The air was musty, cloying. It always was, perhaps always will be. Except in the dining hall and boudoir of course, where the master of the house liked to relax. Those rooms were rewards and lures to those who did well and pleased him.
It’s where Gwen resided, her eyes hollow and her hands busy. Often she cleaned the giant table in the dining hall, replacing the rotting food and shooing away the flies. The boudoir, once a room of rest and respite in hedonistic fashion, became a bedroom/trophy case. It’s where Rapheal refitted the room with a frieze looking above the room of Gwen’s former self: Happy, vibrant, free. Just to remind her what she lost. Large, golden bookshelves overflowed with books, once he knew she pretended to read. She was never taught the written word, and would pour over the pages, inventing her own stories to occupy her time when cleaning was done. Heroes, villains, love, loss.
It was a private joke to himself, one he never got tired of. Those pages she’d pour over were ones he picked specifically. They housed either pornographic tales of dwarven women like her, or they were gruesomely explicit accounts of torture documented over centuries.
Gwen was so close to becoming his Despair. His method of torture. His beloved pet. His toy. His. His. All His.
The constant killing and reviving her was starting to become almost boring. A few games of hide-and-seek where he’d kill her when she was found. A children’s game in a pool where he held her underwater until her body stopped struggling. Once he invited her to a romantic dance, and out of curiosity, bit into her neck. That night he learned seeing your own sinew in the mouth of someone else creates shock, which dulls pain. She didn’t even scream for him until a few hours later, as she was locked in a cold box for storage. It took 3 days to finish his meal.
She was terrified of him, which only pleased him more. Her nose twitched when she was scared, leading to his nickname of her. “Little Rabbit.”
But, at this moment, he needed her cooperation. The lovely mind games of fear and breaking her down until she saw him for the God he saw himself to be would have to wait. It was time to smooth out his silver tongue and pull out the charm.
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