Thread: Odette (Montresor & sweet.nothings)

The nightmare didn't end with just an assault and a rape, but proceeded with more atrocities saddled upon Odette's purity. She truly fell into a shocked state of mind by the time Rogier had manhandled her down a hallway by a fist of her silk-born hair. The Abbess would have faired better if she hadn't been struck by his hand, choked, and smothered as he took her virginity, but it did happen, and the experience propelled her into a mind of just... surviving this night . Now, she hurried for his pace up the spiral staircase out of a need to not give him a reason to turn unnecessary attention upon her, sobbing along the way, quietly. No more praying or no more sorries , because the lion of Montferrand had made it clear that he was tired of hearing such useless mutterings . Still, Odette was just that type of humble servant who stayed in a constant mind of prayer, even as she labored on hands and knees up the stone-cold tread of stairs. She was finally placed in the center of the topmost room where Rogier advanced into a task that she had never fathomed happening. With each second that ticked by her long locks were snipped away, and these butchered strands began to pool upon her bare shoulders and the floor around her. Odette mumbled a small protest that meekly spilled out passed her trembling lips, but it was lost, likely in the pleasurable concentration that Rogier had amassed for himself. In either way, Rogier did not slow down. Her hands found their palms pressed to the floor on both sides of her quivering body, drawing any ounce of strength she had to keep from physically interfering. Somehow, hiding her green eyes behind closed eyelids helped the nun find that self discipline that was no-doubt expected from her by Rogier, and find the parts of her that subjugated any further protesting to his task. Thick tears were severed when she had shut her eyes, and they barreled down her cheeks dropping in cold, dime-sized pools upon her thighs. There was no hiding the suffering and anguish that he was overwhelming her with, and it manifested in each breath she took sometimes short and sharp like the snipping sounds of shears, and sometimes heavy and labored like a creature in pain. Whyyy? Why was he doing this to her? Rogier never paused to explain himself to her. Not when he butchered her hair, nor when he smothered her head into a leather hood. She felt panic from the claustrophobia darkness of the leather mask and her heart quickened a pace, but she could handle it. She must handle it. There was no choice, as her hands were pulled from exploring the buckles to be shackled behind her back. She drew her legs up to her chest and felt the humid heat from her breath fog up the inner lining of the mask, which smelled strongly of fresh, treated leather. Then her ankles were grasped and something cool to the touch came sliding over her hips to embrace her pelvis. Odette didn't have the imagination to understand what this was. By now she felt like a rag doll. There were no prayers in her experience as a vigil Nun that could address her fears, and she flinched when her heated pubis felt a touch before being covered snug in cold jaws. Her body was wrung so tightly from stress that she whimpered like a frightened little girl when her ass was stung by a stick, and his barked demand to start moving made her roll into motion. She had no idea where he was directing her, but she obeyed with much awkwardness until she felt something soft beneath her knees, obviously in the right place. There was some clinking sounds from what Odette identified as a chain accompanied with a snug collar that he locked to her neck, and then she found herself in a precariously fixed position very near to someone humbling themselves in prayer before God. Bent over with her forehead to the floor, she shifted weight from one knee to the next and felt some resistance to what parameter of movement was allowed. There wasn't much, but Odette was not sure exactly how much without exploring, and she was not in the mood while knowing that Rogier was still with her. He was the only soul who found amusement in his words. The Marquee only received a whimpering huff of breath from his trodden creature before he left her alone. --- It was nightfall before Antoine and Richenza Calais finally made it home, having been escorted by a small party of sympathizers. A local physician was there when they arrived to look over Antoine's wounds, and to prescribe whatever medicine or advice that could be offered. It was doubtful if the winemaker would ever get his left arm working normal again, and there seemed to be a hobble to his steps that might become cemented into a new stride whenever he walked. Most of all the relief of being back on his own land, with his new wife, was written all over his tired physique. His body really just wanted to sleep, and probably could for days on end, but the physician kept on rubbing his wounds down with alcohol and cleaning them, and there was no rest for Antoine's mind. He was just as much relieved, as he was restless . As soon as they were alone finally, as soon as everyone left their house to give the couple a night's rest, Anotoine began packing their belongings. Richenza held a hand over her tummy as she watched him in silence for a few minutes, before finally asking, What are you doing? We are leaving Montferrand. Antoine emptied a dresser drawer by grabbing a handful of linen and tossing the items onto the bed. I will not continue my business here. So you are running from him? Richenza found a chair and slowly sat down, her eyes never left his face, which showed fresh signs of having been beaten. I am not running . Antoine muttered in haste. There is nothing to run from. It is over. But then his eyes fell to her tummy and it's noticeable bump, and he realized the mistake in his words. He momentarily abandoned his task at packing to walk over to Richenza and to cradle her head in his hugging arms. We will set up with my cousins, and we will find someone to take the baby when it is born. Soon we can forget that any of this ever happened. No. Richenza shook her head and pulled back from his embrace. We are keeping the baby. And before Antoine could say anything at all she continued quite deliberately, her hands beginning to tremble... we will stay here, because this is our home, and we will raise the child to know of the Marquis' sins against us, and we will condition him and teach him how to run a sword through his black heart. Antoine stepped back from his wife to see the murderous fire in her eyes. She still wanted revenge. And this spirit to fight was the answer Antoine had been needing. Like a scale waiting to be tipped in either direction, it finally slammed down heavy to one side. He couldn't agree with his wife enough - they both wanted Rogier to pay for his crimes, and this would not be the end. Antoine shook his head, No, my darling, we will not wait for that child to grow up. We will do it ourselves. Rogier Montresor made a mistake when he let me go. --- Odette was not sure how many hours had slowly passed her by, agonizingly so. By now she was wriggling in her binds, trying to ease the soreness setting in. Now in full exploratory mode of what she learned to be a cage she realized there was not many options available to her at all. It was useless to try and be in any other position without choking herself or putting a wedge against her clit. The most relief she could find was simply by moving her body in small ways rocking or shifting or flexing. She did this quite often now, only being able to tolerate a stillness for about twenty minutes at a time. The leather hood had become moist on the inside from her tears. Of course, she tried not to cry because she hated doing so. But there was no where for her emotions to go except to manifest themselves as tears for right now. A memory kept on running over and over in her mind. It had once been forgotten, but Rogier had somehow poked it back to life. She remembered herself as a young pupil of the Lord, slowly navigating herself through the ranks of Abbey Ligny-en-Brionnais, and the gentle form of Sister Maren who had become somewhat of a inspiration and guide. They were traversing down the market street during peek hour, witnessing about the Lord and giving alms to those in need, when Maren indicated for Odette to approach two women who were hanging outside the door of a residential house. Those two look like they need an encouraging word about God's saving mercy, sister Odette. While I check on Mr. Oliver can you impart some good scriptures to them? Of course Odette was ready without hesitation to speak about God to someone else, but she did inquire of Maren quite quickly as her mind brimmed with learning, How do you know they are living in sin, sister Maren? The older Nun smiled back at Odette with years of experience, because my child, they have cut their hair short. She explained further, It is not natural for a woman to cut their hair. If they are able to do this to themselves then there is something more troubling going on inside of them. A saved woman would never dishonor her image like that. Odette's fingers twitched, frustratingly so and restlessly in their shackles as she silently mused this memory. What Rogier had done to her hair disturbed her, just as much as no longer being a virgin. But it had been expected from Rogier that he would take her virginity. Cutting her hair off was something never imagined. And now what would people think of her when they saw her like this? She can hide having been raped, but she cannot hide her image. She was a resemblance of sin, just like those two women that Maren had Odette witness to, and it was all Rogier's fault. But she had agreed to this treatment, and remembering that essential fact was imperative for her to at least try and continue the journey of forgiveness. But it was so very hard to do so. Odette whispered into the smothering darkness of the mask, as if in a kind of semi-closure for the recent events. She just didn't have the strength right now to pray for Rogier, or to find any forgiveness within her at this time even if she had agreed to this. She was only human, and she was hurting from not understanding Rogier's ways. Ut Deus, propitius esto tibi, mea monstrum.