These days I always sleep almost every breaktime at work. I don’t think it’s a defense mechanism against the pressures at work. I think…I think.
I just don’t feel alive that much. Could be.
Now, before this rambles onto a self-pity post–which I have decided to QUIT–let me post one of the parts on my ongoing Ragnarok Online fanfiction. Just to while away my time.
One week ago, in the non-light of the new moon.
Despite
what everyone else seemed to think, it was not an easy thing, clutching
a bunch or raw roses–thorns and all–with one’s steel gloved hand. For
one thing, the ungodly thorns seem to worm its way into the joints,
where the flesh is left uncovered except for the thin mesh in favor of
flexibility. Now, the already calloused flesh now tender and burning,
Valeur still walked through the midnight dark alleys with the
multicolored bouquet of blood red, flaming orange, snow white, and
sunshine yellow in his left hand, and sheathed sword, with the
makeshift cord for attaching it to the waist broken, in the other.
He
knew that Alfrieda actually favored simple forget-me-nots, but it was
already her sixteenth birthday. Alfrieda deserved more than
forget-me-nots, Valeur decided. The violet blossoms he can hand pick on
his way to her house everyday, but to get the special roses he had to
climb the treacherous Mt. Mjolnir, where the most beautiful and
fragrant roses can be plucked, sometimes at the expense of one’s own
life.
In Valeur’s case however, the actual hike to the mountains
caused him more trouble than encountering the poisonous mantises and
venomous, deathly fast argiopes. The pests he took care of with his
blade in his right hand, and carrying the roses gently with the other.
Ah, the things one would do for love.
As
his feet landed the black marble steps in front of Alfrieda Sourire’s
ancestral home, he suddenly had a bright idea. As quietly and lightly
as he could, he sneaked into the back of the building, pushing his way
through the ornamental bushes, careful not to make any rustle or noise.
Then, as he reached the space below Alfrieda’s lace-curtained
window–which was 10 feet above him–he bit the broken cord of the
sheath with his teeth, grabbing the vine-entwined lattice with both
hands, the bouquet of roses stuffed in the scant space in his upper
body armor.
I look stupid. I’m sure you do.
Step
by agonizing, silent step, he climbed on, the slight wind rustling his
hair, tickling his eyes. As he edged closer to the Prontera-crafted
window, a strange noise was hear, more audible in each step. It sounded
like Alfrieda, sobbing softly. Alarmed, he climbed faster, the sight
greeting him as he reached the windowsill almost knocking the wind out
of him.
Alfrieda was sobbing, alright. Crying in the throes of
passion as his cousin Stéphane made mad love to her, pounding
mercilessly into her flesh as she submitted herself fully to the
assault, on all fours. Neither noticed Valeur watching them, until
Stéphane, behind the curtain of his long silver hair, returned the same
unemotional gaze only punctuated with his every thrust that made her
cry out each time.
"Do you like my birthday gift?" Stéphane
whispered to the still oblivious Alfrieda, who was panting and
whimpering heavily, as if he didn’t notice his young step-brother’s
arrival.
"Ah–yes," the nymph-like girl managed to blurt out, still almost delirious with pleasure. "I’m happy–ah–you came back."
Valeur
wanted to do something, but his body felt too heavy like lead. Besides,
he already looked ludicrous with his sword across his mouth and roses
sprouting out of his armor.
Tears came unbidden.
===
Three days ago.
"I
would like to apologize about what happened," Alfrieda told him as she
visited Valeur in his room. still possessing the grace and utter
dignity of a queen as she stood in front of his prone figure, despite
her knowledge of being seen in her most primal state. "Valeur, darling,
I’m sorry, but it does seem that I still love your cousin–"
"He’s
not my family," Valeur said as stiffly as he could manage, looking up
from his seat, straight into her azure eyes. Voice cracking, he said,
almost wryly, "I could say, ‘duh’ to that, Frida. The way you swayed
your hips like a slut for him, it’s obvious."
A slap left a burning sting on his left cheek, without warning.
"Nobody calls me a slut, Valeur. In case you know the difference, it’s an act of love, not–"
"WHO
THE BLOODY HELL CARES IF IT’S AN ACT OF LOVE?!" Valeur found himself
shouting, throwing his body forward to a standing position, towering
over Alfrieda, making her cower in his shadow. "You were engaged to me. You pledged your love for me."
Alfrieda’s fair skin turned into almost ash-white.
"Now,
just because that stupid man returned from his womanizing and
squandering the family riches, just because he promised you he’ll make
you his wife, you gladly hump his lap like a pet dog?"
"Stop insulting me," Alfrieda cried. "Is this how you treat a woman?"
"Yes,
this is how I treat a strumpet!" Valeur’s face twisted into a maddened,
hurt thing. "I honored you. Cherished you. Saved your purity for our
mutual bed." A sad, suicidal wry smile spread his lips. "I guess that
gives me enough right to do my way with you, since there’s no more
virginity to spare, eh?"
Alfrieda’s tear-streaked blue eyes widened.
Tearing
her clothes apart, Valeur raped her on the shiny wooden parquet,
ignoring her cries for mercy, and imagining in their place, sobs of
utter pleasure. That Alfrieda desires him more than anything else. In
his delusion, he did not care how roughly he handled her. She was his.
===
Two days ago.
The
rape incident was kept a secret amonsgt the Villefort and Sourire
families; the elders decided to keep the breaking of the engagement
quiet from from the Al de Baran circle; eventually, Valeur’s
step-father said to them, they will forget that such a bond ever
existed.
However, while Stéphane and Alfrieda were sent off to a
place hidden from Valeur to keep him from murdering his cousin, as a
punishment of ‘dishonoring’ a lady of high-breeding, his already scant
shares of the Villefort inheritance was forfeited. His mother was
furious, slapping him on the same cheek Alfrieda’s hand struck. "You
fool," she fumed, livid, "You should have saved your perversions to a
low-class tramp! Now look what you’ve done, it’s lucky that Olivier
still keeps me in the same roof as his!"
"There’s no difference between Frida and a common strumpet, mother," Valeur said quietly. "I guess that goes with you, too."
He left his mother in a heap of despair.
===
Present time.
Leon
Heartman, assassin guildmaster of The Broken Hearts Guild, dragged a
trembling young woman on to the makeshft stage which tge bard had so
gladly relinquished. The black-haired girl in magician robes stared at
the audience, wild-eyed, trying to cover her chest where Leon had
playfully stripped her upper garment from.
"Ladies and
gentlemen, privileged members of the Guild," Leon’s voice boomed as he
stood beside the terrified mage, "I present to you Ilyena, who was
supposed to be the Sage Theophilus’ Other Half," Mockingly, he appeared
to caress the side of her tear-moistened face streaed with scratches
and blood. "However, it has been known that she is moonlighting with a
foreigner from Juno," he said, lips pursed. "A priest, no less."
"Ha!
What do you expect with magician whores who wear that kind of
clothing?" An indignant voice said loudly. "At least the Dancers are
honest enough to keep themselves in brothels. Hypocrites!"
"Exactly,"
Leon acceded graciously. His hands found the chain dangling from the
leather cord strapped to the girl’s neck and gave it a good yank,
eliciting a strangled cough from her. "Women who act as if they’re all
demure but inside…"
He bent overand reached his free hand to
one of the mage’s knees, pulling it to one side in one deft but strong
movement, exposing her genitals, still wet from a recent intercourse.
"They’re all the same like the rest of them."
Valeur watched
impassively from his seat as Elfienne’s body tangled against him, her
hand stroking his thigh as she watched as well.
"Of course, we
have no right to deprive her of her…needs, eh, my good people?" A
knowing, self-satisfied smirk spread across Leon’s handsome face.
Hoots and catcalls chimed in from the crowd.
"And for the weekly ritual," Leon motioned to the bard, who did a makeshift drumroll with his fingers and the wooden table.
"Let’s have Sir Valeur de Villefort on the stage!"
Without further ado, Valeur disengaged himself from Elfienne’s embrace and made his way towards the stage.
