Page 5 of Her Dark Reflection

‘Bitch,’ he snarled, smacking me again so hard my ears rang with the force of it. My throat was so raw it felt as though something caustic had been poured down it, but I kept screaming and screaming, even as he shoved a hand over my mouth to muffle the sound, his other hand tearing at the bodice of my dress.

Cold air hit my breasts and a chorus of jeers followed as he succeeded in ripping the fabric, and he took his hand from my mouth to paw at me roughly. I took advantage of the moment to spit in his face, the globule landing right in his eye. He roared and wiped at it with disgust.

‘Fine. We’ll do this the hard way, then, stupid whore.’ He rose from me and gestured to the others with a jerk of his head. They dragged me a few feet along the ground before I realised where we were headed.

‘No, no, no, please. I’m sorry, I won’t fight,’ I began to babble, panic tightening my throat, making my voice high pitched. The coals of the campfire glowed a hungry orange. Smoke clogged my lungs.

‘Too fucking late for that.’

The heat thudded against my skin as he gripped my head in both his dirty hands and held me above the coals, leering down as I thrashed and strained away from them. The smell of singed hair filled my nostrils. I couldn’t escape, couldn’t get free when there were three sets of hands shackling me, three bodies intent on my ruin, forcing me down, defeating my writhing limbs, deaf to my pleas and screams.

‘Whores don’t do so well without a pretty face,’ the blond heckled, and my panic grew so big it felt like it would burst from my skin as I caught the flare of flames out of the corner of my eye, licking up the strands of my hair, blistering my scalp, my cheek, searing my nerves with agony, white-hot and inescapable. My shrieks ripped my throat apart to escape and I tasted blood, tasted fear, tasted death.They’re going to kill me,I thought as I felt my very flesh shrivel away from the flames.

A roar echoed through the night, shredding the laughter and jeers of my tormentors, and suddenly the blond man was wrenched away from me and I was sent sprawling, my wrists and ankles free. I rolled in the dirt, batting frantically at my head and face, trying to smother whatever flames might have chased me from the firepit before I scampered away on my hands and knees, gasping for breath as movement exploded around me, trying to put as much space between myself and the flames as I could, thinking only of escape.A tree trunk loomed out of the gloom and I lurched for it, throwing myself onto the grass behind it and curling up into a shaking ball amongst its roots. I flinched at the cries and thuds behind me, rocking back and forth with my arms curled tightly around my knees, my face and scalp still ablaze with pain so consuming that my mind wanted to escape my body, wanted to shut down, to black out and protect me.

I hardly noticed when the sounds behind me faded, leaving only a voice calling my name. I could barely hear the voice over the chattering of my teeth. My vision faded in and out as footsteps approached me, and suddenly Cotus’s face was peering down at me, though I didn’t know how I had wound up lying on my back. The horror in his expression chased my consciousness into the dark as I blacked out.

The musky smell of boiled calendula. A searing, clawing thirst. The throb of pain. I peeled my eyes open, wincing as the simple movement transformed the throbbing on the left side of my face into a lancing agony. I couldn’t see. The world was dim, fuzzy, and I began to thrash my arms and legs in panic, struggling against a weight on my body, fresh screams bubbling up my throat.

‘Hush, Rhiandra. You’re safe,’ a voice crooned as a hand stroked my hair.

‘I can’t see! I can’t see,’ I cried, my voice croaky, broken.

‘It’s just a bandage. You’re safe in bed.’ It was the voice of Madam. I could smell my perfume on the sheets, spicy and comfortingly familiar, and I took a deep, shuddering breath, releasing the panic, willing it to dissolve, leaving my muscles limp and shaking.

‘What happened?’ I rasped, wincing again as pain crackled across my nerves.

‘Not now. We won’t talk now. Sleep some more first.’ Something was pressed to my lips and the bitter taste of opium ran across my tongue. I sucked at it greedily, eager for the numbness that was sure to follow.

‘Not too much now, that’s enough,’ Madam chided softly, and I felt her hand stroke my hair again. Unconsciousness beckoned once more, and I went to it gratefully.

When I awoke fully again, it was to a burst of morning sun. I cracked my eyes open, squinting against the invasion of light. The bandage was gone, and as I blinked my bedroom into focus, I realised with a shiver of relief that I could see.

Madam finished tying off the curtains and turned to face me with her hands on her hips. ‘Good, you’re awake. Time to eat. You can’t live on opium,’ she commanded as she gestured to the bowl steaming away on my bedside table. Gingerly, I pushed myself up the headboard of the bed, my stomach lurching queasily and my head spinning as I eyed her. There was a forced cheeriness to her tone that didn’t match the tightness around her eyes. I didn’t like it. Not one bit.

‘How long have I been asleep?’ I asked, my mouth chalky, my words thick. I took a sip of water from a glass by the bed, and it tasted like cold ambrosia as it tumbled down my wretched throat. Every movement sent pain careening across my face, milder than the last time I’d awoken, but still formidable.

Madam perched on the side of the bed, smoothing at her skirts, her eyes darting about the room, fixing everywhere, anywhere but on me. ‘On and off for about three days. The doctor thought it best to keep sedating you, since every time you stirred you started screaming.’

I raised my hand to the left side of my face, still hidden behind thick bandages that reeked of herbs. Madam gently grasped my hand with a small shake of her head.

‘Best not to touch it,’ she said. She only met my eyes for a moment before glancing away. ‘You’ve got some healing to do still.’

I steeled myself as I searched her face. ‘How bad is it?’

She pressed her lips into a pale, pencil-thin line. ‘It’s hard to tell until the bandages come off.’

‘That bad?’ My voice wavered.

‘Eat your soup,’ she ordered, rising from the bed. ‘You’re lucky Cotus happened across you when he did. Best not waste his good deed by starving.’ She headed for the door with quick steps, like she couldn’t get away from me fast enough. ‘The doctor will be by later this afternoon to check on you again. The best thing for you to do now is rest.’ The door clicked behind her, and I could hear the tapping of her shoes as she fled down the hallway, the barking of her voice as she told a couple of girls off for lurking about by my door.

I sat up straighter, beating back the tears that wanted to overwhelm me, to dismantle me. I had survived, hadn’t I? And they could have done much worse. I was lucky. My jaw quivered as I raised a trembling hand to the bandage and gently brushed my fingertips over it, noting how it stretched from my jaw all the way into my hairline, reaching over my ear and leaving a hollow space where once there had been handfuls of dark hair. Memories flashed through my mind: the smell of singed hair, the feel of searing heat against my skin, of dirty hands holding me down. I shuddered and collapsed back into the bed, rolling onto my uninjured side and wrapping my arms around my knees. My eyes stayed dry as I shook like a leaf in the wind.

I stayed bed bound for a week, eating soup and getting steadily more restless. The doctor saw to my dressings and each time he did I tried to read him, tried to determine how bad my injuries were, but he had one hell of a poker face. His expression didn’t flicker once. He muttered frequently about infection and eyed me closely for signs that never manifested, finally—and with a hearty dose of incredulity I might add—declaring me out of the woods.

Madam visited every day. Each time she told me to buck up, focus on healing and keep my pretty little hands off my dressings, and each time she said it my stomach sank a little lower. I saw nothing of Cotus, or anyone else for that matter.

Finally, I couldn’t take the suspense any longer. After one of Madam’s visits, I swung my legs out of bed and strode to my mother’s mirror, my spine straight as I tried to feel confident in what I was about to see.No matter what, no matter how bad it is, I’m still lucky to be alive, I told myself.

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