Cailin Liath (touchagrae) wrote in novelleidee,
Cailin Liath
touchagrae
novelleidee

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Bits and pieces slowly seeping into the public eye

WARNING: The following cut is a section from my second book. (Not that I've finished my first book, but the second one is kinda like backstory to the first; it's all in my head at once and needs to get out.) The second book is very disturbing. This section is very disturbing, or at least it should be. It needs to get out and have opinions. This is a second draft and is much better than the first.

I've cut the scene so that you may pass over it. If you need to ignore it, please do.



Aythrael lay curled on the hard dirt floor, shivering in the moldering damp. As the irrepressible shaking gradually intensified, choking her breath and forcing her awake, her head burned with an empty echo of thought; her entire body was possessed by a constant dull ache, an eternal shallow throbbing. Barely conscious, she gripped tightly as another shiver wracked her body, her skin cold and moist to the touch. Silent tears formed in the corners of her eyes and slowly traced the contours of her bruised face. Already broken, she opened herself to the pain, forgoing consciousness for the cold darkness sorrow; she was small, pale and lost, wandering deeper into the shadow of anguish.
Yet, in some part of her mind, she despised herself and this pitiful attempt at escape. Despair turned to anger, and, for a moment, she was filled with a fierce light. Stop this. Go back. Get up. Get up! Gritting her teeth against the next spasm, she forced her body into a sitting position; her muscles screamed in protest. Naked and trembling, she fell to her hands and knees and vomited, clear, hot liquid splashing onto the floor and then ever so slowly seeping into the ground. As it mixed with the sickly sweet stench, the foul, sour smell of her surroundings became more evident, pervading the stale air.
Her breathing became more labored as she forced her body into action, weakly crawling away from the mess. But her mind was clear, as if it too had been purged along with the contents of her stomach. For the first time, she looked at her surroundings lit only by the thin beam of light that crept in from under the door. But while the light itself shone with an almost unnatural brightness, the thick darkness within overpowered her senses, choking her. She gasped and fought for breath against the solid gloom flooding her lungs. The earth under her hands felt dead, devoid of even the smallest life. There was no movement under the soil; the invisible microorganisms had been slaughtered. Revulsion surged under her skin and she recoiled as if the lack of life brought her physical pain.
Her hands sought the wall and she pulled herself upward. The very effort of standing was almost too much; with a gasp she collapsed into the stones, her nipples hardening as they grazed the cool, rough rock. Her legs trembled beneath her, and she was overcome with nausea once more. She stood there for several moments, cheek pressed against the wall, leaning into its solid support. Then, very slowly, she pushed away from it; she swayed under the force of her own weight. Walk around the room. Know your prison.
With one hand resting on the wall to steady herself, she traced the confines of her cell. But uneven ground sets traps for unsure feet; she stumbled. The stone snagged at her fingertips, her palm, ripping fragile tissue. Specks of blood dappled the coarse granite, glistening blue-black in the gloom. Aythrael could feel night outside the wall; it pierced the abrasions in her skin, thrumming her blood. For a moment, she could hear the moon singing to her, trying to mend her, but it could not reach her through the cracks in the mortar.
Give up. No moonlight to sooth your shattered being, no life in this bleak place. It’s empty, cold, and hard – like you.
She sank to the floor and leaned against the wall. Her head connected at a tender spot and pain flared behind her eyes. The pounding in her head increased; her temples throbbed brutally and tears flowed with a sudden violence. She folded in on herself, sobbing into her knees, and ran her fingers through her hair, fumbling over a sizable lump on the back of her head. Fingertips brushed it lightly and she winced, eyes closed tight, her breath escaping with a hiss.
The door opened, interrupting her thoughts. Aythrael squinted up at the blinding light that flooded her cell and her body shook for reasons other than the cold. One man stood in the middle of the doorway and the shadows behind him intimated the presence of others. It was difficult to guess how many because his impressive form filled most of the frame. Aythrael shrank from him, her shoulder blades pressing into the wall as if she could some how melt into it and escape his piercing gaze. But that was impossible now; she had no magic here.
He stepped just inside the doorway, his eyes never leaving her body. Aythrael cursed herself silently: Stop shaking, damn you. She glared up at him, furious that he could frighten her so. He moved to touch her; she jerked away, his hand still inches from her face, his smile cruel.
“Don’t bother getting up. I won’t be long,” he said, his hands resting ominously on his belt. At this signal, two of the shadows walked past him and grabbed her roughly under the arms. Aythrael struggled as they dragged her into the middle of the cell and pinned her down.
The door closed slowly, shutting out the light. Aythrael froze as she heard the lock click. Her momentary pause made it easy for her captors to force her legs open. She struggled harder as she felt his body over hers.
“Hold her tightly,” he said through clenched teeth. The pressure on her arms and legs increased. She thrashed wildly trying to break free. She felt strong hands – his hands – on her shoulders as she was forced back onto the floor. Aythrael passed out momentarily when her head hit the ground.
Then he was inside of her. She writhed weakly against him, but soon ceased as the strong stabbing pains consumed her being. He had no thoughts of her pleasure. Tears slid down her cheeks to wet her hair; and when she could cry no more, her breath came in harsh, ragged sobs. Her body was no longer her own.
He lay, spent, a crushing weight that she could not bear to cradle and support, her body unresponsive beneath him. The rigid grips upon her arms and ankles loosened slightly as he eased himself off of her. Her shoulders were lifted upward and the rest of her body had no choice but to follow as her captors shifted slightly. She could feel the others come closer, their breath hot upon neck. Her body tensed again; fear shone bright in her eyes. He was still kneeling in front of her.
“Don’t worry,” He whispered in her ear, “You’ll not be had by the likes of them.” Fingertips brushed her cheek, his thumb stroking her chin.
Then he withdrew, signaling for the other two to follow. They did so reluctantly, stopping more than once to stare hungrily at Aythrael’s naked body. The light from the open door framed her prostrate form and he turned to gaze at her once more before submitting her to darkness. The sound of the lock catching reverberated in her ears and she was alone once more. She began to cry again, quietly this time, biting her lip to keep back the sobs. Tears stained the path leading to the cool stillness of oblivion.
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