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“You were strangely quiet on the way here. I was wondering how long it would take you to try to escape,” he says, but it’s not a judgment: it’s an observation.
“Is this it, then? Are you going to lock me up and leave me here to rot? Is this your dungeon?” The room smells of sweat and fear: possibly also of blood. There’s a bucket in the corner and I realize it’s for bodily fluids. I don’t want to stay here. I don’t want him to leave me here. I don’t want him to abandon me.
“That depends on you,” he says simply. “If you’re going to be a good girl and obey me, you may stay in an ordinary bedroom. This is a big house; there are plenty.”
“And if I don’t obey you?” I ask. I shouldn’t ask. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know what he does to the girls who aren’t good, to the ones who are bad.
Farwol seems to grow even taller as he steps closer to me. He towers over me. I’m tall for a woman, so this is saying something. He makes me feel tiny, petite. He makes me feel fragile. He makes me feel afraid.
“Then you will be beaten,” he says. “You will be locked here, in this room, until I am ready to dispose of you. I have no need for an untrainable girl. I have no use for insolence.”
I glance at the room once more, tearing my eyes from the man who has stolen my freedom. How many girls have been here before me? The idea of taking someone’s daughter doesn’t seem to affect Farwol on any emotional level, so I must assume he’s done it before.
How many times?
How many women have been
locked up in this room to die?
How many women have screamed, begged for their freedom?
How many women have died trying to escape?
No matter what Farwol demands of me, it will not be as bad as dying here alone. It will not be as bad as torture. It will not be as bad as this room.
“I will obey you,” I say. The words come out a whisper: a soft promise. I will do as he commands. I will be his.
Farwol looks at me for a moment, but he seems to be satisfied with my answer because he leads me out of the room and back into the hallway. He locks the room again and places the key back in his pocket. Then he guides me down two more halls until we reach another room.
This one is unlocked.
This one is large.
This one is his.
I know even before we step inside that he will be taking my virginity tonight. He is my new owner, after all, and there is no doubt in my mind he will view me as his property. My body is simply part of his prize.
We both go into the room. There’s a large bed in the center that is beautifully decorated with thick, black blankets and purple pillows. A large sitting area has a sofa and two chairs arranged around a fireplace. There are several dressers and a large desk.
And, of course, there’s Farwol himself.
“Undress,” he says, closing the door behind us. I notice that he locks this door, too.
“Right now?” I ask in a squeaky voice. I’ve never been naked in front of a man before. I suppose I’ve never had the opportunity. The village boys always tried to take me out behind the apple orchard for some fun, but I resisted. I’m not sure why. I suppose I thought it would be improper, but something told me they wouldn’t be as good at it as they seemed to think.
Farwol won’t have that problem. I can already tell that anything that happens tonight will be controlled. He may push me, but only as far as he intends to. He will not lose control. He will also not be persuaded.
“Are you questioning orders so soon, Evelyn?” He words drip with disappointment, and I immediately begin pulling my dress over my head. I don’t protest or apologize. I just obey. Something tells me this is what he wants most of all: obedience. Now I know he expects instant obedience without questioning, as well.
I’m naked beneath my dress. I hold the soft fabric in my hands, but don’t move. My nipples are already hard and goose bumps form on my arms. I’m nervous, but I do my best not to show it.
Is Farwol the kind of man you can’t show fear to? Is he the kind of man who would be disappointed if I started to cry? Or would he enjoy it? Is he the kind of person who craves tears?
I can’t tell yet, but I won’t be that person, either way. I won’t be that girl. I won’t be afraid.
I was raised better than that.
“So you can obey,” he murmurs, and takes the dress from my hands. He turns around without sparing me a glance and hangs my dress in the wardrobe. I’m suddenly embarrassed at his actions and I cover my breasts with my arms. It wouldn’t be so bad if he looked at me, admired me. Ignoring me makes me feel ashamed.
