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Traveller's Guide
Supernova
- Joined
- May 20, 2012
Her father was a good man. The villagers always said so, the serfs and the folk who came for his works. The tower was always cold but she did not want for much; her father was always away adventuring, and when Mother died he called her his little girl and mussed her hair.
He would take her into his laboratory, to see the things he had brought home. The shining daggers, the boxes of incense and twisted dead things, the circles he would draw while she played in the library.
Then one day he stopped giving her kisses on the forehead. He would come home and smell sour, and try to kiss her on the lips. When she turned away he hit her, and it was not long before the girl was barred from the library. She was not allowed to read the fancy tales her father brought home, of dragons and monsters. She feared the creatures there, though there was always a good knight, or a wily sorcerer, or just a young man to stop them.
Then came another winter, and Father returned with a team of horses and wagons filled with finery. Her guard told her that Father had brought back fantastic things, but that he had promised to show them to her when he was ready. As the first snow fell he came to find her, and they went out t the courtyard to play in the snow. Father was full of mirth, like he had not been since Mother died, and they played in the new snow. He smiled and gathered her in his arms, and then began to kiss her. As his tongue moved against her lips she tasted the sour and began to cough, spitting and vomiting, and he threw her hard against the wall. It was hard to breathe, but one of Father’s friends came to make her good as new. The kind old man asked her what had happened as she told him about falling down the stairs. His face questioned, but the old man spoke his prayers and set her arm and made sure her breath came back to her.
When she came back to her cot she heard the noises. As she breathed she heard It, breathing back, and the room filled with its deep hot breath. When she screamed the noise stopped, and the guard came and found her curled up, and told her to mind herself as her Father was sleeping and had had a hard night.
She wanted to tell the guard of her night, but she knew Father would be mad. Father came to her the next morning, explaining that he did not want to hurt her, that this was what fathers did with their daughters. He laughed and they played, and when she let Father kiss her again he gave her a book.
It was filled with monsters and knights, and she dreamed that night of the Knight, her Knight. He was massive, and he swung a great bending sword much bigger than herself or Father. She rode on his dark black horse and felt its silvery mane, and the warmth of the Knight’s black plate armor on her legs and she rode near the pommel. She felt his warm breath, and then heard that bellowing, the sounds from under her bed, and began to scream.
The Knight looked down at her, and then dissolved like all dreams do, the pounding of his charger’s hooves replaced by the guard pounding on her door, telling her to stop screaming.
She fell asleep with the deep breath, and when she awoke the frost on her window was gone. She tasted the melt, and it was salty and bitter. Her Knight would be there, to keep the dreams away, and Father would be nice again as she did what she was told. When Father began to kiss her in his chamber she felt the heat, and the bellows came as he hiked her shift above her head. As Father looked at her she began to cry, and then he began to hurt her. She could not speak as he threw her to the ground, and beat her with his hands and kicked her in the side. She hurt when Father took her back to her cell, but she fell asleep to the pain.
In her dreams it did not hurt though bruises remained, and the Knight was there. She picked flowers as he sat sharpening that great blade, and the Knight’s horse whickered in the meadow. The flowers were cold, in strange colors, but when the Knight saw the flowers he swept her up. Clutching her to his chest. She dropped the flowers and saw the charger come to nibble on them. Steam seemed to come from the horse’s nostrils, and the Knight took her on foot deeper in the clearing. The trees were strange twisted things there, and she could hear them rustling, sounding as if they were saying things. She saw what looked like faces then, twisted in sadness and pain, some bloated with ivy roping below them, others bleeding sap from limbs or foam from their gaping bark mouths. The Knight looked towards her, his helm dipping, as he took her to a small spring.
As he lifted her shift she shirked away, thinking of Father, but the Knight shook his head and motioned for her to go into the spring. She splashed, playing in the spring, and tasted the salt and bitterness of her window pane when the water went into her mouth. The Knight looked away, modest as a good Knight, and when she put her roughspun back on she saw no bruises. The Knight’s helm turned towards her, and he hugged her to his chest again… Then came the deep breathing, the bellows, and the monster took her away from the Knight and back to the morning.
Soon, she heard, soon.
That night her Father had a beautiful woman from the village come and dress her. The gown was beautiful, black velvet and little red garnets, and it was warm and soft. She said how she loved it and the woman smiled. She was taken to her father’s hall, and they ate such fine foods. Capon and hare and ham, a feast, and her father drank heavily from his cup. Once all of the food was brought Father had the servants go away, and asked her to sit down on his lap. He began to feed her from his plate, sweetly placing food on his fork, then on his fingers. He had her drink from his cup, and she began to feel warm and safe against him, knowing he would never hurt her. She was a good daughter, and that time was done… He even said so himself.
She began to become sleepy, and Father gathered her in his arms, taking her up the great stairs. Her head was spinning as he walked her through the library and laboratory, humming a cradle-song and telling her that Father loved her. She knew that, of course. As she looked she saw the Knight in a corner, hidden among the boxes of her father’s latest adventures, his dark plate gleaming.
She felt the soft pelts, the warm down bedding, and her father began to help her get ready for bed. She wondered where her shift was, or did Father get her a new one for their special night?
There was no shift, and she felt her father begin to kiss her. First on the forehead, then on her chin, her lips, her neck… She wanted to open her eyes wide, to cry, but she couldn’t. She was so tired, the wine was in her, warming her. Through her slit eyes she saw Father moving, huffing, down to his smallclothes and breathing onto her, into her face sour and sickly. Heavier, heavier breathing, hot, burning where it touched, wherewashepleasenostopnodonthurtingpainthemonsterbellowsscreamsheatonmenonotinme
STOP.
That voice, so loud, rasping, screeching against her skull. She felt Father leaving her, away from her and hearing, something. Wet, gristly, the feel of rain on her cheeks. The sound of metal scraping, whimpering, Father saying he would never, he was lonely.
YOU DO NOT KNOW SOLITUDE, WARLOCK. YOU TOOK MY LOVE, I WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO TAKE HERS.
It was love, Father said, pure, true love.
The bellowing began to change, sounding like laughter. The sound of crunching, sucking hooves in mud.
Then the Knight touched her hand, and she felt less sleepy. She looked at him, towering, the smell of burning and salt and bitter. Pinpoints of light shone from his helm, and his armor dripped with red. She saw what he was, a knight who had fallen once, done bad, but came to protect her.
“Did, did you come to save me? Is the monster gone?”
YES.
She woke when the Knight touched her face. It was dawn, morning breaking through the glass of her father’s bedchamber. Her father must have gone to breakfast, as he was nowhere to be seen. How did she come to be here? Her father would not like her sneaking about like some thief. She stood and tripped on the gown she was in… It was odd, soft, and bore a coat of arms upon it. A great black steed with flames in its mouth, a scary thing, but Father must have played a trick.
She walked into the lab, past her father’s latest acquisitions. As she passed she heard a whisper, and turned to look. Just a suit of plate armor, shining bright, the armor of a true knight and hero.
He would take her into his laboratory, to see the things he had brought home. The shining daggers, the boxes of incense and twisted dead things, the circles he would draw while she played in the library.
Then one day he stopped giving her kisses on the forehead. He would come home and smell sour, and try to kiss her on the lips. When she turned away he hit her, and it was not long before the girl was barred from the library. She was not allowed to read the fancy tales her father brought home, of dragons and monsters. She feared the creatures there, though there was always a good knight, or a wily sorcerer, or just a young man to stop them.
Then came another winter, and Father returned with a team of horses and wagons filled with finery. Her guard told her that Father had brought back fantastic things, but that he had promised to show them to her when he was ready. As the first snow fell he came to find her, and they went out t the courtyard to play in the snow. Father was full of mirth, like he had not been since Mother died, and they played in the new snow. He smiled and gathered her in his arms, and then began to kiss her. As his tongue moved against her lips she tasted the sour and began to cough, spitting and vomiting, and he threw her hard against the wall. It was hard to breathe, but one of Father’s friends came to make her good as new. The kind old man asked her what had happened as she told him about falling down the stairs. His face questioned, but the old man spoke his prayers and set her arm and made sure her breath came back to her.
When she came back to her cot she heard the noises. As she breathed she heard It, breathing back, and the room filled with its deep hot breath. When she screamed the noise stopped, and the guard came and found her curled up, and told her to mind herself as her Father was sleeping and had had a hard night.
She wanted to tell the guard of her night, but she knew Father would be mad. Father came to her the next morning, explaining that he did not want to hurt her, that this was what fathers did with their daughters. He laughed and they played, and when she let Father kiss her again he gave her a book.
It was filled with monsters and knights, and she dreamed that night of the Knight, her Knight. He was massive, and he swung a great bending sword much bigger than herself or Father. She rode on his dark black horse and felt its silvery mane, and the warmth of the Knight’s black plate armor on her legs and she rode near the pommel. She felt his warm breath, and then heard that bellowing, the sounds from under her bed, and began to scream.
The Knight looked down at her, and then dissolved like all dreams do, the pounding of his charger’s hooves replaced by the guard pounding on her door, telling her to stop screaming.
She fell asleep with the deep breath, and when she awoke the frost on her window was gone. She tasted the melt, and it was salty and bitter. Her Knight would be there, to keep the dreams away, and Father would be nice again as she did what she was told. When Father began to kiss her in his chamber she felt the heat, and the bellows came as he hiked her shift above her head. As Father looked at her she began to cry, and then he began to hurt her. She could not speak as he threw her to the ground, and beat her with his hands and kicked her in the side. She hurt when Father took her back to her cell, but she fell asleep to the pain.
In her dreams it did not hurt though bruises remained, and the Knight was there. She picked flowers as he sat sharpening that great blade, and the Knight’s horse whickered in the meadow. The flowers were cold, in strange colors, but when the Knight saw the flowers he swept her up. Clutching her to his chest. She dropped the flowers and saw the charger come to nibble on them. Steam seemed to come from the horse’s nostrils, and the Knight took her on foot deeper in the clearing. The trees were strange twisted things there, and she could hear them rustling, sounding as if they were saying things. She saw what looked like faces then, twisted in sadness and pain, some bloated with ivy roping below them, others bleeding sap from limbs or foam from their gaping bark mouths. The Knight looked towards her, his helm dipping, as he took her to a small spring.
As he lifted her shift she shirked away, thinking of Father, but the Knight shook his head and motioned for her to go into the spring. She splashed, playing in the spring, and tasted the salt and bitterness of her window pane when the water went into her mouth. The Knight looked away, modest as a good Knight, and when she put her roughspun back on she saw no bruises. The Knight’s helm turned towards her, and he hugged her to his chest again… Then came the deep breathing, the bellows, and the monster took her away from the Knight and back to the morning.
Soon, she heard, soon.
That night her Father had a beautiful woman from the village come and dress her. The gown was beautiful, black velvet and little red garnets, and it was warm and soft. She said how she loved it and the woman smiled. She was taken to her father’s hall, and they ate such fine foods. Capon and hare and ham, a feast, and her father drank heavily from his cup. Once all of the food was brought Father had the servants go away, and asked her to sit down on his lap. He began to feed her from his plate, sweetly placing food on his fork, then on his fingers. He had her drink from his cup, and she began to feel warm and safe against him, knowing he would never hurt her. She was a good daughter, and that time was done… He even said so himself.
She began to become sleepy, and Father gathered her in his arms, taking her up the great stairs. Her head was spinning as he walked her through the library and laboratory, humming a cradle-song and telling her that Father loved her. She knew that, of course. As she looked she saw the Knight in a corner, hidden among the boxes of her father’s latest adventures, his dark plate gleaming.
She felt the soft pelts, the warm down bedding, and her father began to help her get ready for bed. She wondered where her shift was, or did Father get her a new one for their special night?
There was no shift, and she felt her father begin to kiss her. First on the forehead, then on her chin, her lips, her neck… She wanted to open her eyes wide, to cry, but she couldn’t. She was so tired, the wine was in her, warming her. Through her slit eyes she saw Father moving, huffing, down to his smallclothes and breathing onto her, into her face sour and sickly. Heavier, heavier breathing, hot, burning where it touched, wherewashepleasenostopnodonthurtingpainthemonsterbellowsscreamsheatonmenonotinme
STOP.
That voice, so loud, rasping, screeching against her skull. She felt Father leaving her, away from her and hearing, something. Wet, gristly, the feel of rain on her cheeks. The sound of metal scraping, whimpering, Father saying he would never, he was lonely.
YOU DO NOT KNOW SOLITUDE, WARLOCK. YOU TOOK MY LOVE, I WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO TAKE HERS.
It was love, Father said, pure, true love.
The bellowing began to change, sounding like laughter. The sound of crunching, sucking hooves in mud.
Then the Knight touched her hand, and she felt less sleepy. She looked at him, towering, the smell of burning and salt and bitter. Pinpoints of light shone from his helm, and his armor dripped with red. She saw what he was, a knight who had fallen once, done bad, but came to protect her.
“Did, did you come to save me? Is the monster gone?”
YES.
She woke when the Knight touched her face. It was dawn, morning breaking through the glass of her father’s bedchamber. Her father must have gone to breakfast, as he was nowhere to be seen. How did she come to be here? Her father would not like her sneaking about like some thief. She stood and tripped on the gown she was in… It was odd, soft, and bore a coat of arms upon it. A great black steed with flames in its mouth, a scary thing, but Father must have played a trick.
She walked into the lab, past her father’s latest acquisitions. As she passed she heard a whisper, and turned to look. Just a suit of plate armor, shining bright, the armor of a true knight and hero.