Page 4 of The Devil In Blue
But that wasn’t the reason.
“It’s such a depressing song. Next time, choose another.”
“Of course,” I said obediently.
“We will have to bleed you soon. Perhaps it will help your state of mind.”
I stroked the small dotted scars that littered the inside of my elbow through the sleeve of my dress where needles had pierced me a hundred times before.
“Yes, sir.”
Lucien took a few more puffs of his pipe. “There is a masquerade this Friday at the Catacombs to celebrate Allhalloween. I received a very formal invitation from a Count of Norbrooke.”
I wasn’t expecting much after that considering Lucien did not often bring me to social gatherings. But… perhaps… a masquerade where faces were covered and identities were skewed would be different.
“Come here,” he said, motioning for me to approach him.
I stood and walked slowly toward the dining table, straightening my skirts before I came to stand be his side.
“I would like to attend and I’d like you to come with me,” he said. “For your birthday, of course. And I’ve never heard of this count before. He is an outsider. It’s always smart to know new faces.”
“If that is what you wish,” I said, folding my hands properly in front of me.
Lucien stared at my interlocked fingers and then gently pried my hands apart, taking one and kissing my knuckles.
“We shall have to find you a new dress,” he said. “We will go to the modiste tomorrow. We will buy you a mask as well. Are you excited? I thought you would be.”
“Of course.”
“And,” he stroked my hand with his thumb, putting his pip down on a plate. “Will you be a good girl until then?”
“Yes, I will be a good girl,” I said flatly.
Lucien slowly stood, his eyes everywhere but on my face. An uncomfortable shiver rolled down my spine. The same shiver that racked me every time he was about to indulge. Many years of the same routine had not made it easier.
Lucien was never rough. Never cruel. He was simply… Lucien. I’d never fought him before. I wasn’t sure why, but I never tried to protest even when it made me feel cold and sick inside.
My fight had been taken from me over the years I supposed.
When he stepped behind me and began lifting my skirts, I allowed it, staring across the room at the cream-colored wallpaper. I felt the chill of air on my bare thighs. The gentle pressure of Lucien’s hand on the middle of my back urged me to bend over the table. Taking a deep breath, I folded, turning my head to the side to stare at the candles burning in the middle of the table and those ugly carnations.
There was no escaping to my void in those moments. There was no going to sleep or thinking of other things. There was just an overwhelming numbness to those moments when Lucien wanted me. I heard his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his pants. Felt him slide my undergarments down to my knees. Felt his clammy flesh press to my backside. I even allowed my mind to feel his spit-soaked fingers toy with my entrance.
I’d never gotten wet for him. Not once. But it never deterred him. He thought I was broken as it was, so of course that was just another of my many flaws.
Then I stopped thinking. I stopped feeling. I stopped caring.
Those moments weren’t me. Those moments were nothing. Those were the moments that collected in some dark corner of my mind, feeding the monster slumbering there. That monster was fat off forgotten things, for I’d forgotten so, so much.
My pale hair was braided over my shoulder and decorated with a small hat that had a thin veil of mesh to cover my eyes. Lucien had gifted me another gown, this time in pale rose with pastel pink trim along the high collar. It itched, but I would never tell him that. Lace gloves covered my fair hands and a fur-lined cloak draped over my shoulders. The dress was unnecessarily heavy, the bustle thick with layers and trailing a step behind me. It was not a traveling dress by any means, but Lucien enjoyed how I turned heads.
So long as eyes did not look too long.
I was a trophy. One Lucien flaunted in public from time to time only to put me behind closed doors for months following. I was not to speak much lest I say something that gave away my lunacy. But that was fine because talking was no treat. People never seemed to have any depth anyways once words escaped their mouths.
It was rare for me to venture around town with Lucien and I subtly took in the sights with silent excitement. I loved the town. Contrary to the gray buildings and hazy atmosphere, the people of Cragborough seemed to always try to offset the drab setting with colorful clothes. It was bustling with people of all kinds. Dark hair. Pale hair. Dark skin. Pink skin. Wrinkled faces and young faces. The smells were blissfully overwhelming, too. Perfumes, food, and even the simple odor of burning wood from chimneys all tickled my senses in a way the drab interior of Lucien’s manor never could. If I avoided the cathedral, I actually enjoyed the town very much.
I wanted to visit a bookstore to replenish my collections. I wanted to have tea in one of the beautiful cafes. And when a light drizzle graced the brick streets of Cragborough, I wanted to dance in it. I stepped out of our carriage with intentions to do just that, but I had no hopes of succeeding.
