Thread: Odette (Montresor & sweet.nothings)

Never ...? Now there was a word that Rogier Montresor could not quite grasp his head around. He hadn't lost the rest of her words, all of it chastising him through such choice words though Rogier only invited her critique. Her concern for his sin washed off him like water from a ducks feathers, ignored in favor of her own lack of indulgence. Not even on the loneliest of nights of your girlhood? Not even under the most invasive dreams which steal us in the night? You've never permitted that innocent sin? He was leaned foward with his chin resting on a fist while his other hand wound a lock of Genevieve's hair around his finger. Of course not... The words slipped beneath his breath in some sort of realization. No sin is innocent. Adam and Eve were condemned for nothing more than childish curiosity, and certainly this sister knows better. The boy lifted his chalice in toast. To your diligence. The transexual had found his shame in that moment against the lap of his Master, hiding his face while he had the privilage to. Odette's words stung and reminded him of things that had been stolen of crimes committed and punishment forced upon him. The Chateau had served as both home and prison, cut off from the outside world in its prestine villa which betrayed a cold truth. After the months it was something of a relief to be faced with someone merciful who had an ear to his suffering. She couldn't understand what it was like there to have made his pact with his Master. Would she have agreed to it if she understood the world his pets were subjected to? Tears found their way on to the leg of his Master, tears which would certainly earn him harsh discipline until there were none left to give. It was that dinner which had sparked something within the chattel, something which had drawn him down to the cellar where the maiden kept herself. Odette's cell was not guarded, not even locked. Rogier doubted she would attempt anything daring, but if she did the surrounding fields, hills, and forests of the estate were well patrolled by his mercenaries. More than one unlucky abductee had learned how well Rogier knew his own countryside like the back of his hand. His sport for hunting had long since evolved into a cruel game of human quarry, though at least or perhaps unfortunately such game was always bagged alive. As promised, the Genevieve carried Odette's bible, habit, and a basket of sewing supplies into the cell. All of the woman's personal effects had been returned to her, save for that precious rosary and cross. Rogier had taken to wearing it around his wrist as a perverse charm. It was during this small act of service that Genevieve permitted a small chance of bravery, and knelt beside the nun. He asked for prayer and for salvation. There was fear in him over his own soul and the confused thing he had been forced to become. She could not release him from that slavery, no. She was not there to save all of them. But she could perhaps offer protection of the soul. This prayer developed into a ritual sought upon the mornings when Odette's food was delivered, and over the weeks which passed it would develope as to not only encompass Genevieve but the girls which had been stolen by Rogier as well. The sister, it seemed, had earned herself a coven. It was this same ensemble of young pretty things which saw closely to Odette as the day neared when she would belong in physical form to that devil. Evening preceeding the date was marked by a day of grooming. Each one of the slaves had been sent to oversee the woman's washing personally with all the invasive nature that one would come to expect of would-be chattel. Cloistured thing that she was, there was a lot to take care of before she could be presented . Hair had to be shaven and waxed from all corners where they had otherwise been permitted to grow naturally. It was not long before the woman was as smooth of skin as a Parisian whore, though once properly pampered and brushed like a new mare she was free to adorn herself as she chose. None spoke that day none offered anything to the woman they had come to seek as a sort of salvation, or they new that window was likely to be closed soon enough. The assurence of Rogier keeping his word came in the form of Antoine's wife. The redheaded girl was only just beginning to show the swell in her belly from the Marquee's violation, but she was there nonetheless to find her husband. Dragged up from the lowest depths, it was hard to see the man's soul through what he had endured. His skin was pale and malnurished, while his hair was long and ratty. Curls of brown had found faint bushes of grey and as the woman found her husband he collapsed in her arms. It was a promise kept that rode with her as she ascended with a guard beside her, climbing the steps in from the dungeon to Rogier's bedchamber. The Marquee had not seen fit to eat with her that evening, and had instead reserved himself to wait until midnight. There was an exactness to her ownership that he was keen on a timing and protocal. Rogier was sat by the window as she entered, the door closing behind her while the boy stared off to catch glimpse of a bright moon amidst warm summer air. He was quiet for a time, not addressing the visitor in his presence while he sat in a loose shirt of black linen. I have been pondering a certain verse from the bible while you wait upon the inevitable... He finally offered on a soft tone. Colossians 322. What is your interpretation of these words, sister?