Once again, as she walked down the wide corridor of the difficult school, Darla sighed, watching the garden through the long windows. Even the books she carried weren't hers; she was just doing odd jobs.
She had no other choice, though. Not only was she at the same school as the Earl's only son, Roger Ramìrez, but she was also in the same class as him, constantly hearing his threatening sentences that began with "if you don't..." and ended with "your mother will lose her job and you'll lose your school."
The psychological blows he had suffered had caused him considerable harm, yet he had become someone who did everything he wanted to live, no matter how 'dark' his desires might be... though he was not only serving him, but also his friends, a group of wealthy snobs. He had officially become their puppet, but so far he had made no mistake... Until now...
Clutching the books tightly in his hands, he swallowed hard, continued forward, and stepped through the ornate door at the end of the corridor, knocking lightly. This wasn't his class. No. This south-eastern section had been closed off long ago. There had been an explosion at one point, but they hadn't demolished it. "I wish they had," he thought to himself. "Then this wouldn't be a place for bad people."
The laughter and chatter inside made him nervous, but he walked towards the sound in the pitch-black environment. Three boys and a girl, he was at the bottom of the caste system while they were at the top, a visible reality.
Without lingering on them too long, he bowed his head before them with his puppet-like movements and expressionless face.
"My lords, I have brought your books."
Today they had only asked him to bring their books, the simplest and most reliable task in the world! He was happy with that. Until...
"Alright, put them on that table and come closer," said Thomas Dorer. The softness of his bitter coffee-coloured hair was apparent from ten metres away; just from that, an outsider could tell he was wealthy.
Bowing his head again, he headed towards the table. Since Darla's arrival, a silence had reigned in the room; the silence of the devils.
She gently placed the books down and clasped her hands in front of her pale grey dress, walking towards Thomas sitting on the red velvet armchair, her eyes fixed on the floor, not looking at their faces, because she had suffered quite a bit in the early days when she started school, that is, work.
Thomas took a sip of white wine from his glass and placed it on the small oval table beside him, resting his wheat-coloured hands, clasped just above his crossed legs, on the table. "Bring your face closer," he said in a mocking tone.
He tensed but did not resist; he did as he was told and immediately felt the imprint of a swift slap on his face. The redness on his pale skin was unsettling; he did not even have the right to rub his cheek. "Have I done something wrong, sir?" he asked, his eyes downcast.
"Oh, Darla. When did you ever get such a simple punishment for making a mistake? Just... I felt like it." He licked the wine from his lips.
He felt like it, that was all. He had the power to hurt her just like that, and he was using it. The reason was simple, very simple: he felt like it. Her thoughts bowed before him again without risking anything. "Forgive me for asking such a silly question," she was used to using these words simply.
Thomas looked at the other members and laughed nervously. "I hate this girl's attitude! No matter what I do to her, she doesn't put on a pained expression!"
Lazara took a small sip of black tea from a purple cup decorated with rose motifs and replied. She always had a calm tone of voice and calm movements, although these behaviours could be considered special gestures towards Thomas. Still, Darla thought he was the worst; if a woman was hanging out with a group of men like this of her own free will, you couldn't say she was a good person.
"Calm down, Master Thomas, after all, we don't feel like making him suffer because he is like that, and we can do our job. Right?" Her long, ash-coloured hair fell over her thin, pale body, masculine, frilly, and beige, and her lips smiled. With his black-lensed, round-framed glasses, which he never took off, he was certain no one could see his eye colour.
The reason he was called master was because he was the king's third son, the most senior in rank. Thomas blew out a breath and folded his arms in front of him. "We have a gift for you," he said to Darla. The young girl shuddered secretly in horror, for the gift he referred to was the coded name of a terrible task.
While waiting for her reply, the man who held the strings of her life handed her a small note: Roger Ramìrez.
This man's presence or absence was a factor that affected his life. His father was the emperor's advisor, and he himself was Thomas's closest friend. The real problem was that Darla's mother worked as a servant for Roger's father, which enabled her to attend such a prestigious school. With a single sentence, both his mother's and his own life would be ruined, and he did not want that. They had actually known each other since childhood. Roger used to be kind to Darla, so how had he become like this? Darla could never figure it out.
She took the note from his hand and opened it:
William Nolen
She trembled with fear and, despite herself, looked into Roger's eyes, his fierce blue eyes.
"But sir... he's a soldier, how could I?"
Roger stood up and stood in front of Darla. He was quite tall, so he seemed to be looking down on her from above. The rose-pink tones of his clothing represented Fowich, the capital of the country of Dorer. Unlike Anthony and Thomas, he somehow liked to wear light colours. Well, that was the theme of the country of Dorer.
"What? You won't do it? Is that what I understand?" he said. With his cold hand, he stroked Darla's flushed cheek, his eyes contemptuous while his lips curled into a smug smile. "Take her out to dinner, charm her with sweet words. If necessary, show her the beauty given to every woman. Do you understand?"
Darla nodded without realising it; she had no other choice. She didn't want to, but she was helpless, utterly helpless. She wanted to read, to learn, to discover, to be happy... she wanted to live, like every human being...
He quickly withdrew his fingers from her face and waved her away with his hand. "Go on now, little puppy~"
She clutched the hem of her dress to hide her trembling hands, curtsied, and quickly left the room. She was scared, very scared. Roger touching her was always a big warning, a forewarning of a terrible punishment. That's why she had to do it, she had to.
William Nolen... that name was irritating. He was a young man from Gorliway, known as the cold country, who had come to Robert's Baker for his final year of training. He was clearly from Gorliway, with a muscular, large physique. He was said to be a soldier. Since his arrival, his imposing stature and blunt, harsh temperament had caused everyone to fear him. It was probably Roger and his snobbish group of friends who, unable to tolerate someone else drawing so much attention, had made him their target. Reactionary.
His eyes darted around as he walked, lifting his skirt slightly to go faster. He finished the long corridor in one breath, unsure where to find it, constantly scanning his surroundings. She scanned the many people walking around, looking and looking but not finding it. The upper classes were always on the upper floor, one floor above her own class. Her head began to spin and her stomach churned. When she turned around, she bumped into a hard wall. She was startled as she lifted her head from this body, though her search had come to an end.
"Are you well, my lady?"
His cheerful disposition was evident even in his khaki uniform, which seemed to bloom like flowers. "Mr William, thank God you're here. I was looking for you." Rubbing his forehead, he hadn't expected her to be so warm. Perhaps she was just a gossip.
He looked in surprise at Darla's blue oceans, and when their eyes met, his cheeks flushed. Was he a shy man, or was he pleased with Darla?
"I was curious to know why a lady as beautiful as a pearl would be looking for me."
After that sentence, Darla began to think her task would be easy; if a Gorliway man is kind to you, it's not a lie, her mother always said.
"Robert's Baker is a big school. It has its own exclusive and stylish restaurants. I wonder if, as the day ends, with me..." She blushed, even if it was fake; the effect Thomas had left on her cheek was enough help on its own. If her acting skills hadn't developed, she wouldn't have lasted long anyway. "I don't know how to say it, I'm so embarrassed... please excuse me."
William was getting more and more flustered. He thought Darla liked him, so he averted his eyes and scratched the back of his head, where his brown hair was cut short. "I'd like you to finish your sentence. Otherwise, I can't accept this offer."
He was hooked, caught in her net! Suddenly, his thoughts contradicted each other. Was he glad that someone had fallen for him... that it hurt him? He had messed it up by hanging out with them, no, no! He was sacrificing his own salvation; he had never had a choice.
"Um..." he said, playing with his fingers, "would you like to have dinner with me? You've caught my attention since you arrived."
He gave a sincere smile. "Of course. If I choose the meal, then please grant me your name, let that be our agreement." He leaned over and placed a single, elegant kiss on Darla's hand.
She played with her long, wavy auburn hair, her cheeks flushing even more, and nodded her head in agreement to the offer. William gently released her hand after her acceptance. "I'll be waiting for you in the front garden at 10 o'clock tonight," he said.
As he walked away, Darla waved goodbye, her face turning to ice again. She took a deep breath and returned to the corridor she had come from. The job had taken less time than she expected, though with each task she was assigned, she was becoming quicker and quicker, and with each task she completed, another piece of her humanity was torn away and lost. The path she walked back on slow steps always left her in limbo. She looked out the window again and sighed, murmuring, "If there is a heaven, I lost it long ago."
Her high-heeled feet carried her a little further, and she found herself once more at the ornate, aged door. She knocked and entered. The conversations inside stopped again, and everyone stared at Darla with strange looks because she had arrived quite early. Thomas stood up angrily and shouted, "What are you doing here!? Go do your job!" He was angry.
She bowed as usual and said, "It's done. I invited him to dinner; he accepted."
They looked at each other in surprise, Roger more engrossed in the situation than the others. "What?"
"Just as I said, sir."
He stood up and walked over to him, grabbing him firmly by his short shoulders and shaking him. "How dare you lie to us? It couldn't have happened so quickly; you only just left!"
Darla didn't react, but the fourth and final member of the group, Anthony Cobbin, spoke up. This antisocial individual only opened his mouth on matters he considered important. "She's not lying. Leave the girl alone." Although protective, he was not really like that; he believed in giving those who deserved it their just punishment. Perhaps being the son of Erza Cobbin, a man of the Dorer blood and the Era religion believed in by his people, had made him that way. whatever the case, his all-black attire, his raven-like nose, and his kohl-lined eyes with drooping lashes made him resemble a terrifying angel of death.
Roger let go of the girl's shoulders in irritation and surprise, letting out a crushing laugh, but the truth behind that laugh was that Darla had handled the situation so quickly. He always looked for her weakness but never found it, and he hated that. "Ha ha ha! What did you do to her? What did you say to convince her? Or... did you really offer her your virginity? You disgusting peasant, people like you are truly beyond redemption."
She answered with momentary confidence, him face still looking down. Whatever the others said, she was a little hurt when they spoke to him, since he lived in the same mansion. "No, sir, I just invited her to dinner."
He grabbed the girl's chin and squeezed it, lifting her up from the ground as if it were part of his daily routine, forcing her to look him in the face. "You insolent girl! And you dare answer back!?" Darla's expressionless face and limp body only made him angrier, and he threw her down hard. He rubbed his temples and turned to the others, "So, are we doing it tonight?" Normally, they would punish those they caught the next day, but Roger's patience had already run out.
Thomas took a sip of the wine Lazara had just refreshed and grinned.
"Yes, tonight we're torturing William Nolen until he gives up the ghost."
***
They met in the front garden as the hours passed. The reason it was the front garden was that it was busier and more visible than the back garden. William had arranged to meet here to make the pearl feel comfortable. Together they went to the school's famous Enerita Restaurant. It was famous not only for this school but also nationwide, and it was quite pricey; moreover, the food was barely enough to fill one's teeth.
"How did you find the dinner? Was it good, Mr Nolen?"
Not wanting to speak with his mouth full, he swallowed his cherry soup and turned to Darla, "There's no need to address me by my surname, my lady. Just call me William, or even Will."
She put on a fake smile and played with her food, her appetite gone. "William for now, if we get closer...", she blushed and looked away, "I'll call you Will..."
William almost spat the cherry he was chewing into the bowl; even if he hadn't, he reached for a napkin and lightly wiped his lips, his heart fluttering.
"I was wondering... what are the future dreams of a beautiful lady like you?"
He was taken aback; no one had ever asked him such a question before. His expression betrayed that he was out of his depth, so he tried to compose himself. "I... I don't know. I mean, no one has ever asked me that before, or I've never thought about it."
"I see. Would you like to know mine?"
"Please."
"I want to live in a small town, a tiny house, preferably a cottage. Minimal living."
"Why would a successful soldier like you have such a small goal?" When he sneered, Nolen became serious.
"Why should being happy, not fearing tomorrow, be a small dream?"
Darla was surprised. Not fearing tomorrow, yes... yes, that was a big dream. Her eyes stared blankly. How wonderful it would be to live happily.
William's hand involuntarily touched Darla's cheek. "Why do your eyes look so helpless?" he said sadly. Darla couldn't figure out how many times she had been surprised. Was she not a good actress? How did he understand this? Did she really look like that on the outside? She panicked, her hands and feet got tangled up.
"Was that the right guess?"
"Did you just guess?"
"Even though your reactions say different things... your gaze never changes, as if you're always in pain."
The tear struggling to escape from the corner of his left eye finally fell. For the first time, he had shed a 'real' tear in front of someone. These words had touched the little girl he kept imprisoned inside, drowning her in the ocean with sobs, though she had only shed a single tear. Noticing this, Will frantically wiped away his tear, a little embarrassed.
It wasn't just Will who noticed; Roger, watching them from afar, had seen this scene with his wide, clear eyes, had seen Darla's crying face, and it was not fake at all. He constantly wanted to make her cry, to drown her in her own tears, and he felt a strange ache deep in his heart; she had captivated him to such an extent. The fact that he enjoyed it disgusted him, because she was Darla, the whore daughter of a whore maid. He was drowning in these feelings that were both disturbing and pleasurable.
At that moment, at Darla's table, the waiter was filling the glasses with liquor. One sip from this glass, which contained sleeping pills, would render William unable to open his eyes again. While Darla panicked, Will had already brought the glass to his mouth. When Roger entered the frame, the job here was done, and he got up and walked away. When Darla was sure he had left, she hesitantly whispered to William, "There's sleeping pills in the glass. The moment you fall asleep, a few people will take you to the south-east side and torture you. I beg you, escape, get out of here." It was the first time she had warned a victim, though she had done so half-heartedly.
Unable to comprehend, he stared at Darla's anxious face. Realising she wasn't lying, he spoke seriously, "Well, I've already drunk it. Who will do it?"
"The Earl's son Roger, Lazara from the Bourgeoisie, Anthony, son of Erza Cobbin, and the Emperor's third son Thomas. I'm sorry, I didn't want it to be like this."
He was well aware that Darla was in a difficult situation, so he put down his glass, stroked her soft cheek, and smiled.
"You didn't do this on purpose, did you? I'm sure you had a reason. It's okay, I'll take care of it," he said, knowing full well he couldn't.
"No, no, you can't. You don't know what they're capable of, how disgusting they can be."
"But you warned me, didn't you?"
"Sir?"
"You warned me so I could escape. Thank you for that, but I'm a soldier. I can endure the torture they'll inflict, and besides, I'm strong. How could you think such a small dose of sleeping pills would affect me? I take many times that amount every night anyway."
His answers had calmed Darla a little; her head was already spinning, but she didn't show it.
Darla thought she had made a mistake by warning him, but she didn't feel guilty because she knew it was the right thing to do. As an undefined fear enveloped her entire body, William took Darla's hand. "Calm down, it's okay," he smiled, focusing only on her eyes in the girl's blurry face, took a deep breath and stood up.
"Excuse me, I'm going to the loo," she said, getting up from her seat. Halfway there, she feared she might faint. If she could just make it to the loo and lock the door, perhaps she'd have a chance. Her departure unsettled Darla, who just sat there looking around.
About half an hour later, Darla got up from where she had been waiting patiently and headed for the lavatory. The person she saw at the door was a sign that things had already been taken care of. He greeted her with a bow. Bourgeois Lazara, leaning against the entrance door with his irritating smile, looked at Darla. "You finally made it." He straightened up from where he was and nudged Darla as he passed by her shoulder. "We're waiting for you to complete the task." It was obvious he was enjoying this. Although his eyes were hidden behind his ever-present black glasses, Darla was sure he was giving her a sly look. After he left, her body became tense. Did they find out? Do they know what I said to him? Should I go to their rooms? If I don't go, it will arouse more suspicion. I must go.
He immediately followed her. Like all the other restaurants, this one was located in the south, and they proceeded to the southeast corridor, the only excluded street. He had no intention of following Lazara, who was muttering to herself as she walked ahead, but their paths were the same. There was a long silence in the atmosphere; it was already evening, and the school corridors were empty. Lazara broke this silence with his mocking attitude and movements.
"Don't annoy Ramìrez today. For some reason, he's very irritable."
"Yes, sir."
As he turned his head towards Darla, his hair blew back, "Doesn't that mean you admit he's annoyed you?"
He broke out in a cold sweat, and even though his eyes were downcast, Lazara had already noticed his unease. He was surprised because he had never seen any such expression or sign in Darla before. He went over, grabbed her shoulder and pulled her close, "Ha ha ha ha! Just kidding, dear, just kidding!"
Being so close to him made Darla even more nervous; after all, the most terrifying thing to her was Lazarus himself. She wanted to get to the door of the corridor of evils she hated so much as soon as possible. Yellow specks of light filtered through the bottom of the moulded rubber door. She took a deep breath and expanded her chest; she didn't like coming into this room when it was dark, when the smell of blood intensified and even became disturbing...
She moved forward and opened the door for Lazara. Even letting her pass by and enter made her shudder. He breathed in and out again, swallowed hard. Just like at the beginning, the end of the day was in this room. Where everything began and ended... the south-east wing.
He moved inside. The place was littered with candlesticks, and right in the middle, as always, was the stretcher they had taken from the infirmary. They had already tied William down here; his eyes were closed, he wasn't moving. But why? Why? WHY!? He could have endured it, couldn't he? A few drops wouldn't have hurt...
As if answering his question, Anthony spoke, clapping his hands with joy, "Good thing I thought to give him more than the normal dose! Yay!" he said, fixing his dark, gleaming eyes on the girl with sudden seriousness and coldness.
Darla's eyes grew wider and wider; she didn't want anyone to see her reaction, she had revealed too much of herself today. She bowed to greet those in the room, then headed for the door, not wanting to watch the torture. "I'll hold the door. Enjoy yourselves, gentlemen."
She hurried to the door without even looking at their faces, not wanting to show that her hands and feet were shaking. He went to the door and held it from the inside; it was an old door and had never closed properly since the explosion. A familiar voice from the three boys reached his ears. "Let's race to see who makes the first cut," said Roger. They only held this race at important times.
The rules of the contest were simple; Thomas's dagger was purple, Roger's was blue, Lazarus's was yellow, and Anthony's had black engravings. They used the spot where the blackboard used to be as a target board, and whoever's dagger was sharpened the most would stick it in. Of course, being the first to throw and being quick were also important. Lazarus usually won this game.
Seven daggers were thrown at this target board near the door as Anthony counted down. At that moment, three blue daggers were aimed at Darla. Noticing this, Darla pressed her body against the door and narrowly escaped the daggers. Roger had done this deliberately, not by mistake.
Lazara should have been the winner, but Roger's three daggers were still firmly embedded in the wall. "You cheated," Anthony said with a hint of anger.
Roger shrugged. "No one said there was no cheating. Did they?"
Thomas ended the argument with these words: "Enough, Roger won. Let's close the subject and tie up our toy."
Darla was still in shock. She could have died! Or perhaps been seriously injured! Wait a minute... but William was tied up?
At that moment, she realised everyone knew everything. Absolutely everything.
Roger threw another dagger at the young girl by the door, which ricocheted off its target and grazed Darla's cheek. As the blue dagger fell to the floor, its clang echoing in her mind, a phrase repeated itself over and over:
They know...
They know I warned William.
It was only then that he realised he had stabbed himself with his own hands.
Roger, however, was amused;
"I made the first cut."
Darla left the room without a second thought, not even considering whether anyone would follow her. She just kept going. She suddenly decided to leave her mother, her school, in short, the two things she had, and run away. 'Maybe William is right. A small town wouldn't be so bad,' she thought to herself. While she was looking for a place to escape to, the boys started talking among themselves, and William was about to wake up.
Thomas crossed his arms in front of him, looking unhappy. 'I'm not going after the maid,' he said. 'I want to probe William.
Anthony couldn't care less about the subject; he was trying to choose the best scalpel for the job. Lazara was excited by this situation because his sadism was sexual, so if anyone was going to go after him, it should be him, and he should take advantage of his flesh and blood. Surprisingly, Roger spoke up. "I'll go."
Everyone looked at him in astonishment, even Anthony. Thomas stepped in front of Roger, looked at him with disgust and curled his lip. "I didn't expect this from you. What's your aim?"
Roger couldn't wipe the disturbing smile off his face. "You know, Thomas, I've been waiting for him to make a mistake for a long time. A very long time."
There was nothing left to say now that this was true, so he reluctantly agreed to let him go. "Fine then. Go get him. I don't see the downside to double the torture. Hurry up."
Roger bowed his head slightly to greet Thomas, deliberately looking at Lazarus's face, wanting only to see his angry face and be satisfied, which he succeeded in doing.
With a mocking smile, he quickly left the room. He didn't know where Darla had gone, but he didn't want to rush to find her. He wanted to slowly satisfy his prey, to catch her, to smother her crying face in his hands. This thought alone excited him, and he heard footsteps echoing from the end of the silent corridor. He smiled even more and continued down that path. For some reason, he was quite sure it was her, and he was right. Darla had panicked, and the paths beneath her feet had become a maze. His breath was shortening, his heart was constricting, and every step he took in fear trapped him further.
When she was really tense, she couldn't do anything right. She stopped where she was and took a deep breath. She had to calm down. She gathered all the paths and corridors in her head and mapped out a route. Finally, she ran towards the glimmer of life in her mind. By then, Roger had already reached his prey. walking alongside her, swaying, speaking with his unbroken smile, "Hello, Darla, where are you going?" Surprisingly, his voice was quite soft.
For a moment, Darla felt her heart stop, her whole body stiffened, she couldn't walk.
"Well? Why aren't you walking? Weren't you running away just now?"
He kept walking as if she weren't there at all; he couldn't see her as his mistress anymore. This was the day his character was most evident. Roger followed her, surprised. "Hey! Wait up!"
He still didn't answer, matching Darla's quick pace. "You know I'm a sadist, don't you?"
"Unfortunately, I'm not a masochist, sir." He felt ashamed of himself for still calling him sir.
Roger grabbed his wrist firmly and planted his feet where he stood, forcing Darla to pull towards him, whether she wanted to or not.
He looked down on her with contempt, his smile savage. "It's a good thing you're not a masochist." He gripped her wrist as if it were handcuffs. For the first time, she resisted, pulling her wrist away. "Where are you taking me? Let go!"
Roger thought to himself, 'So you can raise your voice at me when it's about your life, you cheeky thing. He frowned and slapped her face harder than hard. "Shut up. I'm taking you to the infirmary to fix your face."
"Which one? The mark from your slap? Or the mark from your dagger?"
"Be thankful I didn't poison the dagger, you filthy creature," he reluctantly answered her question. "The mark from the dagger... if people saw this mark, they might think I'm a bad master."
Darla struggled not to say, 'You already are.' Though Roger had already gotten his answer from her fiery eyes. She took a deep breath and tugged at his arm. "Hah... come on, argue with me, hurry up. I'm not thrilled about the idea of healing you either."
She obeyed, not appearing to be lying beneath the shadow of her golden hair, as they walked down the corridor to the infirmary. She wasn't lying, but it wasn't exactly the truth either.
Actually, he should have taken Darla back to her room, but he wanted to keep this girl for himself; he was being selfish because he didn't want anyone else to see her crying face. Besides, the other person who had seen her (William) would soon be in the arms of death, so he would enjoy being the only person in this world to have seen her tear-filled eyes. That was precisely why the terrifying smile on his face wouldn't fade. Darla, on the other hand, had never heard of anyone being so happy, perhaps because she had never looked properly at his face before.
Finally, they arrived at the infirmary. The wooden floors, worn leather-covered chairs, and wooden panels on the walls reflected the dull texture. The faint moonlight streaming through the half-open windows, covered with thin curtains, gently filtered into the room.
He let go of the girl's wrist and pointed vaguely towards the stretcher in the dark room with his index finger. "There's a stretcher there, go sit down. I'll light a candle and join you," he said, his voice clear and serious.
With years of habit, she bent down in front of him and walked into the pitch darkness, nervous, after all, she had left a madman behind her and turned her back on him. Feeling that anything could happen at any moment, she constantly checked behind her. Roger calmly lit the candles with the matches in his pocket, took them in his hand, lit the other light holders around him, and walked towards Darla.
"I told you to sit on the stretcher, don't argue with me."
She nodded in agreement and climbed onto the stretcher, supported by her trembling hands. A nagging ache dominated her shoulders, especially her neck; the effect of the unsafe environment was apparently affecting her body too.
Roger found some bandages in one of the drawers and sat down next to Darla. The flames of the burning candles illuminated the surroundings, making the atmosphere feel strange. He came closer as he gently and carefully applied the bandage to the girl's cheek. Darla's tension was palpable, but thankfully it was short-lived as the young gentleman widened the distance between them.
"Right~ That's it!"
He was stunned. Was that really it? Could it be? What would happen now?
Then a deep, dark pallor settled over Roger's face, the colour drained from his eyes. He laid his daughter on the stretcher and climbed on top of her, grabbing both her hands with one hand and pressing down hard. "Hah! You didn't think I'd let you go, did you?"
"What are you going to do to me?"
He shrugged. "Thomas wanted me to bring you back to the room... but you know, I've always been a bit selfish towards you."
She frowned. "Towards me?"
He leaned towards her face, the distance between them suddenly closing, their breaths mingling to create a new air. He whispered, and it was truly compelling. "Yes, I couldn't share you. After all, you're my servant." He emphasised the word 'my'.
Darla swallowed hard, perhaps for the last time. Roger drew the dagger from his belt and ran it over Darla's body. Each icy touch of cold metal added to the unease in her body.
He ran the dagger over her left leg, rolled up her dress, and cut her garter in one swift motion. With this cut, Darla's stocking slid down, exposing the white flesh of her calf. "It doesn't matter if you have a wound in a hidden place. Don't you agree, darling?" He hadn't mentioned her name, just said 'darling', but since that was where Darla's name came from, he was playing on words.
She didn't speak, she just fell silent, bowing to the truth as always, to this man.
The coldness piercing her leg brought the warmth inside her to the surface. She couldn't feel the pain of the first cut any more than she could feel the second one beneath her skin. Roger couldn't take his eyes off Darla, unable to stop looking at her face. Waiting for her to cry, Darla stubbornly refused to give him what he wanted.
She tried to keep her face expressionless as usual, as if she felt no pain at all. While the suffering of the people she had brought to the room all this time weighed heavily on her heart, this was nothing. There was not a single night she slept without thinking, 'Who knows how much pain they must have endured?'.
Her expressionless face annoyed Roger the most; every time he got angry, he cut her thigh deeper, and just as the knife was about to hit bone, Darla opened her parched mouth. "It doesn't hurt a bit... it doesn't hurt me, just the warmth."
These words drove the man above her even madder. Why was this girl so calm when all the power was in his hands?
Darla suddenly offered a soft and peaceful smile. "If I die, I will be free." She could no longer bear the burden of the lives she had taken into the room and was giving up on life. "I can find peace. Please, sir, kill me."
Slowly, he pulled the dagger from the girl's leg. As she lost consciousness from excessive blood loss, Roger squeezed her cheek with his fingers. "As long as I live, you will never die." He leaned down and pressed a deep, yet forced kiss to her lips.
"I will never give you peace."