Tw, domestic abuse, self-harm, depictions of gore.
Sariel: April 12th: Sarca Villiage
I woke to my mother's screams rattling the walls of our house.
It wasn't unusual.
In this place, my birthdays were not celebrations. They were reminders that the half-breed daughter she hated was still alive.
I flailed my arms out of bed, reaching for the table above my rodent-chewed pillows. I can at least get a light grip on my surroundings.
-"SARIEL!!! GET OUT HERE!"
I took a deep breath in and slowly pushed myself off the bed…
-"NOW!!"
I flinched. I had heard what was most likely a heavy pan being thrown in the direction of my door.
Fear was a waste of energy I didn't have, as this was mostly what I had to deal with since my eighth birthday.
A sense of apathy in place of celebration was better than the alternative in this household.
I had a vague recollection of actually enjoying birthdays with my mother.
Not that today was close to that.
I turn 15 today,
But no doubt the vermin of the family, would not be getting so much as a crumb of anything more than disgust from the only other participant, my human mother.
-"Coming mother"
I mumbled, sliding through the doorway, a brush was thrust in my hands, and my mother had already left before I could get a word in.
I always think today will be the day when I stand up to her, but....
Five hours of painstaking labour later, and exhaustion was becoming more of a thought than anything else, I had barely eaten today.
Although I think my diet would be considered a feast if I had fur and whiskers.
I decided to scrape up the remnants of the bread from the tin. Usually, I'd tell myself the white and green blotches added to the flavour, but today, lying to myself was not within my capabilities, as Mother is not the only one in a foul mood.
Quite recently, I had discovered a concerning number of black freckles popping up all around my otherwise effeminate figure; they were in little star shapes, black as ink, which was concerning for me to say, at least. Even though this had been happening for quite a while, it had now gotten to the point that if Mother were more perceptive, she would have made a comment months ago. They were a bit more than sparsely located from my toes up to my neck, and showed no sign of stopping their encroachment.
I had not told my mother about it, partially because I was anything short of certain she'd just tell me to fuck off and that she didn't care.
And partially because I was worried this was the last straw for her. That she wouldn't be able to use me to get my father's attention now, not that he'd ever given it to her. That I was a useless, ugly child who she would be better sell off than keep here.
Staring at a particular blotch of muck that im trying to remove from this plate, I realized we were quite similar, the plate and I.
I am what most refer to as a "mongrel".
Im a mix between a pure elf and a gutter rat human girl.
A consequence of tavern ale and temporary madness, as my mother puts it, though I am quite unsure of what that means.
The realisation dawned on me that no matter how hard I scrubbed, much like myself, the stain on this dish was not going to leave, no matter how hard I wished or scrubbed for it.
I decided to head back to bed. And stared at the ceiling aimlessly, counting the indents in the paint.
I stared for a while…
And then I made a decision
As I drifted back to sleep, peace washed over me;
I dreamt, which was sad and unusual, as i hadnt in a while.
Rats, and a pale woman crying, came to me.
She was standing in a field of crimson, and the rats were nibbling at her heart;
It didn't seem to affect her.
It seemed like she was one of them.
But one by one they died, and she remained… What was the point?... The scene was very chilling, and it left my stomach feeling weak.
I was awoken by my mother loudly stumbling through the house.
I let out an audible groan after leaning towards the hole in the top end of my wall, and seeing no light in my periphery.
Why was she back so late, and why was she being so loud about it?
My mother was many things, but usually not disruptive;
She was a silent and Loathsome woman. Who most of all enjoyed this one's suffering?
I brushed my hand against my thigh, wiping off the dust that was awoken by my mother slamming the door behind her.
I slid off the bed once more, eyeing the recently used pocket knife I kept in my drawer for sewing, and… stress relief.
I cracked open the door and saw my mother take a rather hard fall upon the pan she had previously left lying across the kitchen floor.
-"Mother!"
I yelped, rushing towards her.
She was unharmed, and I was glad to see that she was not bleeding at least. As much as I claim to hate her, she is the one who raised me; how can I let this happen as her daughter? Am I meant to just let her sleep in the hall on her own, vomit and bile-covered face?
-" mother..mother. w..wake up, please. It's your daughter, Sariel; you cannot sleep here."
Her eyes shot open faster than I could get the words out, and she looked at me with loving eyes for the first time in my existence.
It was calm, and although I was wary, I wrapped my arms around her. Then she uttered a single sentence in her drunken stupor as we embraced.
-"Is that you, Rayland? Have you finally come to get me?"
…..
"No, mother its me. El"
I watched as the calm washed over, and her eyes turned cold.
This time, there was no mistake in her gaze. She sat herself up and slapped away my hand when I had tried to help her.
I smelled the stench of alcohol permeating from her…
-"You… FILTHY cr eature, doN'T TOUCH ME!"
My concern was forced out of me, as an unexpected right hand had landed its way onto my face,
with surprising force for a woman of her stature.
It was so unexpected, I myself stumbled towards the door, and could only use the vestiges of my withered will to hold up my body upon the doorway.
I began to cry, but this only enraged her more, as though my emotions were an affront to her superiority.
She got herself up, sobering up enough to pick up the pan she had fallen over and rush towards me with it.
-" please d..dont, mother,
You s...should go sit down. I didn…."
Whack!
I wailed out in pain as she struck me with the pan, across my shoulder…
-" Oh…"
I couldn't believe it.
What had I done?
Why can't she just bear her daughters... m..my existence?
Why must she find some way to make a utility out of me, or hurt me so? Am I nothing more than something to be bruised, then thrown to the dogs?
It is not as though we are well off, are we not both starving?
Are we not both in the same shabby garments?
Once she had done it, we just looked at each other.
She turned away from me, muttering the words "filthy beast", and found herself a new spot of collapse in her chamber.
I returned to my own room and immediately collapsed, sobbing into myself. Barely managing to breathe.
It continued like this to no end, and my vision began to blur. I simply stared out for a while…
My gaze rested upon the pocket knife upon my dresser.
-"youre the only thing I have, I suppose"
I whispered between my own pathetic breaths and sobs.
I picked it up and lay across my bed…
Contemplating my own life and what had led up to this.
Then I began carving my arm.
Light strokes, I am used to it…
The pain eases me, and the crimson streaks I find to be quite fashionable and, if anything else, beautiful.
-" pretty, pretty arm", I whispered to no one in particular.
I do wonder why im the only one to receive such abuse.
But I shove the useless thought to the back of my mind.
Afterwards, I cleaned up the mess with the singular sheet of my mattress.
Then I fell back to sleep.
This time, I dreamt of the city, the great cities of Kargos. I ate so much food my stomach wouldn't handle it, and I found a handsome boy whom I got to marry. And I was away from this shack of shackles.
This time when I awoke, my mother wasn't even in the house, a blessing, I suppose, she had left for the "Market" early to sell her "Services".
I lifted out of bed once more, and when I looked down, I was briefly surprised to see that my arm had healed fully overnight. Although my mind would likely not be subject to the same luck.
I gazed out of the window and saw merchants' carriages pulling across wares. Sparse houses in the quaint village where I reside.
Other children played, whereas I was treated quite similarly to a plague.
Hours passed. And noon was almost setting.
Then I made a decision.
My mother's wardrobe had a singular cloak within it, not very well made, but it would do.
I took it back to my room, and waited…
She came back before night had settled; she didn't make a noise this time. She didn't even look at me when I passed her to take some of the vegetable sludge from the pan. She simply ate her fill and then retired for the night.
She didn't care about me, truly…
No point pitying myself any more than I had.
I collected my belongings, my pocket knife, the cloak, and then I found myself staring at my mother's chamber for a while, before saying under my breath.
-" I am your shame, mother, I will not stay here to carry it… Goodbye."
I made my way back to the exit of the house and took a breath before pushing open the door as silently as I could.
The cold night air was refreshing to my virgin skin. It had been a while since I had come out.
I had one goal in mind:
The merchant carriage.
I saw one pass every day at dawn,
in and out of this place.
That was my way out of this.
The village was silent apart from the crickets and the wind of the night sky.
Moonlight illuminated the worn down hovells and the more built-up, wealthy parts of town.
The fountain was a marvel, a wonder of elven brilliance that made me sad to leave.
I was glad I got to see it before I so abruptly departed.
I took a sip of the clear, fresh water; it tasted divine, nothing like the dirt mother and I drank. Clear crystal beauty in drinkable form.
I made my way over to the market,
It was about half an hour's walk.
When I finally approached, the destitute air of the market at night was not quite what I expected, but a good surprise. It meant there would be fewer people to see me.
I saw wagons being filled up with wares, preparing to set out.
There was a carriage containing tools that had a very light guard, four low-cost mercenaries, I could tell by their armour, they had leather without padding, and a bored look between them as they were carelessly playing card games, and drinking, whilst seeing which of them could down it from a shoe the fastest. Quite disgusting, I thought.
There was a wagon filling up high end luxury meats and food. It had two very hardened soldiers guarding it, very expensive looking, and their alertness had them radiating authority in a way that I had only seen through the window when the lord's castillian came down to visit our village for taxes. If I went for that one id have to be extra careful not to so much as breathe on my way there.
And there was a wagon containing cloth that was guarded densely, with quite average men for a merchant's wagon.
I had another decision to make here if I ever wanted to get out of this place.
I could go for the tool merchant's wagon and leave easily.
Though, how long would I last without food to sustain me?
The royal capital was quite a few days' ride away, I had heard,
and it was the closest city to us.
Hmmm…
I moved, crawling as close to the ground as I could, despite the mud caking every inch of me at this moment.
I was intently focused on memorising their movements… the tool guards are occupied, the cloth ones are over there….
Suddenly,
I looked up and was seconds away from being trampled before
I dived underneath one of the empty stalls as they passed. It was one of the food wagon men.
If It wasnt so dark and I wasn't wearing this, they would've certainly mistaken me for a thief and I wouldve lost my head quite simply.
Oh well, not to waste the angel's blessings.
I moved this time more hastily towards the luxury foods wagon, and although I was already out of breath from doing more running in a day than in the last year, I managed to haul myself to the carriage.
Now getting in would be another hurdle; the observant guard in front of the wagon would certainly hear me if I were to climb on.
And the other guardsmen who passed me earlier, I had no way of predicting when they would return.
It was then that my thought process was rudely interrupted by the drunk tool guards' loud laughter. And the sound of a glass breaking on the road.
It came from their direction, and it just pissed me off.
I picked up an apple that had fell of the wagon, jumped up and threw it right at the stupid looking ones face. Before diving back behind the wagon.
I was dying from laughter; I could hardly contain myself. curling into a ball to get a hold, before my plan finally came into fruition.
The tool guard, in his drunken stupor, started approaching the high-end mercenary, stumbling and accusing him of all sorts.
I was close to assuming nothing would happen before the man shouted out.
-" YOU… THROW L IKE A WHORE T OO YOU SLAPPER!"
And then I could hear a short scuffle, during which I took due consideration to slip into the wagon and get myself tucked in, whilst the tool guard was getting a fist-full of it from the mercenary he had insulted.
The consequences of alcohol always seem to vex me. People know that it damages them, but they drink it anyway. I suppose, from what mother told me, it must be something to do with "getting rid of stress". Which is quite boring and half-thought, the standard for her, I suppose.
I noticed light start to peek through the slats of the wood in the wagon.
Then shortly after, I felt the wheels start turning.
The town was quiet, a normal day. Trade wagons left and came in, and one in particular was slightly heavier than usual.
???: April 14th: Kargos Capital
There is a small bricked room, dark, damp, and dimly lit.
Devoid of life, apart from a dirty marble table centrepiece, a wooden cabinet, chains across the walls, and aged stains across the floor.
The room was cold,
And dread was in the very walls.
BANG!
The door swung open.
A large, burly man battered through.
He was dressed in dirty clothes that reeked of iron, and had a leather vest on his body, the fabric was aged and worn.
An Elven girl in white garb was being dragged across the muddy floor.
-" Is this what your group does now, cook?...
Has the money dried up from hanging about the slums,
so you're doing this now?"
Cook dragged her to the wall and locked the shackles on her arms. He leaned down until he was inches away from her face.
-"You can keep chattering all you want sweetheart, Its not going to change how much im getting for your sorry little arse."
Cook had a wide face, aged from ale, his body had the definition of a fighter, but his belly resembled more of a fat old man.
-"Pray to that sick god of yours, girly, he's not going to save you now, is he.
You just have good old cook here, and my loyalty is coin only, you don't look like coin to me, do you, sweetheart?"
Cook rolled up her sleeve and walked up to the cabinet across the room.
The elven girl shuffled around, struggling in her metal arm braces.
Cook drew out a large syringe, and the elven girl locked eyes with it. Before she could say another word cook was across the room and shoved a rag into her mouth, silencing her before she could get the word "no" out.
She squirmed as he forced the syringe through her vein, drawing out a sizeable amount of blood.
-"Ill be back in a few days for more girl, just you wait."
He removed the rag and threw a browned apple at her head. She winced from the pain, and he left after making a foul noise with his throat and spitting phlegm on her now dirty white dress.
The door slammed shut.