Fool – Part 09
She couldn’t comprehend what was happening. One moment, she felt someone grab her by the scruff of her neck, and the next, she found herself face-down on the ground. Dust clung to her eyes, forcing her to shut them. While she was distracted by the pain, the hand on her neck started pulling her, then effortlessly tossed her into a dimly lit space.
Cecily, thrown to the ground, hurriedly pushed herself up. She glanced around with one blurry eye. It was dark, cramped, and empty. Closed shutters surrounded her, and she was covered in straw. A barn, perhaps? The one by the path?
She turned back to the door. A shadow loomed, backlit by the light behind him. A dark, malevolent figure.
“You ought to be more aware of your femininity.”
Driven by pure loathing, Cecily reached for the sword at her waist. But before she could grab it, she was struck hard across the face, sending her crashing into the barn wall.
“Recognize your fragility. Your foolishness. Your weakness.”
He pinned her right wrist into the dirt floor and kicked her forehead with the other foot. Sparks flew across her vision.
“I despise it all—love, trust, everything. I’m sick of it. Watching people like you makes my skin crawl. Stop trying to beautify this world. Stop trying to glorify yourself.”
The heel of his boot came down on her forehead again and again until her skin split and blood sprayed. She raised her left arm to block his foot, but it was useless. Every attempt she made to fight back was crushed effortlessly. She was being violated, and there was absolutely nothing she could do.
A foot pressed down on her forehead and arm. As her arm creaked, she finally screamed.
Aria remained in her scabbard. Unless drawn, she couldn’t take on her human form. Cecily tried to unsheathe her with her left hand.
“Are you really incapable of anything without the Infernal Blade, woman?”
She hesitated, and a swift kick knocked her hand aside. Her sword belt was ripped away, and her rapier, still sheathed, was flung out of reach. Siegfried’s fingers wrenched apart the clasp of her breastplate, ripped away her waistcloth, shredded her jacket, stripping her layer by layer.
“There is no god. Light festers. Love is an illusion. Love divides. People stab others in the back. You will die. Ashes and scent eventually fade, and everything will return to nothing. Ah, the emptiness, the sadness, the grandeur of it all.” Siegfried’s voice was full of joy, like he was reciting poetry.
He silenced Cecily with violence, slapping her cheek, striking her bare breasts, kicking her stomach. Her strength to resist slowly drained away.
She couldn’t focus on the pain. Her mind was consumed by the shame and fear of being half-naked. She had no idea what might happen next.
“…me.”
As Siegfried struck her, Luke’s face flashed in her mind. She cried out, pleading for him to save her. She wanted him to rush to her side, just as he did when she fought the Inhuman, the demons, Doris and the girls. He had always come to her aid when she needed it most.
Help me.
“He’s not coming,” the man sneered. “No one will save you.”
Help wouldn’t come. He wouldn’t come. Right now, he was holding someone else in his arms.
I…
“You’ve got a nice body for a country girl.”
Siegfried’s hand crept over her skin, and a heel ground into her thigh. Five fingers sank into her breast, nails pressing down and distorting its shape.
“But I’m not interested. Unfortunately, my body is incapable of such things, so I have no interest. But now you understand, don’t you?”
His hand pulled back, his foot retreated, and he leaned close to whisper with venomous contempt.
“I despise you.”
He walked away. His fading footsteps brought to mind an innocent toddler that had grown tired of a toy—and she was the toy.
Slowly, Cecily lifted her face. Covering her chest with her right arm, she crawled forward, coughing up blood, stretching out her hand toward the sword lying in the corner of the barn. She drew it with an unsteady grip. As soon as the rapier was unsheathed, it transformed into wind, forming a small, silver vortex. When it burst, Aria appeared, already sobbing.
Aria held Cecily tightly, muttering, “I’m sorry,” over and over again.
The embrace brought Cecily an unimaginable sense of relief, and then, instinctively, she pushed Aria away and vomited on the spot. She heaved violently, expelling everything from her stomach. Unbothered by the mess, Aria held her head, rubbing her back.
With a hollow gaze, Cecily spat out venomous words.
“Someone, please kill that man.”
“Please don’t tell anyone about this,” she said.
Aria frowned. “Anyone?”
“Anyone.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
When asked why, Cecily struggled to articulate her reasons. She just didn’t want anyone to know, especially not him. She thought it would be the end if he found out. Though what would end, she didn’t even know.
After receiving treatment for her injuries, Cecily began to lock herself in her room, abandoning her work. It was the first time she had taken an unexcused absence.
On the first day, her mind was completely consumed by hatred. All she could think about was killing him, driving her nearly insane. But she knew that if she didn’t fill her mind with dangerous thoughts, the memories of what he had done would shatter her even more. So, she cursed him. Go to hell, she thought. Her mother, Lucy, came to check on her repeatedly, worried.
By the third day, the hatred had morphed into a bottomless sense of powerlessness. Memories of being effortlessly trampled haunted her. The swordsmanship she had trained for and her will to fight had shattered as easily as twisting a child’s hand, leaving her in shock. Strangely, the realization that she had been utterly powerless drained her of all energy, overshadowing any feelings of regret. Hannibal and Patty came to check on her after her continued absences, but she asked Aria to send them away.
On the fourth day, after a full day steeped in despair, she consciously shut down her thoughts and feelings. She slept like a doll, realizing the futility of ruminating on her sense of helplessness. When Fio burst into her room, tired of her locking herself up without giving any reason, she bombarded her with questions, but she stubbornly refused to give answers. Aria seemed to want to say something but never broke her promise.
By the sixth day, nightmares plagued her. Dreams of being attacked by something, of falling endlessly from great heights. She tossed and turned in bed, finding only a bit of calm when Aria lay beside her. Her stomach rejected food, and everything she tried to eat came back up. When she attempted to go outside, her body resisted.
Of course, she had no intention of staying like this. Someday, she planned to stand up again, take her sword, and fulfill her duties. She wasn’t that far gone.
But just for now, she wanted to be left alone. She needed a little more time for the memory to fade, to regain her usual spirit. She understood the source of her anguish. No matter how many times people reminded her, she never really focused too much about the fact that she was a woman, and being shown that she was one in such a brutal manner crushed her. She needed time. A little more time to recover.
But her spirit never came. She just lay languidly on her bed, passing the time aimlessly. She lost track of time. What had happened to her previous feeling of invincibility?
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