Page 9 of Oh, Sacred Dark
All Roman could do was keep his face devoid of emotion as he savoured each mouthful. The food was…indescribable. Full of flavour, the ingredients simple but rich with herbs and spices. He was overcome by being fed something so good for what felt like the first time in his life.
Roman had loved cooking, a long time ago—when it wasn’t a danger to get things wrong. Before his father had been made High Witch, he’d lived alone, left mostly to his own devices, and he’d cooked every day, searching online for new recipes. He’d hoped to share his food with someone one day—a friend, even.
Another one of his stupid dreams.
Roman focused on his plate—a forkful of salad covered in a thick, green vinaigrette. Red rice—Roman had learnt it was rich in antioxidants—which he mixed with the squid in tomato sauce cut with…kimchi, if he wasn’t mistaken. For dessert, there were little custards that melted on the tongue.
A little from all over the world, he noticed, inclusive of a lot of the people sitting at the tables.
Roman’s chest ached as he helped clear the tables. If only someone would touch him—a hand on his shoulder, or a pat on his head. It was pathetic, he knew, like a dog begging for pets, but it had been so, so long since someone evenlookedat him. Even Connie, the sub who appeared friendly on the surface, was just out to gather information.
“Is that all?” Roman asked, making sure not to sound tentative or eager. Maybe he could stay there for a little while longer. If he was quiet and still enough, people wouldn’t even notice him.
He could pretend to be good for a little while.
“Yeah, that’s all. But make it down to dinner at least, okay?” Tyler dismissed him.
Roman didn’t react. Everything that was trying to claw its way out was pushed back down, like always.
At least he’d managed to—somehow,somehow—behave enough to be allowed one meal a day.
Roman’s room seemed even quieter than before. He opened the window, letting the fall breeze wash in.
He curled up on his bed and enjoyed the feeling of being fed.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad here. If he could just get someone to acknowledge him, he’d be okay.
He’d survived worse.
**********
When Roman belonged to his father, all his scenes had been in the basement. He had been told from the start what he was, what he was being trained to be—theirWorm.
Roman didn’t know if that was a term other covens used. He hadn’t seen any Worms in Meliora so far, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any.
The training had been difficult. He was taught to be better, to dispose of his own needs. A Dom would have a sub they slept with, and scened with, and loved, and then they’d have a Worm—something worth only enough to serve them.
Roman had been lucky not to have been castrated—Worms were stripped of their sexuality, to appeaserealsubs, make sure their Doms didn’t stray.
His father had tried to mould him into furniture, a kicked pet, a cook, a maid, a punching bag. Roman was bad, and he had to be made into something better. His father got good at slipping Roman right into the edges of subspace and keeping him there, making him do things that would strip him bare. That would break him down little by little until he was what he was—less than nothing.
The worst was the cleaning of the blood.This was a person, Roman would always think, watching the red stain his clothes, his skin. His hair, sometimes, if his father shoved him over. He couldn’t help but think that he would become just that one day—a puddle of mud on his father’s floor.
In the Main House of the Meliora Coven, Roman woke up reeling. It was an endless cycle of Dropping and sleeping and nightmares and waking up feeling as if he were drowning.
Roman crawled out of the bed and onto the cool, wooden floor. It was dark, the new moon sky glittering with stars. Inside his room, though, it was all shadow.
There was a fist in Roman’s throat he couldn’t breathe through. He was trying, desperate for just one clean lungful of air, chest aching with the effort. His teeth chattered, the noise loud in the empty night.
He needed to be quiet. He needed tobe better.
Roman dragged himself across the floor desperately. If only he could stop shaking, but he was so scared it was like a madness, thoughts screaming and splintering apart.
He had to hide. He needed to find somewhere small and safe and curl up there, where no one could find him.
He opened the closet. There was barely anything inside, a cavern. He forced himself back to the bed—he was bad,bad—and yanked all the sheets off, the one pillow he had. Stuffed them into the dark cave. Pulled clothes from the hangers. Shut the door.
In the tangle of soft things, he stilled. He couldn’t hear a thing. Maybe no one could hear him, either.
