Thread: The Handmaiden's Tale (Wander and Chanti)

Sophie would have defended herself, explained she was never a slave but had granted her service to Helen to fulfill her fathers debt to Helens father. She was, in truth, a companion. Helen had never treated her as such, had always treated her as a servant. But the truth was still the truth. Sophie had been free to leave Helens side anytime she wanted, at the expense of her fathers vows. But she had kept those vows, and this was her reward now. No, he cared nothing for the truth. He surely knew the truth, knew the name of her honored, deceased father. If she tried to defend herself, he would use her words against her. As he did with everything. She remained silent, allowing the venom flashing in her eyes to speak for her. His next words left her with a sick feeling of horror that showed on her suddenly white face and large eyes. Naked! All the way back to Greece? No, it could not be borne. She would die first. The sudden rush of violence was unexpected, though really, what else could she expect of him? The breath rushed out of her in a gasp as she fell off the bed, her body folding in on itself as she fought for air. And then she was alone. Curled up on the floor, naked, shivering, bruised to the bone. Completely destroyed. Staring up at the candle lit ceiling and considering her next step. She had sworn a vow. Perhaps she had spoken to soon. Sophie was a practical girl at heart, that practicality had helped her survive the ten years she had served the capricious Helen. As bitter as it was to admit, he was right to laugh at her vow. Who was she, to think she could fell one of the mightiest of the warriors of Greece? To do so she would have to resort to trickery and deceit. Would the gods honor a vow fulfilled in such a manner? Would it not be better to honorably kill herself? Either way, one of them at least must die. If she killed him, she would die as well at the hands of his army. If she diedwellhe would live on. But she, at least, would be released from the bondage he inflicted on her. He would lose. And really, was not that a kind of death? To be cheated out of what he considered to be his property, by a mere slave girl? A death to his pride, a death to what little honor he had. Yes, a death. It would be enough. She moved for the first time an hour after he was slumbering away. Fighting back a whimper of pain as her blood crusted thighs moved. Somehow she got to her feet. She stood on trembling, weak legs. Half bent over from the deep throbbing agony in her lower body. Stumbling across the cold stone floor to the first sharp edge she saw. A dagger, lying on the small table beside the door. Was it his? Better it were so. To steal his slave from him with his own dagger. The justice soothed her heart. She stumbled, still just out of reach of the dagger. Almost fell. A rush of feverish heat flooded her body. Her gasp was loud in the room as a flare of sharp pain shot through her loins. She caught herself though, lurching forward, feeling her hand close around the handle with a rush of bitter sweet victory. That she would have come to this! She, the proud daughter of a prouder noble Greek family! A slave, raped by her master and thrown like so much trash onto the floor. No, it would not be borne. She would regain the lost honor of herself and her family with this move. She stood, turning to the bed, knowing he was awake before she even laid eyes on him. You are right. It would be foolish to think I could kill you. Not without doing so dishonorably. So I will do the next best thing. I will kill myself, and regain my honor while destroying any honor you have left to you. The blade turned inward, aimed to her heart.