Odette (Montresor & sweet.nothings)

[Montresor]

Rogier savored the peachy aroma that flared his nostrils, holding the wine glass to his nose as if it were a bouquet of flowers before finally sipping the sweet white elixer; a delightful vintage of moscato. Rogier always had a taste for the sweeter wines, and the sampling from his favorite vineyard had not disappointed. The mere scent of it took him somewhere warm and peaceful, like the smell of his mother's perfume. "C'est magnifique, Antoine!" The heir congradulated with gentleman's volume before plucking up the bottle to pour another glass. "Your family has truly out done themselves. I'll be quite happy to visit your vineyards... Especially given how lonely sweet Richenza is." The only reply that dared return to Rogier was the muffled sound of a desperate boy; the half-sob half-scream that naturally accompanied a human having their shoulder joints slowly pulled from their sockets. Strappado tended to illicet such a response, though despite the rudeness of his guest, Rogier mainted his politeness about the whole thing.

"It is my suggestion as your friend, Antoine, that you look upon the brighter side of things. That beautiful bride of yours put up quite a struggle. Certainly that should could for something, no? I would expect that it is better than her wanting my touch." His gloved digit circle the rim of his wine glass as he observed the show from his seat, listening to the way bones popped lightly, stretched out behind the young man's arms as Rogier made music out of merciless cruelty. Another sob was wrenched out of Antoine like water squeezed from a cloth. Like tightening a the string of a mandolin, the curiosity was when the threat would snap, or in this case when the boy's arms would be dislocated. The assistant to Rogier's side was equally eager to figure out, slowly pulling the rope which hung poor Antoine by his wrists, slowly drawing his limbs back inch by inch. "There are all kinds of celibacy, Antoine. Though your sweet fruit was forced to yield to me, she did not betray you. You should have sought solace in that fact before you let rage blind your vision. But here we are nonetheless." He took another sip of the fine wine, reclining his head as he closed his eyes. He hummed the notes of a symphony he had attended, the damn viol cords having become stuck in his head.

To his little medication came a disturbance, the tap tap tap of footsteps rushing down the spiral steps of the keep. It ended with a sudden knock upon the heavy wooden door of the dungeon. Rogier did not turn to look from his seat, merely pinching his brow as a guardsman slid the peephole of the door and confirmed his assumption. "My Lord, your steward." Rogier sighed, waving his hand toward the torturer. "Let the boy down." Antoine fell like a tone of bricks, creating a sad fleshy smack into the unforgiving ground as his Master rose from his seat and poured the rest of his wine over the ragged captive's head. "A toast to newly weds." He turned, opening the heavy door to let in the steward. "My Lord... There is a woman waiting in the courtyard. A sister of the abbey. She requests an audience."

"The abbey? They are aware of the last cleric who attempted to offer me poor counsel... She was not told to leave."

"Err... She was, my Lord, but she has not moved. She has remained in the courtyard since dawn... praying, I believe."

Rogier lofted a brow at the thought. Praying. This abbess had at least gained his curiosity, as there were few even amoung the clergy who would dare approach Chateau de Montferrand. "Bring her to me, then. I'll be in the garden."

The command was followed efficiently as to the Master's order. Not long after was the nun recieved by the castle guard who escorted her inside. None of the estate guardsmen were local villagers, nor were they even french men, but rather Tuscan mercenaries. They guided the woman around the oppulant chateau, a place which exuded beauty and warmth that betrayed stories of evil. Missing servant girls, peasents, and even a friar. To the villagers of Montferrand, the Montresor home was more like a sinister lair which hid a vicious dragon. The sister herself found her way around the back of the estate, led up to a garden which rested upon a scenic view in front of a valley lake. The heir sat there, soaking up the sun as he observed the view. The small table beside him held another glass of wine along with a wheellock pistol, though there was no seat for his new guest. "You desire something..." he offered dryly, sparing only a glance towards the woman. He had to restrain himself from making a double-take upon the maiden upon realizing that she was no crone.

 

[sweet.nothings]

Sister Odette was a woman who followed her heart. She had already considered who she was, and what she wanted in life. This woman was not afraid to show her authentic self. She was a strong servant of the covenant, who respected herself enough to stand up for what she believed in and for the welfare of others. And a lifetime of honoring her instincts had instilled within sister Odette the confidence to share, act upon, and pursue what she loved most in this world - and that was the love of God. Her obdurate ways for religion never failed to provide that straight and narrow path before her feet. A purest in devout discipline, most would describe her as, in order to live as the pious soul who labored to spread the good news by example, word, deed, and love. Odette was good-natured, gentle, and faithful in as many ways as she was a soldier, headstrong, and righteous.

It was no surprise Odette had found herself at the threshold of Chateau de Montferrand, seeking to right a wrong. It was the calling upon her life. Many women of God were inside nunneries to find shelter and escape what was considered a 'man's world'. Few women were there to serve the Lord. And still yet, even fewer were there to fight for the Lord. Odette was nothing less of an activist whose passion led her into the lowest and darkest and sorriest of places to shed some light; even if it was nothing but a tiny sample of the grand picture. It was all worth it to her, because she knew that God's light and love was what Christ had suffered for, and no amount of discomfort could overshadow that. Love and forgiveness was priceless, and you never lost any of your light by lighting another candle.

Chateau de Montferrand needed some light, as was rumored the castle's Master did as well. The news of his unruly deeds and unbridled laws spread through the woes of pheasants and straight into Odette's heart. It didn't bother the abbess that so many other sisters and clerics had failed to grip Rogier Montresor's conscience and find him penitent of awful things. She did not live to conquer other's failures, but lived by faith. And she believed that the Lord would see this young Master into His saving grace, as He desired all to be. But there was the story of Antoine Calais that drove her above and beyond the call of service. The poor man who had been newly wed had his wife taken on their night of betrothal by Rogier himself, acting upon some medieval, uncivilized law concocted by barbarians. It was outlandish, and cruel, and wrong, and it hadn't been the first time this had happened either, by Montresor. she waited for hours on end at his gates, praying for both Antoine and Rogier alike. A 'No, you may not enter' was nothing more than an opportunity for God to work a miracle. God wanted to rescue Antoine and give salvation to Montresor, and all the Lord needed was a vessel to work that miracle through. And so Odette prayed, and prayed, and deliberately remained steadfast at the gates of Montferrand's castle believing that God was bigger than a 'No, you may not enter' bark.

And of course Odette's faith in God always moved mountains. She was pleased to finally be admitted inside, but not surprised in the least.

And as she finally laid eyes upon Rogier Montresor, this young man and Master, she was now ever more convinced and certain that all he needed was a little ray of guidance in his life. He seemed quite young for his stately home and cruel ways. All young men were but running, wild stallions with no direction in sight. But Antoine was Odette's primary purpose right now, and she would learn how to entice this Lion to give up his steak. All her layers of clothing, dressed as the 12th century Nun she was, slightly wrinkled as she laced her fingers together in front of her tummy and solemnly regarded Rogier with a stoic stare.

"Yes, Lord Montresor, I do have desire to see one named Antoine Calais released from your arrest. It is, in fact, the desire of many throughout; your people of Montferrand and beyond. Your preference for some outdated laws has gained for yourself some unfavorable recognition. I labor to ask how we can come to an arrangement for his freedom?"

 

[Montresor]

The boy sat under the stare of the lady, his gaze remaining drawn towards the lake across from them as sunlight scattered upon its shores. Across the Marquis' cheek lay the evidence of monsieour Antoine's true crime: a razor gash that sliced the boy from ear to nose. The estate barber had done well to seal and clean the wound, but the scar lasted with a line of hideous stitching. Little could be done for the ragged cut on his right nostril, nor the chunk of ear that had now been carved off features once remarked as unquetionably handsome. Sweet Odette found her request to be something of an insult upon the young Marquis, and it could hardly go unnoticed how his hand lazely drew across the barrel of the firearm at his side. The engineering of the device was one reserved for the wealthy, but its devistation was far from unheard of. Despite this, something of a smirk caught the boy's lip, though the way it seemed to pull at his stitching seemed painful. "Outdated? It is my understanding that your order, my dear, prides itself on tenets that are thousands of years old. What you and the peasentry call outdated, I call tradition. And regardless, it was not the law of the first night to which Antoine has broken which sees him now in my hospitality. Rather, it is the very common law of assault."

The attention of his eyes remained diverted as his hands went to fetch a sip of his wine. The nun certainly had a silky voice to her. Still, she had labored to ask, but she had not begged. "Nemo me impune lacessit. The words of my family, dear sister. I suspect a woman of God ought to know the latin tongue, and the promise of such words. Your dear peasent has attacked me. Whether for honor or revenge over his stolen bride... I care not. The crime is heinous regardless of the reason. And you would ask me to show such a criminal mercy? Is that the expectation I will set for those I rule? A man attacks his liege and is set free... Such will only incite far less discipline among my people." The boy took in and released a long sigh. "Sit," he demanded calmly, though there was of course no place for the sister to seat herself except upon the grass around him. "Whoever sent you to my door was either very naive, or very cruel. Does this woman of the cloth have even a name? Tell me what it is that your nunnery could even possibly offer me for the release of such a criminal... Penitance for my immortal soul?" He offered a soft chuckle.

 

[sweet.nothings]

Odette stood calm and steady, but not without noticing the subtle movement his hand took to find comfort in the close proximity of an ornate firearm. Like a security blanket, she discerned, for something that had insulted him. A quick answer. And Odette tightened her jaw, as the woman wisely understood this was no longer a matter of keeping tradition for Lord Montresor, but was now a matter that had cut personally into his honor and family name. This simple vineyard tender, whom they called Antoine, had made a deep cut into Rogier's pride, and perhaps was even the cause of the fresh scar and dismembered ear and nose. Odette felt a bit slighted that these details had been absent from the story that had brought her here. She felt compassion for him, and although many would likely say he doesn't deserve such empathy, compassion was a fruit from the Lord that extended to all - no matter the monster.

Rogier Montresor had a point to uphold, in his righteous way, and he disputed and belittled her words one after the other without pause. And yet even when he did pause, she still offered no words of constructive guidance towards the truth, because there was a flame in his energy that challenged her to defy him. She was no coward, but a lot of this was clouding the real reason she had come. Each and every remark he made invited avenues of debatable subjects and biased opinions that were battles to be fought and won. Of course, being a war-maiden for the Lord, she did secretly love to engage in such battles...

So she sat, as he had invited her to do so. Or rather, she kneeled in the grass because that was the only proper resting position for a woman of cloth. Odette did not hesitate to do so, for something told her that Lord Montresor did not take kindly to being insulted for his hospitality, as inconsiderate as it was. She would not keep her constructive guidance from him, but it would be spoken softly and attentive to any harmful reactions it might spur. "Actually, Lord Montresor, the tenets of the Old Testament are dated traditions which the church has outgrown, as Jehovah has directed His people to do so. The church has moved towards the good news of the Gospel, for it is the Living Word. There is no shame in laying to rest old traditions that your people have outgrown."

She continued, not leaving his questions unanswered. "My name is sister Odette, Montresor Sir. You ask from this servant of God if I dare suggest that mercy be the expectation, and I do say that I believe it ought to be. Our Father in Heaven rules by love and mercy, and yet he is obeyed and feared just as well. Ad majorem Dei gloriam, if I may be so bold, could become the new phrase for your family honor."

Odette paused, weighing Rogier and his countenance before carefully saying, "This man you hold in your prison was wronged, in the eyes of the Christian Church and God. His actions were provoked."

"But penitence is for the soul of a believer, and unfortunately does not suit your taste. I desire to hear your own heart in this matter, and would like to know what you would consider a worthy offering in stead for this man's release?"

 

[Montresor]

The Marquee seemed to somewhat relax as the nun settled herself humbly unto the ground as if it were so natural for her. His eyes took attention of the older woman; older than him but so much more pretty than the crones which had visited him before. Of course, she saw through the boy that he was and cut through what verbal sparring he had dared of her. The woman was focused upon the heart of the matter. Antoine's soul was at stake, and she seemed a high bidder on its price. Her conjecture to his criticisms bore little interest, but what did strike Rogier was the last bit of her point. What you would consider a worthy offering in stead for this man's release? What indeed. The Marquee's eyes flickered briefly to the elegantly smithed barrel of his pistol and then back towards the maiden. There was contemplation in his eyes, but not pity.

"I will give you five hundred francs to leave the matter be and return to your abbey. That offer is generous, sister Odette; enormously generous compared to what I could do with you. Consider it a donation to the church, or share the money with the winemaker's family." The boy stared her down with considerable challenge to the woman beneath. He was tall and proud and not so open to having demands made of him within his realm. This woman was just a pest, though she continued to intrigue him as the offer proved fruitless. She would not budge, no matter how much he pushed or how much he offered. She should have taken the money.

Rogier rang a small brass bell from his hand and with he chimed in a pair of mercenary guards. The two had been observing from a reasonable distance, but now their shadow eclipsed small Odette as they came to the side of their employer. "This one is bothering me..." He nodded towards the woman rather lazily with all the air of a prince who could not be bothered by a butterfly. "Take her to the tree." There was a pause as the two men looked to the little nun, but as Rogier rose to his feet and smoothed out his blue coat, he gave the two a quizzical look. "Did I stutter?" Grizzled veterans who had become quite used to what their employer was capable of, each man took one of Odette's arms and hauled her on to her feet. Without so much grace they handled her like a prisoner fit for the Bastille, dragging her along the lakeside towards a white-barked plane tree.

A pair of iron restraints had been bolted directly into the trunk of the tree. Along its surface were the pock marks, dents, and chips of blasted wood as though having been pounded on more than one occasion by musket fire. Odette was dragged to the business end of a firing range, and to the target she was clasped in irons. Her wrists were stolen by the metal cuffs on either side of the tree while her back pressed against the trunk. An iron neck brace was then clapsed along her throat, keeping her chin up as she was strapped to the bark like an ornemant. The Marquee approached with a belt of ammunition and powder at his size. With casual familiarity he began to pack powder and ball down into the barrel of his favorite firearm just as Odette's eyes were veiled by a white blindfold of linen.

"Do you believe God is your protector, sister Odette? Your shield?" An object found itself carefully balanced atop the maiden's haid while her neck was kept firmly in check: an apple. "I'm ever so curious to put such a notion to the test. I consider myself an enlightened man, sister Odette, and as an enlightened man I govern reason through experiment. If nothing else, your visit will prove entertaining in that right. We'll leave fate to the hands of God. If I shoot the apple from your head, I will let Antoine leave. If I miss... well, it won't be your problem anymore, now will it?"

 

[sweet.nothings]

Sister Odette only tilted her face to set her green eyes seriously upon Rogier. His offer was generous, but not because of the amount. The peasants of Montferrand would likely exclaim that it was a rare event when the dragon of castle Montressor gave up an inch. But the way that Odette's face seemingly resolved into a displeased frown would speak of how it almost insulted the devout nun. As if he thought money would suffice this woman of God? She released a slow sigh from her chest and gave the young boy an answer of disappointed silence. It was enough for the quick witted Rogier to recognize that his pest of a guest had no intentions of settling upon his five hundred francs.

Rogier rang a bell, which possessed a pleasant chime in contrast to the rough guards who arrived. Odette was puzzled by his mention of a 'tree', but her heart sank, knowing that it couldn't mean anything other than something harmful. Still, she noticed how tall of a young man Monetresor was when he stood up from his chair and adjusted his clothing. It was hard to perceive as the mercenaries hauled her upon her feet, but she was near certain that he stood just as tall as she was, if not more. Her tunic became caught beneath the sole of her simple black shoe as the men made good their duty, making up for their unintentional hesitation. Odette stumbled and was partially dragged away, failing to keep up with their brisk walk, and continued to flounder in step as her nun's habit kept getting dragged underfoot. Oddly enough, the dull beads of the rosary worn at her belt, and the dull cross worn around her neck flickered in the French sun.

She was out of breath by the time they reached the Poplar tree, and visibly uneasy with dread and worry at understanding what was going to happen. One mercenary turned her around and pushed her back against the tree and began seizing her wrists into the shackled clamps, and the other man grabbed her coif and plucked it off her head like a discarded hat, tossing it to the ground. A strand of her hair was pulled along with the coif pin, out from the wimple that wrapped her neck, chin, and head, revealing how silky black her mane was. She caught sight of Rogier just as her head was pushed back against the tree, claiming her neck within the crude ring that kept her poised steady. Odette whimpered a feint cry of fear as her fingers fidgeted, watching him prepare his pistol, and pleaded a sorrowful expression with Rogier until a blindfold darkened her day.

Was that... an apple? Odette continued to fidget her fingers nervously while the young Marquee spoke, but she was wrapping her emotions up in considerable time. She was no saint, but Rogier sounded intent on turning her into a martyr. Odette dug deep and found her quiet place, and that is when her fidgeting stopped. She was scared, but she was probably more prepared to face death than any other person Montresor had shackled to the bottom of the execution firing range.

"You try to provoke God just as you've provoked Antoine?" There was an excited heat in her words, moreso from the dread and fear she was feeling than anything else. "God will not touch your bullet, Rogier Montresor. You are seeking for Him in all the wrong places, and in all the wrong ways."

Her fingers curled into a ball and she took a deep breath, readying herself for an attack she couldn't see coming and was completely helpless against preventing. That was the worst part; not being able to see when it will happen. She spoke in a more resigned voice, as calm as possible, and almost whispered to the young lord. "If it helps you any at all one day, please know that I have already forgiven you." Because Odette knew Rogier would not aim for that apple. He had nothing to gain from doing so.

 

[Montresor]

The Marquee de Montferrand was more than just a practiced shot. Though having never served on the battlefield, the young Lord had stared down the lethal end of a gun barrel on more than one occasion. His streak of killing had brought a shameful shadow over the respected art of pistol dueling, but there were now few who would wish to defend such honors against his aim. It was a legal show designed to settle disputes as a last resort, but Rogier had turned into sport through his acts cucking towards other nobles. The insult of taking another man's wife to bed brought out the beast in his foes, and he turned it against them by waiting until they wasted their one shot on impassioned aim. Widow-making had become its own kind of hunt, but long gone were any men left alive to challenge him. Antoine had been the first in some time, though his attack proved Rogier was not so diligent with a sword.

Now he was said to gun down a fox, but this one stood bolder than he was expecting. The nun was resolute in not showing him the fear he craved, nor even anger. It puzzled him a moment as he cocked the flintlock mechanism. Her words did not plead for her salvation but for his soul, and as she offered him forgiveness the boy squinted. He thought little of her 'help', nothing more than the nonesense of a woman who had wasted her life in chastity, but he would come to think on them. The gun raised as he closed one eye and found his target down the end of the muzzle-loader. Her fair features did not betray her fear. Odette seemed almost at peace to him as he stood at 12 yards, the common distance between duelists. She was no challenger, of course; just a victim. His aim targeted upon the apple for just a moment before it lowered to her heart. A shame her body would go to waste, he thought.

The hammer came down and with it was a crash of thunder. Gone in an instant. Rogier's left hand was tight in a fist behind his back while he slowy pointed the smoking gun upward. As the white haze cleared from the field and drifted over the lack, his aim showed true. So rigidly held by her iron restraints, the body of the nun offered little from the shot than a minor jerk which had seen the apple fall from her head and tumble to her feet. The rest of her stayed bolted to the tree. Rogier approached calmly as he stowed the pistol away, closing in on his bullseye to observe his kill. Certainly it was cruel, but compared to what he could have done to such a guest this was a mercy in his eyes. He plucked the apple from the ground and gave it a gentle brush against his blue coat before biting into it. A finger traced over the wound in her chest: a perfect hole through her habit the diameter of a pinky. Blood did not show well against the black, but at least she was already dressed for her box. He took pride in his shooting, but the arrogence of his features was lost in the wake of her breath.

Odette was breathing, albeit roughly through clenched teeth. The woman wasn't dead despite the precision in his shot. "What?!" The boy gasped. The poor sister was in no position to speak, holding on barely to what little life she had at the end of a thread. All she had felt was a punch between her breast and the sudden pain in her torso. "Get my surgeon!" He spat angrily at his guards who took off with haste while the young man quickly unbolted the irons around her throat and wrists. The woman tumbled forward into his grasp, and as he studied this miracle his fingers fumbled over the wet hole in her back. A clean exit wound. A stripe of red painted the white bark, revealing showing that there was no question in that his strike had landed.


- - - - -


"I cannot tell if there will be further complications at this time, my Lord, but she shoes no illness beyond the loss of blood she has suffered. I would simply prescribe rest, assuming you wish her to strengthen." The delicate old physician offered Rogier his verdict the day after his little show of target practice, but the young Marquee was dismissive with a hand. His verdict on how to handle the situation was up in the air, but it wasn't at the center of his thoughts at the time. "How did she survive?" He stared into the wine of his chalice, the sanguine tint reminding him so much of the blood which had been spilled across his poplar. Only a quarter of his steak had been downed before he decided to dab off his lip and retire from a meal he could not quite stomach. Noel fidgeted. Experienced as he was, there was only so much he could glean from the situation without dissecting sister Odette but his Lord never liked to be left without concrete answers. Part of him feared the woman might be put down and autopsied just for the sake of satisfying his curiosity. "We cannot know for certain, but if I had to make a simple guess... The shot passed through her rib, slipped between her lungs, passed her heart, and missed her spine. Though the grouping of such organs make such..."

"Impossible," he scowled.

"Unlikely..." the surgeon attempted to answer but Rogier was already off, marching through the halls of his chateau to confront the recovering woman. Odette had survived, but this remarkable feat was perhaps more a curse than a blessing, for at once before she had fallen victim to Rogier's curisoity but now she possessed the hell of his interest. She rested now in a luxurious bedroom in pillows and sheets of silk. It was a grand chamber with a view of the chateau's couryard which spilled light over finery of white and gold: Rogier's bedchamber. Though he had not been there to see the surgeon unveil her, the woman had been left in nothing more than a linen shift which covered the bandages that crossed her bosom. Her ruined habit had been left over a nearby dresser.

He crossed the threshold slowly, pausing as the door shut behind him. The look he gave to the resting woman betrayed that he had words, questions, demands; something. Nothing came out, just a quizzical stare that softened before he slowly crossed the room towards the window. He stare out into the couryard was brief before he reached out to pull the window closed locked. The birds were singing and their song mocked him. "How much would you forgive, Odette?" He finally spoke as his eyes met her in the reflection of the glass.

 

[sweet.nothings]

His face she would never forget; so handsome, so raw, and contorted in so much misery that it was heart-wrenching. The drizzle of non-stopping rain drenched both of their clothes. They were both soaked to the core, but it didn't stop her father from dragging poor Odette through the mud-slogged street and up the stairs to the doors of Villa La Chesnaie. He was so drunk, and babbling under his breath words that she couldn't make audible, but three-year old Odette didn't really understand his impaired state of mind. All she could see was how lost her father seemed to be. It frightened her, because papa was normally so full of life around Odette.

A woman answered the door, and took a concerned glance at both Odette and her papa. A moment's later she shook her head in refusal and began to shut the door without offering any words, but Odette's father urgently jammed his foot into the opening of the door to prevent it from closing, and insisted his demands, "You must take her. I can't do this!"

"We have no room!" The woman argued, as polite as possible. "Besides we only take children from mothers who has been widowed."

"But I AM a widower! She is gone. I couldn't do anything..." Odette's papa choked up, and nearly doubled over from the pain in his heart, but it only took a fleeting glance at his little girl to stop the threat of tears once again. She was so similar to her mother in so many ways - her big eyes; so trusting and so very confused. He bent over and swept Odette up into his arms, and she went to wrap her small hands around his neck but he wouldn't allow it. He pushed her towards the woman, through the opening of the door. "Please, you've got to. I...I'm not well enough to care for her."

Having the child pushed into her arms the woman took Odette, quite reluctantly, but it was a nature of her duty. And it was at that moment that little Odette understood what was happening. It was like a blow to her chest, and she cried out as her father quickly turned away to retreat down the steps of the Orphanage. 'Papa! papa!"

But Odette's papa never looked back at her. He never said goodbye, and Odette never saw of him again.

The chattering of the birds outside the reclined window brought Odette back out of her daydreaming state. She realized she had been crying, and she briskly exposed her hand out of the silken sheets of the bed to wipe her face dry. Crying was not something she allowed very often, especially in a place such as this one. She swallowed dryly before slowly and carefully tucking her arm back beneath the sheets of the bed. She supposed that after having come so close to death it was only a natural response to reflect upon your entire life's journey, accomplishments, and weigh them upon the scale of mortality. Odette didn't welcome any of it. But from the moment she had gained consciousness back from Rogier Montresor's attempt at her life, and through the hours of being examined and cared for by an elderly physician, she just couldn't stop the onslaught of memories. They filtered in and out of her mind, whether awake or sleeping.

She felt fragile and vulnerable right now.

And dare she admit to herself, that she was also feeling unwanted, rejected, and disposable. They were her old demons that brought with them depression and sadness. But it didn't make any sense to her how Rogier, as unfamiliar with him as she was, could awaken these devils within her. It frustrated her how his decision to execute her had unzipped this insecurity. She saw her papa wrapped up within the essence of Montresor's attack, all too familiar with the notion of being discarded like an unworthy child.

Odette carefully breathed as she rested on her back, as if every breath was a foreign bodily function. A streak of pain would ripple through her chest muscles if she took any sudden movement, but it was the continuous sore hurt which refused to dissipate even with stillness that made her weak and tired, for it felt like a constant state of labor. Her green eyes once again, for the hundredth time, focused across the room upon her habit, and fondly rested upon the rosary that had been removed from her body along with everything else. It draped and dangled over the dark dresser, pinned by the bundle of humble clothing and forgotten by her host. How she longed to have it in her hands right now. Just as Rogier ran to his pistol, she yearned to run to the cross. Her fingers began to fidget at her sides as they imagined counting the beads on the amber rosary, and imagined reciting every single prayer which every single bead represented.

She didn't know how to process what had happened to her - what Rogier had done. Odette's heart was just as wide, trusting, and confused towards God as her eyes had once pleaded with a distraught father. She didn't know how to address her prayers, nor the proper emotions she ought to be feeling right now towards a God who refused to bring her into heaven. Was it a gift or a burden that she was still alive? Odette could only think of one logical reason, and it was because God was not done working through her yet. Antoine Calais remained in her mind, and his case still moved her heart.

When the Marquee de Montferrand finally entered the room Odette became awash with insecurity, but she did her best to put on a brave face. There was stress in her at seeing his quizzical stare that eventually made her grimace beneath the sheets. He didn't care for her nor for anything she stood for, nor for anything she was requesting from him. He had desired to murder her, and he had followed through with what he had wanted. And now she still remained against his will. Odette forgot how to breath for a moment's time, because no one couldn't have been any more clearer as to how rejected and disposable she was. He unraveled her, and he didn't even know it.

She hated the silence between them, but it was not her place to speak first. Sister Odette endured the tense atmosphere as he addressed the window and its expansive view. Her vision studied his back profile, but snapped to his reflecting eyes as he finally spoke and inquired. Odette faltered in answering him, because yes...it was a complicated question, and it made her puzzled as to his motive. Was this the beginning of an apology? Or perhaps better suited, was this his way of apologizing? Odette did open her mouth to speak but nothing came out, for a new sudden thought dawned between her eyes. Was this the mad introduction to more harmful designs? It did seem to fit his ruthless characteristic.

Odette looked away as fear flooded her heart, and her vision landed once again upon her rosary. "Forgiveness does not come in measurements lord Monstresor." Her fingers began to fidget once again as she dolled forth a three-word prayer within her mind, trying to calm her unraveled emotions. "I've already forgiven you, and there is nothing left to discuss about it.."

She took a deep sigh and followed through with a headstrong heart, yet without returning her gaze back to Rogier. She needed to focus on what God was capable of doing, and not upon what Rogier did to her yesterday, or could possibly do further. "...However, the matter of Antoine still remains and I would very much like to continue that discussion."

 

[Montresor]

Forgiveness does not come in measurements lord Monstresor.

Even reflected through a window pane his eyes burned like hot amber coals, challenging pious Odette upon the firmness of her words. She would make her eat them if he could, and see if she were prepared to swallow. If it was not clear by then, his look gave it away; he was not suggesting any apology... only wetting his curiosity. No one who had faced Rogier's aim had lived. Any one of the man he'd killed would have seized this kind of luck for revenge, but nothing in her seemed fixated upon anger. If anything there was a somberness in her tone. Who was this woman to her divine creator? A prophet or a pawn?

A sudden fit seized Rogier as she brought up the matter of Antoine. The man was still suffering alone in the darkness of the Marquee's oubliette, skulking blinding in solitude while fed only enough bread to be kept alive. The only other nutrition to be found in his abyss were the rats that kept him company. Rogier laughed, shaking his head before pinching his brow. Would she hound him for one peasent's soul until Judgement Day? The woman had been blessed with life, and she seemed intent now on wasting that gift on the threat of a worse death for irritating the lion in front of her. "You're impossible..." He muttered softly before turning to face the nun.

"Was I not clear in my words? I stated if the ball struck the apple from your head Antoine would be a free man. You may yet breath, but I still hit you." He paused, looking over to the rosary left over the nun's habit. Rogier picked up the line of beads and its crucifix, playing with it curiously between his fingers as his thumb brushed the intimate carving. "But..." He sighed through his nose, pondering the woman. His passion for vengeance had indeed waned in the face of what he had witnessed, overshadowed by greed in the face of what he could have. There was no denying that he could simply imprison the woman as well if he so desired, but that would just spoil the game. What he was more interested was choice. Odette seemed resolutte to walk over coals for her God. He would make her walk and count each step.

"You asked me once if there was something that could be bartered for dear Antoine. The question was the right one to ask, but there was little nun had to offer. Your bargaining position has changed though, ma chienne. I would be willing to trade..." He finally dragged his gaze up from the rosary, burrowing his amber eyes into her. There was no arrogant smirk or scrowl leveled upon the woman. Only a very serious stare that was darkly aware of the matters Odette gambled with. "...one soul for another."

 

[sweet.nothings]

"You're impossible..."

"Was I not clear in my words?..."

Odette winced inwardly, recognizing the awful truth in Rogier's mutterings. It was the story of her life, and she had heard that similar phrase more than a dozen times. Yet where her bullheaded faith nearly always shrugged it off, if there was any point in time when that phrase made her feel chastised it was probably right now. Her eyes wavered and flickered lightly as his 'You're impossible...' statement lingered like dust on her face. She knew her request to return back to Antoine's subject was rather audacious of her, given the circumstances, but poor Odette just couldn't help herself, and she offered him no apology in the end.

Her gaze slowly left the rosary to rest softly upon Rogier's young face as the boy took possession of her coveted item. For a moment there was a genuine fear hovering in her expression, in-between every syllable he continued to speak, while his fingers fumbled with the ornamental piece. It bothered her to see this image pose before her. Yes, he had hit her in that murderous display of sport and had spilled her blood upon the poplar bark. While the bullet only split tissue and pierced muscles and gouged a clean hole through her chest, his display of power was another kind of bullet that had sliced into her core. She had experienced him. And now this same power was handling her rosary. It was only a material possession, the beaded strand, but it was the shadow on the horizon that he was attempting to cast over her faith that unnerved her.

"Your bargaining position has changed though, ma chienne. I would be willing to trade..."

Odette livened up, surprised at his sudden shift in willingness. It was enough hope fed into her heart that his sly ma chienne went unnoticed by the modest nun. It was brief though as puzzlement settled in. Montresor's burrowing stare was enough to strike down any ray of light.

"...one soul for another."

He was like the devil; bargaining souls and tossing them around. But her question was for what soul did he now desire? Odette was still struggling with those small inner demons, ..so very personal and so very toxic to her identity; Unwanted and Disposable. She had to scale her way over that wall before she could see who he clearly hinted at, by process of elimination.

It was a delayed reaction, but she tensed up tightly, and began to shift herself into a sitting position on the bed as the realization unfolded. The sheets pulled and dropped away from her torso, showing the simpleton, low-cut sleeveless bed gown the physician had provided her, and the dressings of her bandage. It painfully hurt to do this, and perhaps she shouldn't have for her wound was still so very new and fresh, but it was hard to settle down a rabbit caught in the stare of a wolf. The pain was enough to rob her breath and she crossed her hand to press upon the location on her chest, while resting her back against the solid headboard. "Me...?" She muttered in question, feigning the hurt.

The devil, indeed, stood at her bedside. Odette broke her eyes from his serious fix, and allowed her eyelids to close into darkness. The physical pain in her chest was tiring, but she was also chasing down the foundations of her Christian faith, "Jesus has already purchased my soul, and you may not touch it." This was a practiced and effective rebuke for Odette when warding off a demon. But there was no hesitation or refusal when it came to the matters which pressed upon her heart. Her green orbs returned from their inward abyss to find Rogier's gaze once again, with newfound bravery. "But I do accept this, if you believe the rest of myself can stand in stead for Antoine."

Prophets were the Lord's most beloved pawns, which meant that a humble nun was no less of one. Yes, it was proven so that Odette would walk across a bed of coals for the Lord that she loved.

 

[Montresor]

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.

 

[sweet.nothings]

Philippians 4:13 - I can do all things through Him who gives me strength.

It was not too bad, Odette surmised, as she laid in the bed within the stone cell. In many ways she was already acclimated to this kind of solitude. The spacious dungeon was larger than her first room at Abbey Ligny-en-Brionnais, when she joined the petites souers de la charite at fifteen years old. The Catholic Order had changed the age requirement for becoming a Nun to eighteen right before Odette had said her vows and slipped into the religious conventual. She had been the last generation of girls seeking charity service so young. The room she had been assigned to was only eight feet by ten feet with old, red brick walls and a small two by two foot window incased so high within the wall that she couldn't see its view even upon tip-toes. A simple dresser with two drawers was the only piece of furniture, and a brass crucifix sat atop with a candle and the Holy Book. She had spent many years within that room, and Odette thought fondly of it as she laid on her back and watched the dust particles move within the ray of light that shown through the barred window of her new accomodations.

In fact, the common term for her personal space as a Nun was called a Monastic Cell. Even the name itself provided little separation from familiar chambers for Odette. She finally found herself relaxing slowly in-between the long stretches of solidary hours. And even within a week's time she had already found the spacious cell as a kind of sanctuary, for nothing within it was oppressive for her already minimalistic way of life. It was where she could be natural and authentic with herself; to allow her mind the freedom to flow in whatever way seemed righteous for her spirit, and a haven where she could let go of the need to present herself to someone else. It was her only freedom at this time, as she felt her freedom become smothered by Rogier's heavy demands.

The kind physician had decided that Odette did not need any stitches for her wound, for it was better to just leave it open to drain and prevent any infection. He had explained that she would have a scar if it healed properly, and the sister did not mind too greatly. It wasn't like she was trying to impress anyone with her body! He had commended the nun for her lack of anger towards Rogier, explaining that Lord Montresor seemed to feed on any hint of fury within his subjects like it was a personal challenge. Truth was, that Odette did feel a little vexed with the young boy for his selfish rationale and provocative actions against God, but anger was never the answer. Instead, Odette spent many hours in prayer for Rogier now, alongside those for Antoine, which helped in keeping the sister as humble and magnanimous as a holy temple would be.

She never questioned the worth of her life against the worth of Antoine. Sister Odette dared not go there in her meditation. He was a husband and a father with a lucrative business that had been wronged in an awful way, and that was enough for Odette to settle upon. But she did worry about what her life would be like now once Antoine was set free. Rogier Montresor was a ...iniquitous individual for the pious nun. She feared she would never find respect for such an unprincipled Lord. And besides, his promise was just as haunting as it was unimaginable, "You will be as my chattel; low as a dog fed on table scraps, and willing as a newly wed wife." Odette felt a shiver of angst, wondering where she would ever find the strength to endure such an image. Rogier seemed resolute on placing Antoines sins upon her, and the abbess was not confident she could endure much more of the young lord's intense punishments, especially not as a lifelong endeavor. Her lips still felt how cool the rosary was when she had kissed it for him. An oath made under God was an oath Odette would never break, and Rogier knew this as true.

-----------------

The worst part of every day was having her supper with the Marquee. Poor Odette did not really understand the point in doing so, but it was his demand and she would willingly oblige. Every single day at dusk she was given an evening robe to wear over her bed shift, and so far she had required assistance draping it over her shoulders because the physician had placed her left arm into a sling. He said it would remind her to not use her arm and to keep her chest muscles as unmovable as possible to give the tissue an opportunity to repair. She was escorted to a fairly large dining room where servants tended to Rogier and Odette, both. Their meals were alike, save for the portions, and usually shared in awkward silence across the expanse of a large table. There were notions of consideration extended towards Odette such as a steak already sliced into perfect cuts to save her from the task of doing so, and risking more injury to her wound. It was still uncertain if she would properly survive her wound. No one knew how close to those organs the bullet had sliced, and a single wrong movement of misfortune could rip or tear a remaining tissue and prove lethal. Odette felt like a waiting game was taking place within Rogier's mind; a tug-of-war between disbelief and arrogance. She should be dead, and no one understood why she was not dead. The first few evenings of eating her supper with Rogier was nothing but a spectacle of silence from the lord, as he seemed to weigh whether or not she would be a fitting replacement for Antoine.

With each new sundown meal, the abbess noticed little details more and more that spilled light into her host. Or perhaps, spilling darkness would be a better phrase, for there was nothing for sister Odette to discover that wasn't sinful against everything she had been taught. One could only imagine the quiet, startled expression she held upon the boy servant dressed like a girl. It was something she had never seen before and her fork paused and poised from stabbing a bite of steamed greens. The boy was trained well, for even as he refilled her goblet of wine beneath her silent dismay he never brought his gaze to meet hers. His humiliation was his alone. ....that's got to be not right. Odette's thoughts flickered, balancing this sight against all the biblical versus she had took heart to memorize.

...until Rogier's voice cut through, and Odette tipped the prongs of her fork down to the plate missing her vegetables. "Um.." Her gaze now broke from the gender-confused servant to rest upon Rogier's face. Seven days had passed with meals in Montresor's presence and not once did he offer a conversation topic until now. Why did it have to be about sex? She released her fork and slipped both hands to her lap beneath the table, no longer interested in food. A sigh escaped her nose as she began to work upon answering the question. It was uncomfortable for her and she was not quite sure how to reply to him within context.

"Sex outside of wedlock is wrong." Odette stated dryly. Then she continued as her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her robe beneath the table, "Within marriage, Hebrews 13:4 tells us that marriage should be honored by all, and that the marriage bed be kept pure."

Odette continued to look at Rogier's face, but that was only because he wasn't paying the least bit of attention towards her, but was busy cutting his steak. "What the Bible tells us about sex is exactly my views on sex," she quickly concluded.

Since Rogier was in a talkative mood this time, and because Odette felt the need to quickly change the subject, she thought that now would be a great time to bring up a request. "Lord Montresor, there is still considerable time left before you release Antoine. I would be appreciative if I could have my nun's habit back within my possession, and a needle and thread so that I can mend it. And if it is not too much trouble to ask I was hoping you'd allow for my rosary and cross to be returned, as well as a Bible that I may read during the long hours in my cell?"

 

[Montresor]

There was no interruption as the noble delicately carved slivers of meat. His attention upon the plate of food left the woman's flustered expression safely unseen for the moment. Of course the trepidation of the subject was no less obvious in her voice; a point of amusement he kept hidden. Externally he was stoic; calm and business-minded while Odette hoped to dodge the subject as coyly as possible. For the moment it seemed to have worked. "You are my guest, sister Odette..." He assured with the sentiment of someone who had not attempted to shoot the woman through the heart. "You will want for nothing during your rest. Your personal belongings shall be returned with thread and needle... except for the rosary and crucifix." He dabbed his lip, clearning his throat before downing a long sip of wine. "I think you will agree that someone like myself needs it more than you." The beads and cross were their to his right, laying tauntingly upon the table. They had never left him since he had taken them from her; a strange momento of who was in control despite the cordial attitude.

His servants stood along the wall as they ate, all rigid as soldiers standing at attention. There were four of them, three young girls and of course the boy made to look like one. They couldn't have been older than their Master. With the chime of his bell, Rogier pulled their attention and gestured towards the blonde garcon. The queer thing approached, curtsying gracefully before following to his knees before the man. "Bonne fille," Rogier offered upon a tender voice as he petted the boy's long curly locks and layed his head over his knee. The boy held his hands behind his back and looked up to the Marquee with not so much fear but the look of a dog happy to be praised. Rogier fed the domesticated human small cakes and pastries, offering them like treats to an animal with tender cooing. "Don't pity Genevieve," he remarked to his 'guest'. "He was eager to commit abomination with another man in bed... I corrected the matter by making him fulfill the proper role. Man and woman, yes? Well... this one is certainly no longer a man by my standards."

Genevieve hung his head shamefully as such origins were divulged between them. Eyes lifted up towards the nun, gauging her expression while meeting it with a gentle tilt of his head. "So... this sister has never once touched herself in pleasure?" He inquired with the tone of one discussing the weather rather than a pious woman's intimates. "The bible only speaks of masturbation of men, so far as I'm aware, but let us not kid ourselves the way some men do... women have their own lusts; their own devils. You have never once satiated yours, sister Odette?"

 

[sweet.nothings]

Odette frowned heavily, not caring if Rogier saw how disappointed she was in the spectacle that played out before her. The way Genevive slinked to his knees under the noble's gaze was a matter of slave and master, of which one couldn't pass guilt. But the way he leaned into Rogier's lap and adored lord Montressor with a love that dipped into perverted realms was idolatrous. But it just wasn't that, either. Rogier couldn't have hinted upon homosexuality in any other unobstructed way, and Genevive was painted up and degraded into the opposite gender as if it never mattered in the least bit that men were created in the image of God.

It was no wonder why Rogier wanted to shoot a hole into her heart. Odette dropped her eyes and focused upon the uneaten food scattered about her plate as delicacies were fed to the queer waiter. Here she was asking for this Marquee to give up an old tradition of bedding the bride on her wedding night, and this sort of abomination seemed only a surface issue in face of all the sexual sin playing out before her right now. She can imagine how Rogier took her request that day. Why even bother putting to rest an old pagan law for the approval of some God when his very lifestyle and sexual preference for other men would never pass through all the red tape? It was a battle he would never win, for it was a battle he chose to not involve with, and so of course placing a bullet into her heart was the obvious answer.

Though she doubt that Rogier desired to keep her cross and rosary under honest intentions, she did agree that it was probably best if he kept them closer to himself instead of returning them. Odette straightened her spine and sat tall, and returned her green eyes upon the lord. This time, she met Rogier with a gentle calm that belittled the trepidation in her voice earlier. Likewise dodging his masturbation inquiry, equally so. "It would be a crime to my heart to not feel pity for Genevieve." However uncomfortable Rogier made Odette with such matters, she would not feint before them. Odette had not been an Abbess for no reason at all, and the strong woman clothed her shoulders with informed duty. "We are fortunate that our Heavenly Father is our Judge. He has taken that responsibility out of my hands and has equipped me with other spiritual fruits. if I were to not pity Genevieve there wouldn't be any voice upholding his soul before Jesus' mercy, in prayer." She lowered her gaze upon what edges of the transsexual's profile she could see along the expanse of the great table. "He is confused, obviously, and with no help from you. The poor child has lost his way, and has forgotten that his body was made in the image of God, and for God's glory. That, my gracious lord, is not an image that Jehovah would care for."

Odette still didn't return her eyes upon Rogier's tilted head, yet instead returned to her plate where she picked up her fork and chased a cherry tomato about, all the while taking a moment to pause and address the other matter pressing upon this boys mind. "You are correct, the bible only speaks sparingly about men masturbating, and how it is wrong."

She knew what she was about to say was only a matter of personal opinion, because sister Odette knew that some other nuns would greatly differ. So she was careful with her words to try and explain her own reflective beliefs. "Rogier Montresor, the Lord has given us His Spirit that He may convict us of wrong doings. This may be difficult to understand, but faith is dolled out in measures. My faith is stronger than your faith, and runs deeper, as an example. Therefor the Lord is able to convict me of deeper matters as opposed to someone whose faith is very small, and childish. Personally, I have refrained from all sexual touch and masturbation, purely devoting myself to the Lord in chastity and virginity. For it is my conviction, Montresor, that if the man is head of his house and that a woman is his servant, why should women be permitted to masturbate if men are discouraged from doing so? It never has seemed right to me, and so I have chosen to never satiate myself."

"But I do not blame those who do, my gracious host. Because I understand that the Lord places upon our hearts the convictions that only He knows we can individually bare."

 

[Montresor]

"Never...?" Now there was a word that Rogier Montresor could not quite grasp his head around. He hadn't lost the rest of her words, all of it chastising him through such choice words though Rogier only invited her critique. Her concern for his sin washed off him like water from a ducks feathers, ignored in favor of her own lack of indulgence. "Not even on the loneliest of nights of your girlhood? Not even under the most invasive dreams which steal us in the night? You've never permitted that innocent sin?" He was leaned foward with his chin resting on a fist while his other hand wound a lock of Genevieve's hair around his finger. "Of course not..." The words slipped beneath his breath in some sort of realization. "No sin is innocent. Adam and Eve were condemned for nothing more than childish curiosity, and certainly this sister knows better." The boy lifted his chalice in toast. "To your diligence."

The transexual had found his shame in that moment against the lap of his Master, hiding his face while he had the privilage to. Odette's words stung and reminded him of things that had been stolen; of crimes committed and punishment forced upon him. The Chateau had served as both home and prison, cut off from the outside world in its prestine villa which betrayed a cold truth. After the months it was something of a relief to be faced with someone merciful who had an ear to his suffering. She couldn't understand what it was like there to have made his pact with his Master. Would she have agreed to it if she understood the world his pets were subjected to? Tears found their way on to the leg of his Master, tears which would certainly earn him harsh discipline until there were none left to give.

It was that dinner which had sparked something within the chattel, something which had drawn him down to the cellar where the maiden kept herself. Odette's cell was not guarded, not even locked. Rogier doubted she would attempt anything daring, but if she did the surrounding fields, hills, and forests of the estate were well patrolled by his mercenaries. More than one unlucky abductee had learned how well Rogier knew his own countryside like the back of his hand. His sport for hunting had long since evolved into a cruel game of human quarry, though at least (or perhaps unfortunately) such game was always bagged alive.

As promised, the Genevieve carried Odette's bible, habit, and a basket of sewing supplies into the cell. All of the woman's personal effects had been returned to her, save for that precious rosary and cross. Rogier had taken to wearing it around his wrist as a perverse charm. It was during this small act of service that Genevieve permitted a small chance of bravery, and knelt beside the nun. He asked for prayer and for salvation. There was fear in him over his own soul and the confused thing he had been forced to become. She could not release him from that slavery, no. She was not there to save all of them. But she could perhaps offer protection of the soul. This prayer developed into a ritual sought upon the mornings when Odette's food was delivered, and over the weeks which passed it would develope as to not only encompass Genevieve but the girls which had been stolen by Rogier as well. The sister, it seemed, had earned herself a coven.

It was this same ensemble of young pretty things which saw closely to Odette as the day neared when she would belong in physical form to that devil. Evening preceeding the date was marked by a day of grooming. Each one of the slaves had been sent to oversee the woman's washing personally with all the invasive nature that one would come to expect of would-be chattel. Cloistured thing that she was, there was a lot to take care of before she could be presented. Hair had to be shaven and waxed from all corners where they had otherwise been permitted to grow naturally. It was not long before the woman was as smooth of skin as a Parisian whore, though once properly pampered and brushed like a new mare she was free to adorn herself as she chose. None spoke that day; none offered anything to the woman they had come to seek as a sort of salvation, or they new that window was likely to be closed soon enough.

The assurence of Rogier keeping his word came in the form of Antoine's wife. The redheaded girl was only just beginning to show the swell in her belly from the Marquee's violation, but she was there nonetheless to find her husband. Dragged up from the lowest depths, it was hard to see the man's soul through what he had endured. His skin was pale and malnurished, while his hair was long and ratty. Curls of brown had found faint bushes of grey and as the woman found her husband he collapsed in her arms. It was a promise kept that rode with her as she ascended with a guard beside her, climbing the steps in from the dungeon to Rogier's bedchamber. The Marquee had not seen fit to eat with her that evening, and had instead reserved himself to wait until midnight. There was an exactness to her ownership that he was keen on; a timing and protocal.

Rogier was sat by the window as she entered, the door closing behind her while the boy stared off to catch glimpse of a bright moon amidst warm summer air. He was quiet for a time, not addressing the visitor in his presence while he sat in a loose shirt of black linen. "I have been pondering a certain verse from the bible while you wait upon the inevitable..." He finally offered on a soft tone. "Colossians 3:22. What is your interpretation of these words, sister?"

 

[sweet.nothings]

Be thou my vision, O Lord of my heart;
naught be all else to me, save that thou art -
thou my best thought, by day or by night;
waking or sleeping, thy presence my light.

Be thou my wisdom, and thou my true word;
I ever with thee and thou with me, Lord.
Thou my great Father; thine own may I be,
thou in me dwelling and I one with thee.

Riches I heed not, nor vain, empty praise;
thou mine inheritance, now and always;
thou and thou only first in my heart,
high King of heaven, my treasure thou art.

High King of heaven, my victory won,
may I reach heaven’s joys, O bright heaven’s sun!
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
still be my vision, O Ruler of all.

Be Thou My Vision - Audrey Assad​

Sister Odette sang the song while standing in the middle of her cell. The melodious voice was like a heartfelt prayer. Worship and praise and prayer had always been at the core of her religion, and singing a song was no less of an offering to God. Although having sung hundreds of songs millions of times, this had been the first time Odette had found her spirit within these walls to do so. Her personal prayers were lacking direction. It wasn't to say that she didn't pray for the pious servants and slaves who had been visiting her lately, or pray for Rogier, or for Antoine, or for the hungry and homeless and everything else under the sun that needed to be held up before the Lord. But personally, Odette was struggling with her relationship with God right now, and she just didn't know how to pray for this. She knew God wanted her here because she could see Him working through her. But Odette was facing some challenging circumstances that were testing her own understanding and strength in faith. Instead of stumbling around words in a prayer that felt cluttered, the next best thing to do was to just sing. And so Odette sang, letting the words of the song become her own prayer as they fell from her heart.

Rogier's intended purpose for her had been a bit mysterious at first. His elaborate words "You will be as my chattel; low as a dog fed on table scraps, and willing as a newly wed wife" wouldn't stop running over her mind. They made her sick when she first heard them, and they still did. Through the weeks it became clearer, though. The mystery had fallen off and she had come to realize there was no mystery at all to his spoken promise. Rogier Montressor had meant every single word exactly as it stood, literally.

She was to take Antoine's place, so she assumed she would now be his prisoner for that had been what Antoine was to Rogier's claim, and Odette had agreed for life. But somehow she had a feeling her state of imprisonment would be vastly different than what the Winemaker endured. Given Rogier's twisted interests and all the perverse sin happening within his realm, Odette feared that she was entering into one of Dante's seven layers of Hell. Earlier in the day she had been washed and groomed and prepped, and all of this effort towards the presentation of her body only validated that Rogier had plans for her flesh. It made the song she sang carry even more weight for Odette. She tried to drown her anxiety away with it, because truth be told, she felt like she would break apart into a million pieces today. If it went as far as loosing her virginity it would set her back in purity. she had never imagined these circumstances would befall her journey.

She had dressed herself back into her nun's habit, and prayed that the robe would keep her from falling apart. The woman was least concerned about Rogier's preference. The Marquee had acquired a nun, and a nun was what he was going to get. The days leading up to this event had been spent with her Bible and a needle and thread. The abbess had managed to mend her habit to the best of her ability. She was certainly a better singer than she was a seamstress, but the task had been done with moderate skill and exceptional care. She even had the favor from a servant girl who washed the garment several times with lye soap and water to get as much of the blood stain out as possible. The ensemble was nearly complete if it weren't for her confiscated rosary and cross, which she dearly missed.

Sister Odette sang and prayed until the sun went down; right up to the moment she was retrieved by a guard to be taken to the Marquee. Rogier had allowed her to witness the release of Antoine earlier this morning, no doubt to leave no question within her mind that he had followed through with his end. From the distance where she was permitted to stand, privately in the shadow of a corridor, she could see the swell in the belly of the Winemaker's wife. At least, Odette had thought, the woman wouldn't have to care for the baby alone. It was Rogier's, of course. It was a shame really, that this nightmare was far from over for them. They would be reminded of Rogier when they looked into the baby's eyes, and one would wonder if Antoine and his wife would keep the little curse or do away with it. None of this was right. Antoine had been a prisoner wrongfully sentenced...and so would Odette inherit that fact.

Her stomache was in knots by the time she had reached his bedchamber. She paused only far enough into the room so that the Guard could depart and close the door behind. It was nerve-wrecking to lay eyes upon Rogier again, but she did so with resolution. The sister politely waited for him to break the silence first. By now the young lord's question didn't surprise the Abbess any at all for she had observed how the boy entertained a philosophers mind. Colossians 3:22 had been brought up several times over the past few weeks with the servants and slaves who sought her cell, so the verse was quite fresh in her mind already.

"Colossians 3:22, slaves, obey your earthly masters in everything; and do it, not only when their eye is on you and to curry their favor, but with sincerity of heart and reverence for the LORD." Odette recited the verse without fault under the guise of a steady voice. It was the best way to urge her courage up out of her churning gut. She then took a deep breath and answered him, resting her hands at her sides, "There are no riddles in God's Book, only parables. It means exactly what it says, lord Montressor."

"But I'd like to make clear my understanding, that I am a prisoner, not a slave. And with that, I am a prisoner being wrongfully held under barbaric reasons, for that was Antoine's cup which I do now take up. Would you agree, or am I to be corrected?"

"But either way it stands," she continued, desiring to add. "I'd like for you to know that I am nothing but a servant at heart, and for the sake of my heavenly Father I intend on obeying you in sincerity, with as much subservience as possible. I do not know why you bartered Antoine for me, but I will uphold the generosity with a slave's heart."

 

[Montresor]

Rogier lifted a hand, gently rubbing at the scar which ran across his nose and cheek. He listened to the woman. If nothing else he was at least attentive, his amber eyes studying her like a hawk from his far side of the room. The dim glow of lantern light cast a shadow over that marred side of his features. His perched silhouette began to rise from the side of the window, growing in high before his shoes began to pace towards her. As he stepped further into the light, it was easier to catch glimpse of the dark shape in his left hand: a bundle of hempen rope with a width only so much bigger than his thumb. "But you are..."

A hand reached up to tenderly brush the woman's cheek as the young Marque stood before his newest property. His fingers cupped her chin as he looked into a pair of soft blue eyes. "You've been a slave since the day you plege yourself to the service of the Lord. You sing His praise, you sit on your knees and you follow beckon His love like a dog whimpering for table scraps." The woman stood cornered between her owner in flesh and the door. There was a hunger to the amber in his eyes which was like that of the wolf. As his hand trailed down it followed her throat, chest, and then her arm where Rogier took Odette's hand. His fingers were cold, and perhaps seeking to find some warmth in her body, rubbed between hers.

"Do not be so insulted. You wear His yoke well; with subservience and gratitude." He tugged her gently, pulling brave Odette towards the center of the room. "You are His servant, His daughter... His wife. Your chastity belongs to Him." A troublesome smirk touched the corner of his lip as his arms slid about the waist of older woman. She was embraced in ways that she had perhaps only dreampt of in the grasp of another man, and as he leaned in a devilish whisper caressed her ear while his hands played at the buttons lining the back of her habit. "Tonight you are going to sin, sweet sister... And when I am done you will have begged for it."

The dark dress was torn down with savage force, tearing at seams she had worked so hard to repair, only to have her armor shed from her skin. With it came the white of her shift, ripping silks from her pale form until her naked bosom showed in the glow of the bedroom. All was taken away; every inch of protection and modesty save for her coif, which was left perfectly intact. "There we are..." He hummed as his cold palms brushed over her chest, thumbs playing at the budding pink of her nipples. He smiled over her shame before turning the woman.

She faced the bed as he took her wrists and pulled them behind her back. The rope soon found its way around her, wrapping around each hand and over her shoulder. They tethered her arms in place, binding them as the web constrained her torso like a spider spinning his meal in such an elaborate net. A band of black silk was wrapped around her head to blind her eyes. The maiden was left as helpless as a broken and saddled mare at the mercy of her rider, and with every intent to mount that beast he pushed her forward. Her waist met the edge of the bed, bending her over it as her chest met the many cushions with a sudden oof.

"Did this girl ever get up to mischief when she joined the abbey? Was she punished? How did they discipline girls like you?"

 

[sweet.nothings]

Oh but how wrong he was. Odette's blue eyes took on her convictions, and no doubt Rogier could read the defiance in them. God did not call his people into slavery, but into service. She was a servant of the Lord, willing to walk away at any moment and any time, if only such a love could be stripped from her. Yet Rogier's touch halted her audible dissent. His hands on her waist was holding her breath in her lungs, all the same. So many days of sitting in his presence across the expanse of a dinner table could not prepare her for being in his grasp, so close to him. So many hours and nights spent in prayer trying to equip her self for this had not helped the Nun any at all. So many times she could surprise people with her bravery, and yet there were moments like this when Odette felt that she couldn't stand on her own two feet. She didn't know why he could silence her like this...

...the Sister did not like his words. It was one thing to know that she may not still be a virgin after this night, but it was another thing to hear how Rogier twisted that all around and intended to put her to shame. It made her blood rise and set her jaw tight, and also put a fear into her depths. Because if someone could be such a monster and yet charm her at the same time, she almost believed he had the power to make it happen. But only almost; because Odette would probably take another bullet before she would beg for anything from him.

Odette yelped when he gripped her habit and ripped its seams, frightened by his sudden aggressiveness. It was off and pooled upon the floor at her ankles before she could think, and he began pulling and damaging her undergarment just the same. She rose her hands to her chest and pressed the loosened material against her bosom as if to keep it from falling off and revealing her nude, but a simple final yank from Rogier at her shift released it from her hands. Odette then dropped her arms at her sides, forced to accept that he had stripped her naked. Again, she had known this would happen, and she had promised him an obedient heart, but even a dog couldn't resist it's natural instincts.

She avoided looking into his eyes and even tried ignoring his smile. She even tried to disconnect her mind from his hands that brushed over her mature breasts and their sensitive buds. But this had been the first time any person had touched her like this, and it was hard to not react. Her tummy quivered like he had tickled her, but it was really just the release of pent up nervousness as she tumbled down the slopes of a cliff. Things were happening fast, and moments later he had her wrists behind her back tethering them up with the length of a rope. Odette didn't really understand this part, but she remained compliant as the crude rope bit into her flesh with unforgiving binds. Then the blindfold darkened her world, secured over her coif, and she found herself pushed forwards until she fell over atop the bed. Odette whimpered at this helpless feeling and the vulnerable position of her body. She pressed her left cheek to the sheets of the bed and felt how hot her blushed skin was against the coolness of the bed.

"Spanked or shunned." Odette's voice was uncertain as she answered Rogier. It was not unheard of young girls in the convent being spanked for their unruly behavior, but older women were mostly shunned for a long while, if not singled out and ostracized. Of course Odette had always been an exemplary student of the Lord and of the Sisterhood, and discipline had never been needed for her. But there was no need to tell Rogier this, especially at this moment. She took a deep breath and exhaled into the bed, frustrated with the web of rope that bound her helpless. "Please don't hurt me. I said I would obey."

 

[Montresor]

Talon-like fingertips raked up the back of the woman's naked thigh, rising over the curve of her bare ass whilst her tormentor took full advantage of his excellent view. The secret of Odette's cunt lay framed in the shadowy depths between her legs, a picture she seemed desperate to close as much as possible from Rogier. He let her be shy for the moment as she fidgeted in her bindings, legs tightly pressed together like the defensive virgin she was. Surely she had expected her rape to be a sudden and violent thing, and while Rogier's method of unveiling her body was not polite, his method of toying with her was neither rough or quick. Both palms found there way to the woman's sides as he stood behind her, holding just beneath the curve of rope that slid along her torso. From their his paws moved down, each simultaneously marveling at the smoothed road that led down to her rounded hips. She was in prime position to be stolen and mounted. The Marquis, it seemed, had far more vicious games to play.

If Odette had known just what her vain little attempt to placate him had stirred she likely would have shut her mouth. Instead, every meak plea for mercy just made him that much harder for her. A kiss came to the back of her knee, then upon her thigh, and traveling over the flank of her ass. He kissed the sister to the base of her spine and followed upward. Shifting over her bound arms (but not missing to kiss her clenched fist) he pressed his lips against her shoulder and whispered gently to where the coif covered her ear. "I know you will." His voice simmed to drip with a perverse sense of admiration. The warmth of his hand found its way upon her inner thigh in that moment, shifting up towards the reaches she had never dared to entertain. It was there that the devil molested God's gift, with a stroke of digits so gentle that it was sweet upon her button. He played and he teased as she fidgeted and breathed, and by the time her resistance against the hand had melted was the moment he took her pleasure way.

The fingers retreated, and instead the darkness of her mind was filled with the sharpest sting. Rogier's cupped palm smacked hard against Odette's pale ass, cuffing her like a child who had been caught playing with themself. His other hand pressed upon her head, planting her firmly against the sheets as he continued to beat her with an open hand. Pale skin made the strikes blossom wonderfully. He enjoyed the kick of her feet with each firm spanking, the jerk of her body so unaccustomed to hum barbarism. "Beautiful..." He sighed, once more raking his fingertips over her body now that she was left quivoring, each digit sending ripples of pain as they glid over the reddened curve of her bottom. "Savor it."

He gave her time to taste her own pain, to treat with it like a wine connoisseur. Certainly there was nothing so torturous about a spanking compared to what other agonies he could inflict, but where an amatuer would only focus on levels of pain, Rogier knew true suffering was a matter of personal experience. The older woman was now nothing more than a child beneath him; that was the strength of a simple hand against her bottom, of all the memories it could invoke. Of course, her moment was finished when he demanded it be finished, and the hands which one struck her now grabbed at Odette's ropes to manhandle her as easily as a marionette. She was dragged further on to the bed and pushed over on to her back. His hands hands move to part her legs, but her squirming seemed intent to fight an dissuade his entry there. As you wish.

Rope found its way against her left ankle and the leg was suddenly pulled taught, dragged towards the post where it was tied off. Soon the other came, stealing her right foot and pulling her legs apart so that it too could be secured to the opposite pole. She was wide open for him, and the shifting pressure of the bedding told that a beast was approaching. Yet for all his evils he once more met her with the tenderness of a lover, kissing upon her bound ankle and up across her leg. The demon seemed intent on seducing his claim. His lips found their way along her inner though and his breath cascaded over her sex. It teased and tickled before she felt the briefest fleck of a tongue dart out to play. He kissed her between the legs, but it was no mere peck. His passion poured over her cunt like honey, rolling his tongue around the wrinkled pink of her button while occasionally sucking upon it.

He played her like she was a piano, and when it came time to crescendo he was fully committed. Rogier pushed her over that edge; plunged her head into the water with his mouth alone. One might mistake his intention for that of a strange gift, but it what he gave her was no favor. He had given her something to want, to crave; something he could no so easily feed or deny. That was the evil in his mercy.

 

[sweet.nothings]

Oh dear God...!

Odette ran abashed with thoughts and prayers reeling towards her heavenly lord....in all the wrong ways.

…please make him stop...

The seasoned Sister broke so many cardinal rules in her mindful pleas that she would have been expected to become set ablaze with hellish fire. Firstly, she was no longer a babe in the Lord, and was experienced enough to know that God did not 'make' anyone do anything. To ask God to intervene was so selfish on her behalf, and incredibly neophyte in her relationship with Him that she knew He would be making plans to take her back to square-one training. Secondly, you never pray to the Lord in your mind. There is never any guarantee that He hears you (or so they say). And thirdly, most of all, you don't bring the Lord into your sexual acts!

The lantern in the room flicked Odette's bare skin like a mesmerized audience, casting cell shadows over her pure, womanly form. But the Sister could not notice such things. The blindfold held her against a dark void of nothing to apprehend with repressed eyes. There was nothing but the fretful thoughts in her mind, ears calibrated to every shift of Montresor's movements, and a body attuned to every minute touch. Odette squirmed in her bindings like a desperate creature. It was too much. Her spanked ass swirled in a brimming heat, having to scoot in friction against the sheets to avoid his tongue that toyed with her flower. Her hips rounded and writhed in reaction, but her body just could not escape Montresor's advances. She had promised the Marquee that she would obey and submit, and she still was intent on doing that, but this was not what she had been expecting. Nothing could prepare her for the sensations that he made ripple from toes to nose. It was all so very new and foreign to her. She struggled, consciously, to accept his hands on her body and his mouth over her heat as to lay honor to her promise, and somehow, in some way, align her righteous convictions into reason.

But there was no reasoning to this. It would have been better if he had just raped her fast and got it over with. She lay bound to the pleasures he was playing out on her body causing Odette to feel things she had never felt before. More and more, deeper and deeper, until suckles upon her budding button drew heavy gasps of surprise from her lungs. Something was happening, in that her body was betraying her mind. She didn't want to enjoy this sacrilegious crime. The studious Nun began to frantically pray in her mind, not caring about proper prayer etiquettes to fill her mind and distract her body from the pleasure. The blindfold began to grow damp as she began to weep in her prayers …Dear God please save me from this sexual sin, help me to resist this sin, please empower me to be disciplined and to resist this, help me to live pure and acceptable before you...

Odette began to thrash her head from side to side trying to fend off the surmounting edge of an orgasm. She began to moan as if the audible noise would help give her strength to keep the pleasure at bay. "No no no no plleeeeasee!" Now reduced to begging, she was desperate to get him to stop with his cruel teases. It was becoming increasingly hard to not just give in to the ecstasy, and she was feeling powerless in her own resistance. "Please stop please don't."

"OoOoohhhhwwwh!" Odette's body tensed up only to release a powerful, first-ever orgasm. Her cunt spasmed and throbbed deeply in a heated passion, and euphoria rushed into her head. She couldn't catch her breath at first and her limbs raked against their bindings. It lasted for only a quarter of a minute, but it was quite wonderful, and as the orgasm rippled away and her adrenaline fell down she became overwhelmed with guilt and sorrow. The sister began to cry, and she murmured a string of "I'm sorry's" over and over again, obviously speaking to her heavenly Father over the anguish in her heart and for forgiveness. She had nearly forgotten about Montresor being there in bed, hovering over her. Atonement needed to start immediately.

 

[Montresor]

Rogier's breath climbed up over Odette's pale stomach, rising to meet her throat as his shadow began to loom in the dim of the candlelight. The aftermath of such an intimate kiss lay in the shattered mass that was the nun. Flushed and panting, her sorry's spilled out like a brat desperate to avoid the belt. Where there was anxiety and guilt, Rogier attempted to fill the void. He kissed her eyes, and her cheeks, and eventually a press to her own lips which tasted of her own wonderful cunt. "Good girl," he repeated, letting the assurance slither and settle into her ear upon a tender whisper while his body blanketed her. The press of his manhood came up between her legs then, sliding against the seam until it found the wetted entrance. It was time for her body to fulfill its purpose.

There wasn't as much sweetness in those moment's as the Master pressed his palm over Odette's lips, sick of 'sorry' and 'please'. He stole her, raped her, in whatever poetic terms one might fancy to soften the act. But there was nothing poetic in the force of his rutting and pumping while a sober face stared not at her but rather into the pillow as though she were not there. It was only as the time neared that he began to truly writhe. A struck her across the cheek out of nothing but pure lust, pure hate for her beauty, pur wrath for the insolence that was her continued breath. He choked Odette, kept her nose shot and her throat clenched while she felt the deep penetration an the spasming of his cock. The warmth welled into her, a country invaded by small soldiers where in they would attempt to seige the castle of her egg.

Spent, the tension in Rogier's body slacked and he instead began to unbind the pretty pale thing, still remaining only in her coif. He pulled her into his arms like a bear nestling a cub, and pressed lips into her throat. No words came, but feelings spoke. He held her possessively, somewhere between affection and greed, and whenever she may have found some position of comfort in his grasp his hand wound smooth around her thigh an seek to play between her legs. "Good girl..." He breathed, half a purr and half a growl.



It was difficult to tell the time from the start of that moment to the finish, but it was somewhere between an hour and a year. When Rogier decided they were finished, he riled her from the dream with little regard to her comfort. She was pulled an pushed like a doll, forced off the bed and on to her hands an knees. A boot pressed upon the center of her back, forcing the bitch's head to the ground. "Stay," he barked. With one hand, his fingers slippe beneath the coif an tore it from her head. Hand's move through Odette's hair, loosening the braid which had once kept her locks modest so that they rolled out in a glorious mane. That mane became his leash as he tugged the dog behind him. They left the Marquis' master bedroom as she stumbled down the hall, wagging her bare ass the whole way to another room in the upper part of the estate.

They climbed a spiral staircase, one hand and knee at a time as she bruise against stone steps. Finding the rop of the spire, its circular chamber resembled more of a dungeon than a priness' keep. It brought to light another wicked rumor which had spread throughout the lands Montferrand: the 'Maiden Vault'. Rogier dragged Odette to the center of the room before he straddled over her, pulling her to sit up beneath him. The sharp echo of a 'snip' and the tumbling of hairs down her shoulder signaled the slave's fate. Hair was pulled into clumps and sheared away like she were a shape. Soon her mane was cute down to something ragged and boyish.

She was pushed down again as leather engulfed her head, smothering her eyes, nose, lips, ears. There was nothing of her left. There were many ways in which children of the chapel humbled themselves beneath heaven, but Rogier was demonstrating a form of humility so low it made the worms look like angels. Buckles came up around her skull, along with lacing. Any hope of being able to pull them loose on her own was dashed as her wrists were pulled into leather cuffs behind her back. The piece de resistance was the sudden chill which came up between her legs and around her waist, introducing her to what the Master's finest smiths had crafted just for his victims: a chastity belt so well fitted that it could have kept a nymph celibate... unless of course they took to the sin of sodomy.

The padlock sealed her fate with a lovely click just before a stick came up to thwack the whore's ass. "Move," he demanded of the hobbled thing, ushering it into what it soon knew as a cage. A metal collar came around her throat, with a chain which linked to the top of the cage. The length of the chain followed through a loop and connected back down to her wrists. With the advantage of keeping her bound, the chain made it maddeningly impossible to find a point of complete comfort, choosing between choking herself and induging in strappado. Her knees, at least, could find some ease on a cushioned bottom of wool, while the chamber itself was well insolated and heated for its altitude.

"This is your home now, my princess. You should take comfort that it is that much closer to heaven." Rogier knelt down in front of the beast, her featureless face staring at nothing as he reached between the iron to cup her cheek. "Good night, ma chienne."

 

[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."

 

[Montresor]

The wet scent of mud and rain filled their noses, clothes now soaked as the water poured around them. A boy and a girl; both siblings. He was fourteen and she a little bit older but not by much. Rogier had a soft grin on his face, looking down at the mud that now stained his trousers and her dress as they fled through the rain to find shelter beneath a strong tree. Their little adventure into the woods away from prying eyes had been cut short by the storm, but Rogier did not seemed to mind. He liked the sound as it all rushed around them. It was when the distant thunder called that he could feel Colette shivering in his arms. She was soft and sweet in her pale blue dress that matched a pale blue eyes. It was the only difference between the two, besides of course gender. He sighed as she leaned her head on his shoulder, and he kissed her neck. She kissed back. The trail of kisses began to tumble their way down Colette's front until she exposed the bud of her nipples to him and let the boy take as he wished.

The storm eventually subsided but it was not to last before a storm of tears.

---

Rogier ground the wooden balls of the prayer beads between his thumbs. He looked at the little crucifix that dangled in his hands. The boy could strip Odette to her skin, and yet it was only without this that he felt he had truly undressed her. What conviction could be so powerful that he enabled her to endure this? To choose this? Golden eyes lifted from his seat at the side of the chamber to look up at her. Dawn's light speared in through an arrow slit in the side of the tower's wall; a crevice too narrow to fit through but just wide enough to peak at freedom. The light struck Odette's pale skin, coloring a vibrant stripe across her body while she fidgeted in agony and restlessness. As he watched, he clenched the crucifix in his palm. No... Her faith would break. Everyone breaks.

The exact length of time he had been sitting there watching was difficult to determine, but it was at least just before sun began to creep up. It was long enough to enjoy a crepe which now sat half finished at his side. There was something calming about being there, about just watching her acclimate while unable to find the spot she could sleep in. Poor puppy. Part of him felt it cruel even for him. Odette had only always been polite... He pondered how much pushing it take to make her violent. There were other sins beyond mere lust to trip her into.

Rogier rose from his chair, riding boots clicking against the stone ground as he made his way to the cage, leaning over it. His eyes spied the scar in Odette's back where the lead bullet exited her body, sparing her life by chance or by miracle. After a moment, he unbolted the chain that held her neck and arms and let her body go slack. The cage was opened, and his arms carried her exhausted body out until she was sprawled across the stone floor. Pierce by piece, her body was freed from the chains and from the leather hood that covered her face. All was bare except for the chastity belt around her waist.

He permitted the woman to take her time huffing in her daze before settling down the fine china plate in front of her, it's articulate beauty contrasting with the rest of her tower dungeon. It carried his half eaten crepe with a bit of cream. "Eat." He spoke gently.

 

[sweet.nothings]

Through the night there had been no rest for Odette, both in body or mind. How could she have found it? She had even honestly tried. When her thoughts had finally gave up into exhaustion her body had begun its complaining against the arduous, bound position. She whimpered a few times into the stretch of some lonely hours, just to let some steam escape out of the pot of helplessness she felt. They were sounds of suffering, because she knew no one was around to give her a moment of their time. If they were, she knew also that they wouldn't care to be concerned. Odette didn't really even know for certain how long she would be like this, and that was a very large fear that mandated plenty of her time.

She was long passed the point of aching muscles and a sore neck, and passed the point where her blood forgot how to nourish the pinched nerves in her wrists around the cuffs, when she started to believe that she may not be alone anymore. By her guesstimate she had been like this all night long and the sun could have been rising or shining outside by now. Her forehead shuffled along the padded floor only an inch before resting once again in a spot that her smothered face had frequented many times over by now, trying to listen for any sound that may breath hope into her. By now she only wanted relief from the bindings. Little sounds like the soft brush of fabric shifting or dainty clinking made her believe that Montresor may be back, if he had ever left at all. It made her shift and rock more frequently, like a little girl with an increasing need to go potty. She just wanted free from this cage. It was conflicting to be so very upset and hurt by him, and yet be in a spot where she needed him.

Finally she heard what confirmed the presence of someone; footfalls coming near her, and soon the touches of someone working the chains and buckles and cuffs. Her arms protested the sudden slack of freedom by jolting sore pain into her shoulders, and feeling like weak jello. She was helped out of the cage but perhaps too soon, because her body decided for her that laying on the stone floor was about all it could manage at this moment. Her knees and legs didn't want to unfold out of their kneeling, but she made them anyways. It confused Odette how she felt like crying and sobbing, but she didn't. The woman of covenant only breathed heavily, and relief came fast when the hood was released and pulled away from her head. She sniffed and huffed the cool, fresh air, welcoming it into her lungs and glad that it no longer filtered through leather. Before her eyes even adjusted to the sights of the room her hand was already rubbing at her eyelids, cheeks, and lips.

Finding her bearings, she finally moved to sit up on the floor. She had found Rogier with her eyes, and tears formed in their edges without her permission. Yesterday she would been conscious of her nude form so very exposed and vulnerable, but today she was only conscious of Rogier. She rubbed her knees and her legs, hands roaming down to her ankles to try and rejuvenate their stiffness as Montresor sat the breakfast plate upon the ground in front of her. He wanted her to eat, and yes she felt hungry, but she wasn't sure if putting food down on her nerves was best right now. More than anything she felt dehydrated, and parched in her mouth. Her fingers of one hand picked up the crepe portion, while the fingers of her other hand went to her hair. She started to measure the length of her hair by running her fingertips from the base to the ends as she chewed on a bite of food. Sadly, after swallowing the bite, her voice quaked as she softly asked her bitter question, "Was my virginity not enough?" The question seemed to disgust her, because she dropped the rest of the crepe back upon the plate. Both of her hands now ran through what was left of her hair, fingers combing through the shortness, "Why did you do this?"

 

[Montresor]

The noble stood over his would-be savior watching her gather the little broken pieces of herself as horror crept into her features at the touch of her hair and scalp. Rogier's eyes were not so much empathetic as they were simply calm, with amber irises that bore down upon her naked form. A hand reached down to tenderly caress the side of her cheek with his fine leather glove, the softness of it like the texture of a newborn. His hand smoothed down to gently cup her chin before brushing his thumb across her lip. It dipped into her mouth, running over her teeth. "Bite." He let her nibble on the glove's tip while he slid his hand out of it and let his bare fingerips caress the top of her head, admiring he loose boyish hair.

"Because the Kennel can get filthy, and this is the easiest way to to avoid and treat lice. Because the pride of a woman's long hair offends me," he admitted with an honest cool tone, as if it all should have been enough. "Because I think you look prettier this way. Because it is what I want." His digit curled strands of short hair around it before plucking out a long strand that had been left standing during her mangy haphazard cut. "Hair grows back, ma chienne. Maybe if you are good and I fancy it then I will let it... or maybe I ill sheer you bald. Wouldn't that be nice?" He gave the girl a tender pat on the head. He then place his hand out expectantly under Odette's chin. "Give," he ordered while waiting for the glove like a dog who had a toy in it's mouth.

The Master stepped away, procurring a fleece blanket which he laid across the ground. "Lay on your stomach." He followed her down, sitting over the woman as he removed his other glove and began to press his finger tips between the base of her neck and shoulder, easing out the tension. "Relax," he instructed as if such a thing were so easy. "Release the tension in each muscle, starting from your toes and slowly up to your neck." As she settled, Rogier began to massage his naked beast, working his knuckles down her spine before working on her thighs and calves. He treated her like some sort of slave-emperess, taking her arms one at a time to stretch and work out the stiffness that had built up in her twisted body.

"Your virginity was a starting point," he elaborated as he massaged her foot. "You traded places with your predecessor, that means I get everything that would have been mine... I will take everything." He laid her feet back down before rolling her over on her back. The boy was suddenly on top of her, palms flat beside her head while his knees pressed her legs apart and his hips moved in to fill the gap. His groin pressed to hers, but the heat of his eros was blocked by the steel of her chastity belt. It did not stop his dominance from dripping all aroun her as his scarred young face beamed down at her.

"Was it everything you expected?" his voice whispered to her as he craned his head down and breathed over her chest, heat flaring across her pink nipples. "No.... Hmm... No, you expected to hate all of it, didn't you? But you didn't..." He raised his head, hovering his mouth over his neck like a predator ready to bite, but he didn't. "When I kissed you there it was heaven. When I was inside you it was something else, but it wasn't purely hell." His words kissed her ears. "I know this because when we are linked, when I push it in and your body swallows it, I am a part of you. Whether you allow it or not, it is a shared thing."

"So tell me... Do you want me to kiss you there again, Odette?"