ᴅᴀʀᴋ ʀᴏꜱᴇ ❀ reverie. + koura

[reverie.]

❝ Nathaniel was taunting her, and in the process he was stalling. Hazel did not need more time, nor did she need another cup of juice. What she needed was to pee, and in order to do so she needed him to unchain her, or at least give her the key so she could do it herself. But she was running out of time. She could barely contain her pee, and if he unchained her, there was still a possibility that she wouldn't make it all the way to the toilet before it started pouring. Even after she'd called out a name, he took his sweet time contemplating whether or not to unchain her. If he was waiting for a confession, for her to admit that the name was fake, he'd be disappointed. But he could probably see the fear - and not just for peeing herself - when he threatened her. He might not know it yet, but she knew that name would lead nowhere. She knew he meant every word, and knew that she would have to face the consequences at some point. And yet, she said nothing. But when he threw the key to the floor in front of her, between the bed and the toilet, she let her eyes linger on the key as if to find out if it was worth getting it. Why couldn't he have just unchained her on the bed? Why make it more difficult for her? Why set her up to fail? She tilted her head back, narrowing her gaze at him. "Fuck you." She'd never thought she would hate Nathaniel - the man who had been like a father to her growing up, but he was walking a thin line now. She knew that if she got up, her bladder would burst. Perhaps not all at once, but there would be pee on the floor. And the stain on the bed would probably be visible too. But whether or not she got that key, the pee would flow, so she might as well give it a try. Hazel grimaced as she got to her feet, trying her best to keep her legs pressed together as best as she could. She tightened her core to the best of her ability to prevent pee from leaking out, but she could still feel a stream trailing down her thigh. One arm was still covering her breasts when she crouched down to grab the key off the floor, but she had to use both hands to unlock the collar. She could feel the pee threatening to escape her as she desperately tried to turn the key around. It wouldn't fucking budge. It fit inside the hole it seemed, but she just couldn't get it to turn. She could feel a new warm stream trail down her leg. God no, please stop, she prayed to herself. "It won't open!" she cried in panic, her hands desperately trying to twist the key in the lock without any luck. She turned to look at Nate, her eyes glittering with tears and despair. "It won't open!" It was a cry for help. She'd expected him to rush to her aid, to help her when she obviously was incompetent in opening the lock on her own, but when he didn't move, a new feeling took over. Betrayal. And then it dawned on her - the key wouldn't turn no matter how hard she tried. Because that bastard of a man had given her the wrong key. And by the looks of it, he already knew. He had been taunting her with the wrong key all along, tricking her into giving him a name, a name she was glad was a fake now that she knew it had been nothing more but a game to him. Realizing that she wouldn't make it to the toilet in time - or at all - she sank to her knees as soon as the pee started flowing. She tried to stop it, but it was no fucking use. A large puddle formed underneath her, and she could feel the warm liquid against her bare skin. And it was all Nate's fault. When her bladder was empty, she kept her eyes on the floor, too ashamed to look anywhere else. At least she was no longer in pain, as her body seemed to be able to relax now that her bladder wasn't about to burst. But despite her body being relieved, Hazel was not. She threw the key she had been clutching in her hand in Nate's direction, without turning her head. She just knelt there on the floor, in her own piss, looking at a spot in front of her through blurry eyes. "I hope you rot in hell," she said to him, her tone cold as ice. ​

. H A Z E L W  A  L  K  E  R ​

 

[Koura]

. N A T H A N I E L F  A  U  L  K  N  E  R ​

❝ Nathaniel watched Hazel scramble for the key with a wicked smile on his lips, her despair leaving him feeling a little warm inside. While the old man held little but contempt for the her, he could still remember the bright-eyed child she had once been. Hearing her swear at him only strengthened his resolve. This wasn't the Hazel had seen grow up. This was someone else, an enemy to the very principles that had protected New Jericho for hundreds of years. Her misguided compassion was threat to everyone within the city. "Surely you can pick it up?" he quipped, watching Hazel consider her options. "You didn't expect me to open the lock, did you?" Nathaniel shook his head, wondering where hazel found the conviction to fight him. "You brought this to yourself, Peanut." She had admitted as much, Hazel having taken the blame for her actions. "You are leaking..." the old man mused, tilting his head to the side. Nathaniel wanted Hazel to be keenly aware of his eyes on her. It wasn't enough that she felt humiliated. He wanted her to understand how he enjoyed her misery. How he was willing to play with her. "Are you going to piss yourself?" he asked, his voice dripping with mockery, waiting for Hazel to realize that the key he had throw on the floor didn't actually fit in the lock on her collar. The Father Quaestor had always been a cruel bastard, taking delight in his dour duty. He was the scourge of God, tasked to make His will manifest on earth. "Mhmmh... maybe the lock is just tight?" he offered when Hazel tried to pry herself free, the young woman able to hear sadistic mirth in his voice. The man she had considered her second father enjoyed her misery. "Try again?" Nathaniel suggested, the way he looked at the young woman making it obvious that he was messing with her. That he had never had the intention of letting her relieve herself with any degree of decency. Seeing Hazel eventually lose the control of her bladder, Nathaniel smirked. "Let it all out." he beckoned her, his voice now a little deeper. "Mhmmh. Good girl." Nathaniel praised Hazel as she pissed herself — much the same way as he had done when she had first won a gymnastic championship some twelve years ago. "I'll look up the name you gave to me. If it checks out, I'll see about getting you some clothes. If not..." Nathaniel shrugged, allowing Hazel to imagine what he might do to her. "I'll be back later." he promised her, turning to leave. "You might want to think of another name meanwhile." Nate slammed the door close behind his back, Hazel left kneeling in the pool of her own piss. Pain, humiliation and fear would eventually break the young woman, he knew. It was only question of time. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~​ Few hours after the Father Quaestor had left, two guards barged into her cell, offering her an old bucket and a threadbare cloth. The burly women let the young dissident know that if she wanted to clean her mess, she was free to do so herself. No-one would clean the cell for her. Much to Hazel's relief, they also freed her from the chain that bound her to the wall, warning Hazel that if she misbehaved, they would not hesitate to lock her up again. She was told she was to sit quietly in her cell if she wanted to maintain some dignity. The way the two women spoke among themselves made it rather obvious that they would have rather left her bound like an animal. Eventually the callous guards left, leaving Hazel to her own devices. Time passed, the young woman able to see the shadows slowly move across the wall. She could occasionally hear fragments of chatter from the outside, the voices distant enough to make it impossible to make sense of the words. Afternoon brought cold rains, humidity seeping into the small cell. As the skies eventually grew dark, a bowl filled with thick, cold stew was pushed through the hatch on her door, the young woman soon realizing that she hadn't been provided with any sorts of utensils. If she wanted to eat, she would need to use her hands. Unbeknownst to Hazel, her meager dinner had been laced with potent a mixture of sedatives that would allow her to slip into deep sleep where she knew no pain or fear. ​