. Had there ever been a point where she was not in this dungeon? Or had she merely dreamed up a childish little fantasy?

’Father never would have waited....I’m sure that brand is in my future. I was silly to think I could escape it. This is all I am. Livestalk awaiting slaughter.’