Page 18 of The Nephilim's Finesse

I stepped along the dirt roads of our small village. A wicker basket laden with herbs, which my mother and I had gathered from the forest earlier that day, hung from my arm. Passing by the miller's home, I handed the wife the herbs, to which she thanked me profusely and bade me farewell. I made my way back towards our house. Though it was a short distance, I always attempted a passage that would forgo the smithery on account of its master, Goodwyn. The villagers whom I passed were pleasant and congenial on such a sunny morn, their voices carrying behind me. My bare feet made no sound on the path, my brown shift fluttering about my ankles. The pleasant breeze rustled through my red curls, and I smiled when I whipped them out of my face. Out of nowhere, Goodwyn, the smith, stood before me. He was about twenty winters older, and since his wife died some years prior, this had only seemed to darken his mood and open a channel for cruelty. Goodwyn had taken a liking to me. His forbidding blue eyes fixated on me as his flaxen locks were woven with sweat draped delicately across his forehead—a reminder of the sweltering heat of the forgery. As a blacksmith in our small village, his size lent him undeniable strength; every muscle displayed through the bronze fabric of his leather apron, an intimidating figure indeed.

“Good day, Victoria.”

I did a small courtesy. “Good day, Goodwyn.” I hastened my paces to pass him, yet he seized upon my arm. His grip tightened upon my flesh, and in a deep voice, he said, “Not so fast. I want to show you something.”

My face became ashen, and though I smiled, 'twas weakly done. "I fain would beg your forgiveness, Master Goodwyn," I spoke slowly, "for I must return to my mother who awaits me yonder." Again, I made haste to move away, but his grip held me firmly once more.

“It won’t take long.” He practically dragged me behind the next house into the vegetable garden. Goodwyn undid his breeches and, with an uncouth face, commanded, "Be silent, and this shall be over quickly."

Astonished at his intent, I could do nothing more than gape upon him whilst fear had seized me entirely and found no escape from its clutches. I knew what was coming. Then I saw his ugly, huge thing. In that moment of horror, I shook out of my shock and attempted to flee. Yet, with a rough force, he had me down on the ground, my face smiting the dirt below. He turned me, then pushed himself above me and slapped my face with much force.

“Stay still, I said!”

His weighty form pushed me yonder as he shoved my dress upward. I could scarce take a breath, unable to move an inch. I turned my face from his and attempted to wail aloud. At that moment, I felt a sharp slap against my cheek, the coppery taste of blood upon my lips.

He spoke with a piercing gaze. “If you dare make another sound, I will end your life here!” His hand delved between my thighs, grasping my flesh in a cruel grip, and tears welled up in my eyes, for I wished for nothing more than to be far away from this place.

Aghast at finding myself in such a state, I whimpered. "Please, good sir, release me."

He ignored me, instead setting his hand aside and replacing it with something else which I was most unfamiliar with. Then, a pain unlike any other that I had suffered in my entire life tore through me like lightning. What did he do that pained me so? It felt as though my innards had been violently ripped up from the inside out. Tears sprang into my eyes, and I cried out. Goodwyn then smote me over and over again until all was a blur.

“You blubbering wench! Stay silent!”

After some minutes of Goodwyn’s grunting, he suddenly stilled and then let go of me. Without saying a word, he left. I curled up into a ball in a heap of anguish, my head spinning and bile rising in my throat. I waited until I was able to move again before slowly beginning my journey back home, my blood and his seed leaking from between my legs, each step aching more than the last and tears streaming down my face.

When I pushed open our door, Mother gasped and cried out.

"Heavens above! What ill has befallen you?"

My father stepped out of the small bedroom we all shared. “Who has done this to you?”

“Goodwyn,” I whispered.

My mother embraced me, coddling me as I wept uncontrollably. My parents whispered to each other for a while, yet their words were lost amidst my blubbering and histrionics.

“Will you kill him, Father?” I asked him, a faint hope in my voice.

He shook his head. “No, I shall force him to marry you.”

I leapt to my feet. "What? No, that cannot be! He, he…”

"He has shamed you and, by that, our family. To remedy this slight, he must wed you so your honour may be restored."

"Nay! I care not of my honour! This man did terrible things to me! He hit me, he, he...ravished me!" I sobbed. "You cannot give me unto him as a wife. I'd be at his mercy; he could do this every day to me!"

My mother sighed. “This is the way of the world, Daughter. A woman must obey her husband.”

My father's shoulders slumped in defeat at the doorway. “I told you to seek a husband. But none was good enough for you. You’re seventeen. It was long overdue. If you had been wed, this would not have occurred.”

“Such as the soldiers who had burst into our house? Neither my mother's matrimony nor her prayers could stay their wrath!”

My mother gave me a slap with such force I felt as if my very soul had been struck down. “It's war. And it is men's wont to do as they have done in such a season. It behoves you to bear up under this and move onward. This you must do from henceforth.”

New tears welled in my eyes as I contemplated the betrayal of my parents. Could it be true that love was so easily forgotten in favour of reputation? In an instant, I wished for death over such a fate and yearned so for the next years.

I wiped the tears from my cheek and stared for a long time in the distance, remembering what I had to endure. Rocking myself for hours, I asked myself a thousand times, what would have happened if my parents hadn't forced me to marry this monster? Could I have had a normal life? Maybe get a nice husband and raise children until I would have died in my late thirties? Never to become a vampire, never to endure such cruelty, such injustice, such despair. If there was one turning point in my life, it was the decision of my parents to marry me to a man who'd tortured me to my death.

Several hours later, I decided I needed some diversion. I placed the DVD of the period drama into the player. It was a series of mixed, coloured people who lived in the early nineteen-hundreds. Not very accurate. I remembered the ton well. All pompous, arrogant arseholes who didn’t care for each other in the least.

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