Lord Corvus chambers in the palace…
“Please,” Lyssa begged, the word a dry rasp. “Just untie one hand. That’s all I need. We can go out the window… ”
Mila’s face remained a placid mask. She leaned forward, the damp rag in her hand. Her other hand went to the torn lacing of Lyssa’s bodice. She didn’t tear it, she worked it, her fingers deftly pulling the ruined lacing free, letting the fabric fall open to expose Lyssa’s chest. The cool air of the room pebbled her nipples instantly.
“Stop this! Listen to me!” Lyssa’s voice rose, fraying with panic...”
The damp rag touched her skin. It was warm. The sensation was so shocking in its mundane intimacy that Lyssa flinched. The girl began to wash her, starting at the hollow of her throat. The rag moved in slow, circular strokes, wiping away the dust of travel, the fear-sweat from the cell. It moved over her collarbone, across the upper swell of her breast. The girl’s touch was neither rough nor gentle. It was clinical.
Lyssa whispered, the fight draining into a confused despair. “Please, just… stop.”
The girl paused. For a long moment, she was still, the rag cooling on Lyssa’s skin. Then, a sound, so soft it was almost inaudible.
“Sorry.”
She resumed washing, the rag skimming lower..
Lyssa blinked.
“Can we talk... please?’
The girl’s eyes flicked up, meeting hers. They were a dull, resigned blue.
She paused, then “You don’t have a choice,” the girl said, her voice still that soft monotone. . “You don’t. You should just… accept it. It goes easier if you accept it.”
“No one’s fate is decided!” Lyssa insisted, but her voice lacked conviction. The girl’s weight was a constant, oppressive reminder of her helplessness. The warm rag moved to her breast, washing with that same impersonal thoroughness.
“You can have a new life,” Lyssa pressed, her mind racing. “A cottage. Somewhere green. No one would ever hurt you again. I swear it. On my mother’s soul, I swear.”
“Stop!”
“Stop.” the girl hissed. “Your fake promises. There is no cottage. There is no green place. There is only this room, and the next room, and the room after that where he fucks you until you forget your own name!” Her voice trembled with a fury that seemed to surprise even her. “You think you’re the first to whisper escape? No one’s fate is decided… No… Your fate has already been decided. Accept it. It is the only way to survive the hours.”
Lyssa stared, stunned into silence. The girl snatched a shuddering breath, her knuckles white where she gripped the rag. The outburst seemed to drain her. The blank mask slid back into place, smoother now, final. She resumed her work, the cloth moving over Lyssa’s breasts with the same detached efficiency, swiping over the peaks of her nipples, which hardened traitorously under the warm, rough cotton.
Lyssa could only lie there, the fight leaching out of her. The girl was right. What were promises against the stone walls of this palace?
But, she would not give up.
The washing of her upper body concluded. The girl gave a curt nod, as if inspecting a cleaned plate. “This,” she muttered, almost to herself. “ This is your life now”
“It’s easier if you don’t fight,”
She climbed off Lyssa, the pressure lifting. The girl stood beside the bed, picking up the basin. She placed it on the floor near Lyssa’s bound feet. Then her hands went to the ruined remains of Lyssa’s gown, tangled around her hips and thighs.
With a few swift, decisive tugs, she ripped the last of the fine fabric away, baring Lyssa’s legs. The cool air kissed her skin. Next, the girl’s fingers hooked into the waistband of Lyssa’s delicate linen panties. There was no ceremony. She pulled them down Lyssa’s legs, past her knees, ripped and dropped them to the floor. Lyssa was now completely naked, spread-eagled and exposed.
A fresh, primal shame flooded her. She instinctively tried to squeeze her thighs together, a weak attempt at modesty. The cords at her ankles held firm, keeping her legs parted. The effort sent a painful pull through her inner muscles.
The girl knelt on the floor, dipped the rag, and began again. Starting at Lyssa’s feet, she washed each toe, the arch, the heel. The touch was incongruously gentle here, almost caring. She moved up, the warm, wet cloth gliding over Lyssa’s calves, the sensitive backs of her knees. Lyssa shuddered, her breath catching. It was an intimate violation, a parody of a lover’s bath.
The rag swept over her thighs, washing away the last traces of her sweat. The girl’s movements were slower here, more deliberate. She scrubbed the outer curves...The cloth slid high, up the tender, quivering flesh of Lyssa’s inner thigh.
And then it stopped.
The girl’s hand froze. The rag was pressed against the very top of Lyssa’s thigh, a breath away from her sex. The girl’s head was bowed, her hair a curtain hiding her face.
Slowly, she looked up.
She dropped the rag into the basin with a soft plop.
“You’re not,” she whispered, the sound scraping from her throat. “You’re not a virgin.”
Lyssa’s mouth went dry. She could only stare back, her own fear reflected and magnified in the girl’s pale face.
“He will kill you,” the girl breathed, her voice rising. “He will kill us both. He wants a virgin bride. A pure vessel. When he finds you opened… used…” She scrambled to her feet, backing away from the bed as if from a poisonous snake.
“His rage…. He’ll take it out on me.” Her hands flew to her mouth, stifling a scream.
“Then we go now!” Lyssa cried, pulling frantically at her bonds. “This is our chance! He’s not here yet! We run!”
“What!” the girl shrieked. “There is no running! The corridors are guarded! His brother owns the whole fucking kingdom! Once he finds out, he will peel the skin from my back for letting a spoiled whore lay onto his bed! He will say I knew. I must tell him now!”
She turned, a quick, jerky movement, and lurched toward the chamber door.
“Wait!” Lyssa’s scream was a torn, pleading thing. “Please! Don’t leave me! Don’t tell him! We can think of something!”
“Please !!”
Before the councilmen and King Theron’s meeting.
The heavy door to the king’s private solar swung inward before Corvus’s escort could even knock. The lord entered with his customary predatory grace, though a faint line of irritation marred his brow. His dark eyes swept the room, taking in the scene with a single, assessing glance.
King Theron sprawled in his high-backed chair, his royal tunic unlaced to the navel. His breeches were open, shoved down around his thick thighs.
His cock stood fully erect, a thick, veined pillar of flesh against the pale swell of his belly. A young slave girl knelt beside the chair, her face ashen. Theron’s left hand was tangled in her hair, cradling her skull like a man petting a favored hound. His right hand was wrapped around his own shaft, slowly stroking from root to tip, his thumb tracing the swollen head with a possessive familiarity.
“Brother,” Corvus said without preamble, his voice a dry rasp. “You summon me with urgency. I was in the middle of… securing my new prize. Tied to my bed, waiting. If we could hurry this along?”
Theron’s gaze, glazed with self-absorption, lifted slowly to his brother. He did not stop stroking. “Ah, Corvus, always in a rush to stuff your cock somewhere. But before we dive into why I called you. Come. Look.” He gestured with his chin toward his groin. “What think you of it?”
Corvus didn’t hesitate. He strode forward, his boots silent on the rich rug, until he stood directly before the seated king. He leaned in, his angular face a mask of cool appraisal as he studied the erect member. The slave girl flinched, trying to shrink away from the combined attention, but Theron’s grip in her hair kept her in place.
“It is a serviceable tool,” Corvus declared boldly, his thin lips curling. “Adequate for the tasks of state and breeding.”
“Has it grown, do you think?” Theron mused, his stroking pace increasing slightly. “Since you last saw it thus? I feel… mighty today.”
Corvus let out a short, humorless laugh. “I saw it just last when you had those twins from the eastern province in your bath. It was definetely smaller then. The cold water, perhaps.”
Theron’s eyes narrowed, but a strange, competitive smile played on his lips. He seemed aroused by the critique.
“Perhaps. Now, counsel me, brother. A woman. A woman of… generous proportion. Specifically here.” He used his hand, the one not working his flesh, to gesture a wide, rounded curve in the air. “Anya. What position is best? To truly… appreciate such an endowment?”
He suddenly released the slave girl’s hair and nudged her with his foot. “Up. Stand. Turn around.”
The girl, trembling, scrambled to her feet. She was young, perhaps nineteen, with a terrified prettiness and a body that was, indeed, curvaceous. Her simple linen shift did little to hide a full, rounded backside.
“See?” Theron said, his eyes gleaming as he stared at the girl’s buttocks. “The closest I could find on short notice. Not the same quality, of course. The skin is not as creamy. The shape is not as… inviting. But it provides a model. So. Tell me. From behind? Or should I lay her upon her belly?”
Corvus circled the shaking girl, his gaze analytical and utterly devoid of lust for her. He was considering the geometry of the king’s perversion.
“From behind. Definitely. You lose the view if she is flattened. You must have her on her knees. That way, you see the full, ripe divide as you part it. You watch your own length disappear into the shadow.”
“Yes,” Theron hissed, his stroking becoming frantic. “And the rose, Corvus? Which first? The traditional path? Or the tighter, more forbidden road? I would hear your strategy.”
“The cunt first,” Corvus said, his voice clinical. “To wet the way. To make her ready. To hear her moans. Then, when she is slick and open and begging for release… you take the other. You claim the uncharted territory. She will feel owned in a way she never imagined.”
Theron groaned, a bead of clear fluid leaking from his tip onto his fingers. “Your mind… it is a beautiful, filthy thing, brother. We are alike in this.”
“Indeed we are,” Corvus said softly, but the king wasn’t listening. He was lost in the fantasy, his eyes fixed on the slave girl’s rear as if it had transformed into Anya’s.
After a moment of heavy, panting silence, Corvus turned to leave. “If that is all, Brother. My own entertainment awaits.”
“Wait.”
The king’s voice had changed. The lustful wheedle was gone, replaced by a cold, sharp curiosity.
“Tell me, brother,” Theron began, still lazily pumping his cock. “Are you an embarrassment to our blood?”
Corvus went very still. “I beg your pardon?”
“Rumors,” Theron said, tilting his head. “They reach even my ears, preoccupied as I am. Whispers in the barracks. Snickers among the court ladies. They say you cannot satisfy a woman. That your efforts are as flaccid as your diplomacy.”
Corvus’s face drained of color, then flooded with a dark, furious red. “What?” he spat, taking a step back into the room. “Who dares?! I will have their heads spiked before sunset!”
“They also say,” Theron continued, his voice dropping to a mocking whisper, “that you cannot even make a virgin feel the pain of her first taking. That you slide in like a whisper, and she feels… nothing. No sting. No burn of conquest. Your fat body is one thing, brother. You can be fat. But a royal blood who cannot fill a woman? That is a laughingstock.”
“Lies!” Corvus roared, his predatory composure shattering. “Vile, envious lies!”
“Prove it,” Theron said simply, his eyes like chips of ice.
He pointed to the slave girl, who had begun to cry silently. “Her. Cunt is still unused. Fuck her. Now. Right here. Make her scream. Make her feel the rip of you. Show me the blood, if you can draw it. Show me you are not a limp imitation of a man.”
Corvus stared, his chest heaving. “This is beneath us, Theron. This is… ”
“It is a command!” Theron bellowed, surging forward in his chair. His cock, still hard, bobbed with the movement. “You speak of securing prizes? Prove you have the cock to back your ambitions. Or slink out that door and know that every man and woman in this kingdom questions what swings between your legs.”
He turned his glare on the slave girl. “You. You will not fake a sound. You will not pretend a pain you do not feel. If his prick is the pathetic needle they say it is, you will tell the truth. If you lie to spare him, I will have you blinded. Do you understand?”
The girl nodded, sobs shaking her shoulders. “Y-yes, Your Grace.”
Corvus stood frozen, humiliation and rage warring in his eyes. This was a trap, a vicious game only Theron could devise. To refuse was to admit the rumors. To proceed…
With a snarl of utter contempt, Corvus strode to the girl. He didn’t speak to her, didn’t look at her face. He grabbed the hem of her shift and yanked it up to her waist, exposing her bare buttocks and the pale, vulnerable curve between them. He fumbled with the laces of his own breeches, his fingers uncharacteristically clumsy.
He pushed her roughly forward, bending her over the arm of a heavy embroidered settee. Her tear-streaked face was buried in the fabric. Corvus positioned himself behind her, his lean body tensed. He spat into his palm, gave his own manhood a few rough, angry strokes to stiffen it further, and then notched the head against her entrance.
Theron watched, enthralled, his own hand still moving on his flesh.
Corvus thrust.
The girl gasped, a short, startled sound. She tensed, her back arching. But there was no scream. No cry of true pain. Corvus drove deeper, his cock all the way in, his hips pistoning in short, frantic jabs. His face was a rictus of fury and concentration.
The girl, her body obeying the king’s threat more than reacting to the invasion, remained tense. After a few seconds, she even choked out words, desperate to prove her honesty. “I… I feel it, my lord… but it is… it is not so bad?”
Each word was a dagger in Corvus’s pride. He hammered into her, the settee creaking, his breath coming in ragged grunts. But the girl did not wail. She did not bleed onto the brocade. She merely endured, her knuckles white where she gripped the furniture, her tears soaking the fabric beneath her cheek.
After Twenty seconds of this brutal, silent fucking, Theron waved a dismissive hand.
“Enough”
Corvus froze, buried inside the trembling girl.
“Get out,” Theron said, his voice dripping with disgust. He looked at his brother’s humiliated form with pure revulsion. “Get your fat, useless carcass out of my sight. You are a disgrace. A blunt instrument. You cannot even hurt a girl properly. You take what others have mastered because you have no mastery of your own. Leave!”
Corvus pulled out of the girl with a sickening slick sound. He shoved himself back into his breeches, his movements jerky, his face a mask of such profound, venomous shame it seemed to warp his features. He didn’t look at the king. He didn’t look at the girl. He turned on his heel and strode from the solar, the door slamming shut behind him with a crash that echoed through the stone.
In the ringing silence, the slave girl slid from the settee to the floor, pulling her shift down, curling into a ball of silent misery.
King Theron leaned back in his chair, a slow, smug smile spreading across his face. He looked down at his own still-erect, cock.
“Such a pity” he murmured to himself, giving it a firm, possessive stroke.
“Then cover me up, at least!” Lyssa cried, her voice breaking on a sob. “If you won’t untie me… please. Just… a sheet. Something. Don’t leave me like this for him to find.”
Mila’s hand trembled on the door handle. She didn’t turn, but she didn’t pull it open. Her shoulders hunched. A long, silent moment stretched, filled only by Lyssa’s ragged breathing and the drip-drip of water from the discarded rag into the basin.
Slowly, the girl turned back. Her face a mess of conflicting fear.
“What does it matter? He will see everything soon enough.”
“It matters,” Lyssa choked out. “Just... Please.”
For a long moment, Mila just stared. Then, her shoulders slumped. The fight went out of her. She released the handle and walked slowly back to the bed, her movements those of someone already dead. She didn’t look for a blanket. Instead, she reached for the torn edges of Lyssa’s gown, pulling them together over Lyssa’s chest, a futile gesture that did little to hide her nakedness.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
The girl said nothing. She stood there, wringing her hands, her eyes darting between the door and Lyssa’s covered form. The panic was still there, a live wire in the room.
Lyssa pressed, her voice low, urgent. “Your family… They must still be out there. Let me help you get back to them. I swear I will.”
A sound escaped the girl’s throat… a broken, wet laugh that held no humor. “My family?”
“My mother… she killed herself. A day after he took me. She drowned herself in the river. Out of guilt. And shame.”
“There is no home to go back to. No one is waiting. There is only him.”
The horror of it stole Lyssa’s breath. The girl wasn’t just a prisoner, she was a ghost haunting her own life.
Mila stared. Her gaze flicked to Lyssa’s wrists, bound. Her own fingers twitched at her sides. The internal war was visible on her face… a lifetime of obedience fighting against a spark of something else, something kindled by Lyssa’s impossible promises and the even more impossible truth of Lyssa’s body.
“He’ll know I helped you,” the girl whispered.
“He’ll kill you if he finds me like this anyway,” Lyssa countered, hopeful, her voice fierce. “You said it yourself.”
“This is the only chance. For both of us.”
Another eternity passed in the flickering candlelight. Then, with a sound that was half-groan, half-whimper, the girl moved. She stepped to the side of the bed, her fingers reaching for the intricate knot at the bedpost. They fumbled, clumsy with fear. “If this is a trick…” she muttered.
“It’s not. I swear.”
The knot began to loosen. The rope went slack around Lyssa’s wrist. The sensation of blood rushing back into her cramped hand was a painful pins-and-needles burst of pure bliss. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.
Mila’s fingers worked fast, moving to the complex ties that fastened the rope to the ornate wood. The first loop fell away.
The second and third loop loosened.
One hand free..
The door exploded open.
It slammed against the wall with a crash.
Lord Corvus filled the doorway, his massive frame heaving, his face a mottled purple-red. He was muttering, his voice a low, furious growl, the words barely audible but dripping with venom.
“…think I can’t… think I don’t know… unsatisfying… ungrateful cunts…”
He closed the door, locking it from the inside, then took two stumbling steps into the room, his small, piggy eyes sweeping the scene. They snapped to Mila whose hands were frozen at Lyssa’s wrist.
Corvus’s wheezing breath hitched. His face underwent a terrifying transformation… from drunken, self-pitying fury to cold, lucid rage. His gaze locked on the girl.
“You,” he rumbled, the word dripping with venom. “What… are you doing?”
The girl jerked upright as if burned. She spun, her hands flying behind her back. “My lord! The… the rope. It came loose. I was just… re-securing it. She was straining and….”
“What!.”
The word was a whip-crack. He took another step, his bulk suddenly moving with a predator’s grace. He was on her before she could blink. One meaty hand shot out and fisted in the rough fabric of her shift at the shoulder. He yanked, spinning her around as he dragged her across the room.
“Are you gossiping to the bitch that I can’t satisfy you?” he snarled, his breath hot and foul against her ear. “Is that what you and your whispering whores say? That old Corvus can’t make a girl scream?”
“What?!”
“N-no, my lord! Never! Wha…”
He didn’t let her finish. With brutal, effortless force, he bent her over the carved wooden arm of the high-backed chair.
Her stomach slammed into the hard edge, knocking the wind from her with a pained oof. He shoved the hem of her shift up her legs, bunching it around her waist, exposing her bare backside and the pale, vulnerable curves beneath. She was naked underneath.
“Let her go!” Lyssa yelled, her free hand trying to claw at the rope on her other wrist. It was tight, secure. She pulled, her shoulders screaming.
Corvus didn’t even glance at her. He was lost in a red haze of humiliation and fury…the King’s mocking words in the solar, the implied failure, all of it curdling into a need to dominate, to prove himself. This girl, his own creature, was the closest, most convenient target.
His other hand fumbled with the lacings of his breeches. A tearing sound, and they were open. He freed his cock. It was already half-hard, thick and flushed with angry blood. He gave himself two rough, quick strokes, and sheathed himself to the hilt in the girl’s exposed backside with one brutal, driving thrust.
She shrieked. A sharp, truncated sound of shock and pain as he forced his way into her anus. Her body arched, trying to recoil from the sudden, deep invasion, but he held her down, his grip on her shift like iron.
“Cunt!” he grunted, already pulling back and slamming home again. The wet, meaty smack of their flesh meeting filled the room. “You feel that? Do I satisfy you now, you disloyal bitch?”
The girl sobbed, her face pressed against the hard wood. Her hands scrabbled for purchase on the chair legs. It was a vicious, punishing rhythm, no warmth, no arousal, just the piston-drive of his hips and the raw, burning stretch of him inside her.
He was using her body as a vessel for his rage, and every jarring impact shook her whole frame.
Lyssa writhed on the bed, tears of fury and helplessness blurring her vision. “Stop it! Corvus, you monster, stop!”
Corvus’s thrusts grew more frantic, more ragged. He leaned over the girl, his bulk covering her, his free hand tangling in her hair and yanking her head back. “Answer me!” he roared. “Do I please you? Am I enough of a man for you?”
Lyssa’s fingers finally caught. She pulled with all her strength, a final, desperate wrench. Her other hand came free with a sudden, shocking lightness. The relief was a bolt of pure energy. She didn’t think.
“Let her go!” she shrieked, the sound raw and tearing from her throat. She shoved herself up. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She scrambled for the knot at her left ankle, her fingers fumbling, slipping on the slick silk.
“Get off her! You fat pig! Let her go!”
Corvus’s rhythm stuttered. He went still. His great head, with its thinning grey hair, began to turn. The movement was slow, ponderous, like a mountain shifting. His wet, piggish eyes, glazed with lust, found hers.
“Shut your mouth, whore ,” he rumbled, “You’ll make noise soon enough.” His gaze drifted, taking in her nakedness. Then it snapped back.
He saw her free hands. Saw her working at the other bonds.
“Bit…?!” Corvus breathed, the single word thick with anger and surprise. He began to unknowingly pull out of Mila, his bulk starting to rise.
The girl moved. As his cock began to withdraw from her anus, she twisted at the waist with a desperate, feral strength. It slipped off fully. One hand shot back, not to push him away, but to grab. Her fingers closed around the base of his shaft, just above his heavy sac. And she twisted.
A sound tore from Corvus that was not human… a high, pig-like shriek of absolute, blinding agony. He doubled over, his hands flying to his groin.
Mila shoved herself, falling off the chair. She scrambled away on her hands and knees, panting, tears of terror streaming down her face.
Corvus, clutching his groin, his face a mask of purple rage and pain, wheezed, “You little cunt!” He lunged for her, a massive, clumsy swipe of a hand.
Mila acted fast. She rolled, came up on her feet, and instead of running for the door, she rushed behind him. She leaped, her arms wrapping around his thick, sweaty neck from the back. She tried to lock her legs around his waist, but his girth was too vast. Her thighs slapped against the rolling sides of his belly, finding no purchase. She hung there, a vengeful spirit on his back.
Then she bit him.
She sank her teeth into the fleshy curve of his cheek.
It wasn’t a nip. It was a full bite. Her jaw clamped down with all the pent-up fury of a lifetime of violation. Lyssa heard the wet, tearing crunch of skin, the muffled scream that bubbled from Corvus’s throat. Blood, hot and coppery, filled the girl’s mouth, spilling over her chin.
Corvus shrieked again, a sound of pure animal terror and pain. He didn’t try to pry her off. He simply threw his entire weight backward.
They hit the floor with a sickening, meaty thud. The girl’s breath was driven from her lungs in a painful whoosh as his immense bulk landed atop her. The world went dark and heavy.
He struggled, heaving, his face a grotesque mask of blood and fury. He managed to roll, to get his knees under him. He dropped his full weight, his ass and thighs, directly onto her, pinning her to the floor. His thick meaty fingers wrapped around her slender neck and squeezed.
“Filthy… ungrateful… whore!” he spat, each word a venomous puff of breath. Blood from his cheek dripped onto her face. “I should have… Killed you…! I’ll watch the light… leave your eyes!”
The girl’s hands clawed at his, her feet kicking uselessly against the floor. Her vision speckling with black stars. A terrible, wet gurgle escaped her lips.
Lyssa’s left leg came free. Then the right. She was untangled. She didn’t linger. She lunged from the bed, a naked, desperate missile. She threw herself at Corvus’s back, drawing her knee up and driving her foot into the side of his head with all her strength.
The impact sent a jolt of pain up her leg. It was like kicking a sack of wet grain. The fat on his neck and skull absorbed the blow, wobbling grotesquely. He barely flinched.
But his grip on Mila’s throat did loosen. Just for a second. A gasp of air.
It was enough.
The girl’s hand, freed from its futile clawing, shot upward. Not to his hands. To his face. Her index finger, stiff and straight, aimed not for his eye, but into it. There was no hesitation. No warning. She drove her finger deep into the wet, dark orb with a sickening, squelching pop.
Corvus’s shriek this time was a sound from the abyss. A high, endless note of absolute horror. His hands flew from her throat to his face. He released her completely, stumbling back, clutching at the ruin of his eye.
The girl scrambled up, coughing, retching. She didn’t look at Lyssa. She was gasping, sobbing, her body a trembling ruin of adrenaline. Her gaze swept the room, landing on the small table beside the bed. On a silver tray holding a cold, half-eaten meal. A fork lay beside the plate.
She snatched it.
Corvus was on his knees now, wailing, blood and clear fluid streaming between his fingers.
She rushed in front of him..
And she jammed it in.
She put her weight behind it, driving the metal deep into the socket where his eye was hanging. The tines sank in with a soft, grating crunch.
Corvus made no sound. His body stiffened, then folded, collapsing to the floor like a felled ox. He lay twitching, a low groan bubbling from his lips.
She didn’t stop. She jammed it in again. And again. Jab. Jab. Jab. She was sobbing, screaming words that were not words, just a torrent of rage and grief and years of silent suffering.
“Fuck you!”
“You… monster!”
Lyssa stared, frozen, her hand pressed to her mouth. The violence was so absolute, so personal, it felt like a sacred ritual.
Finally, the girl stopped. The fork was buried to its handle. Corvus lay motionless, a vast, bloody ruin on the fine rug. The girl sat over him, her chest heaving, her body trembling violently, painted in his blood.
“Hey,” Lyssa whispered, her own voice shaking. She approached slowly, as one would a wounded animal. “Hey. It’s over.”
The girl didn’t respond. She just stared at the body.
Lyssa reached out, gently took her by the waist, and pulled. Mila resisted for a moment, a statue of vengeance, then her strength gave out. She collapsed into Lyssa, her body wracked with silent, shuddering sobs. Lyssa pulled her away from the corpse, stumbling toward the door. They fell together just before it, a tangle of limbs and blood and tears. Lyssa wrapped her arms around the shaking girl, pulling her into a tight hug, pressing the girl’s bloody face against her own bare shoulder.
“Shhh,” Lyssa murmured, stroking her matted hair. “It’s okay. It’s over. You’re okay.”
The sobs slowly subsided into hiccupping breaths. They sat there, huddled together on the cold stone floor, lyssa naked and shivering, staring at the massive, still form of Corvus. The only sounds were their ragged breathing and the sputter of the candle.
A long, quiet moment passed. The girl let out a wet, shuddering breath that was almost a scoff. “You’re breasts are bloody,” she mumbled against Lyssa’s skin, her voice hoarse and ruined.
Lyssa almost laughed, the sound hysterical in her throat. In the frenzy, she’d forgotten completely.