Thread: Odette (Montresor & sweet.nothings)

If guarding her soul was a declaration of faith, Rogier only saw it as a challenge. With her prayer beads betwen his fingers, the boy approached the luxuriously cushioned bed until his height was that much more a shadow over her petite form. He smoothed out the embroidered quilt with a hand before taking a seat on the side of the bed. Daringly close, he studied the woman's bravery. Eyes seemed to trace her up and down while he casually inspected the nun, and his fingers reached out to touch a lock of her black hair, winding it around his digit. As was common with Rogier it was a false tenderness. Within a split second his grip seized her jaw and pulled the woman close to underscore the threat in her own promise. For life, sister. Your sentence will be for life, just as it would have been with Antoine. The rosary hung between the digits of his othr hand as though he were performing an exorcism or casting a spell, though it was clear in her precious eye that he was merely taunting her faith. You believe that you are humble, sister? You will be as my chattel low as a dog fed on table scraps, and willing as a newly wed wife. An apt description, given it was seduced more likely raped newly wed which had started all this foul business. Despite the way venom dripped from his voice, there was a certain dark pleasure to having her answer. It was hinted in the subtle smirk that tugged at the corner of his lip, and in the excitement of his eyes. Rogier wanted her to say yes , that much was clear. Perhaps moreso, were it his choice he might've enjoyed to have the woman beg on her knees to be his petite chienne . But most of all he wanted her choice to be clear and informed, not out of any sense of fairness but so that her bondage would prove all the sweeter in knowing it was of her own design, martyr that she was. If that is what you agree to in trade for Antoine's freedom, then kiss it. He released her from his grasp before presenting the rosary forward for her to pledge herself unto. A vow made under Christ, he knew, would never be taken lightly. - - - - - A month. That was how long they agreed until Odette's true incarceration was to begin. One could have been fooled into thinking it had already begun by the accomidations she had been given a cell in the top most level of his dungeon. the largest cell with a sliver of daylight which dripped in from a barred window. Proper bedding and candlight had been accomedated for the sister, and in almost all ways she was merely the Marquee's guest... albiet one who spent her evenings in a cold stone chamber. Antoine was not to be found along that dark corridor iron bars. It was far to pleasent a place for so grievous an offender. The poor man would have to wait while Odette's wound healed. The Master of this stable would not take a mare with a weak heart, and so she would have to mend so that she could be properly played with. Medical attention was constant by Rogier's personal surgeon, though the Marquee himself rarely visited during such check-ups. The older man was rather kindly for someone who regularly healed those Rogier wished to torture. Broken and mended and broken and mended and broken until they couldn't be mended anymore. What small talk he offered attempted to pry sister Odette from the pain of her inevitable leashing, but like falling from a tower there was no looking away from what await below. A quirk of her stay during that time were invitations to take her supper with Rogier, an extenstion which seemed to permit some sort of mutual understanding where there was often little to be had. It was in this moments, while never betraying the cold creature he was, that the boy was perhaps his most tame. It was more often than not a quiet experience as they shared a dining room which dwarfed most houses for the people of Montferrand. Rogier understood his folk in the way a wolf understands sheep. It showed through the cracks in his politeness, in the way his serving maids often carried bruises on their cheeks while adorned in collars of black leather. They all were silent and kept a lowered gaze around their Master, setting silverware and serving meals without so much as an errant mutter. The stories carried down from the chateau despite their silence stories of girls from the village that the Marquee had merely at one time or another and had spirited away to his lair. A closer glance upon the one pouring Odette's wine offered a startling realization the golden curled girl was in fact a young man who had been sufficiently masked in layers of makeup and lace to be presented in humiliation as a woman. The details were nearly flawless in their disguess, but a lack of chest and broaders shoulders hinted the reality. What is the abbey's view on sex, sister Odette? Rogier's voice cut gently through the stare she had placed on the boy while his knife carved slowly into a rich cut of filet mingon.