Page 29 of The Nephilim's Finesse

I shook my head. “Nay. I had prepared it for you earlier, but permit me to warm it anew.” I took the bowl from the table, but he was faster. He knocked the bowl out of my hand, causing it to clatter and break on the wooden floor. Fearing his anger, I contracted inside myself, shrinking back to make myself as small as possible, to no avail.

“How dare you let my meal go cold?” His words were slurred, yet his mind still bore wit enough to be calculating.

Goodwyn seized me by the arms and shook me harshly, each syllable uttered like a whip over my skin. “You’re a wretched wife! I told you to wait for me!”

Though he had said no such thing, I knew well enough that arguing with him would be futile; he'd call me foolish and claim my memory faulty, all while proclaiming his own words to be the only truth and branding me a liar.

I shook from fear, too frightened to look into his face. “Please,” I whispered.

“What, please? I told you a simple task, and you worthless wretch couldn't do it? What ill deed have I done to deserve such an abominable wife? You’re the worst wife possible, good-for-nothing, always making everything wrong," he screamed at me. "Every simpleton would be a better wife than you!”

I looked down, hoping that his cuss would shortly desist. Again, he shook me, his fingers full of strength, gravely clutching my arm so that in due time, I should take the print of his nasty marks from them.

“You have nothing to say to that, wife?”

“You’re… you’re right,” I whispered.

He flung me against the wall. “Of course I know that I’m right! I wanted to know what you would do about it!”

I lay in a heap on the floor, curling up to a ball, attempting with all my might to preserve me and my babe. Goodwyn grasped my hair and raised me forthwith; such was its force that much affliction did accompany it. He then increased his vigour and bashed my head against the wall. Momentary dizziness seized me, but quickly, I was restored to sense upon feeling him kick me incessantly.

"No! Have mercy on the babe!" I whimpered.

But no mercy did he show, nor did he pause. “This is all your fault!” he screamed repeatedly while kicking me everywhere and punching me until I couldn't feel my nose anymore. Our house was on the outskirts of the village; nobody heard my struggling cries, nor was there any soul willing enough to intervene against Goodwyn's power. My only wish at that time was death, to be free of all this agony and be free of him.

Eventually, he sank on his arse, breathing heavily. “Now, rise and fetch water and prepare me a meal I deserve!” I couldn't stir; my flesh was too weak. Everything hurt. My breathing was laboured; several ribs had to be broken. My eyes swelled shut, my ears ringing as I tasted the copper tang of blood.

“Now!” With one hand clutched tightly onto my hair, he lugged me across the dirt floor towards the door. Behind me, bloody smears marked my path. He opened the door and threw me out.

“When you’ve made my meal, you shall clean up the mess you have caused!”

I wanted to die on the spot, never to get up, yet the sight of Goodwyn's cruel eyes spurred me on. I got on my hands and knees and crawled to the bucket. Behind me, I heard the door slam shut. With all the might that I could muster, I rose onto my feet and limped out of our small parcel. Warm liquid ran slowly down my thighs as I made haste towards the well, chilling me more deeply than any winter cold. Looking to the left, I realised it wasn't far from the woods. I let the bucket fall and hobbled to the greenery. It was cold outside, but I didn’t mind. With certainty, I knew that I'd die this night, but I wanted to do this in peace. With trees around me, not Goodwyn. I limped into the woods, holly leaves scratching at me, pine needles pricked in the soles of my bare feet, but I didn’t feel any of them. When I felt that I was far enough and even more that I couldn't walk any longer, I fell upon the frozen ground in a bed of fragrant pine needles that would be my grave bed. It usually smelt of sap and aromatic evergreens, but now I couldn't smell anything due to my broken nose. I was relieved. All this would end. This miserable life. The sorrow that wracked me was like none else; I was so sad that it was all that my existencehad to offer. A childhood in fear of the royalists. Seeing my beloved sister wither away from hunger. Being violated, betrayed by my parents, forced against my will to marry an abuser...and here, aged just nineteen years, death finally caught up with me. I was bleeding heavily from my womb; a small pool of blood had formed under me. Painful cramps shook me, telling me that I was losing my child. But not only did my belly hurt; everything inside me hurt. Of course, it could be from losing the child; however, I knew that at least one rib was puncturing my lung.

I yearned to see the world, be free, and explore what I liked. I didn’t know anything outside my village, outside my duties, outside my small life. I wished I'd had another chance, another life. All the possible things I could do! Alas! No such fortune would befall me on this occasion.

The coldness alleviated my pains before sleep proceeded to take me away into its peaceful embrace, an embrace from which no awakening was set to ensue. It was over.

A mellow rocking stirred me again. “Who did this upon you?” a man asked.

I desired dearly not to awaken again; I didn’t want to feel the pain. I yearned for all of it to be finished. However, the man rocked me afresh and repeated his inquiry evermore. I decided I'd answer him, and then he'd leave me in peace.

“My husband,” I croaked.

“Do you want to make him pay for what he has done?” His voice was over me; I was too weak to lift my head or open my eyes. “Do you want vengeance?”

I bared my teeth in a cynical smirk. Of course, I wanted revenge. Yet, such ambitions seemed fruitless; I was dying; couldn't he see that?

“Do you desire to live?”

I thought for a moment, remembering my relief that this would be soon over. “Not this life, no.”

“What of a new life then?”

I nodded weakly. Suddenly, I felt his breath on my neck, and then he bit me. I cared nought for it; I'd die anyway. Would a little more pain make a difference? Three draughts did pass before consciousness finally left me.

I woke up in bed. As I moved an inch on the pillow, I could smell the distinctive scent of one who had touched these linens before: grass, sun, and soap being at hand. The unique fragrance of the maid still lingered there. As I opened my eyes, 'twas pitch dark in the chamber; the curtains were drawn over the large windows, and yet, I could make out each detail of the grandeur room. The bed was the centrepiece of the chamber, made of richly carved wood with a canopy overhead and sumptuous bedding made of fine silk. Richly carved wooden panels were on the walls, depicting hunting scenes for me to relish. The embers in the fireplace had almost burnt down, but I wasn't cold. I made out several luxurious furnishings, such as a dressing table, a large wardrobe, and lavish chairs upholstered in fine fabric.

How was that possible? And the smells. They were so overwhelming. The yellow roses on the table smelt so intensely sweet and spicy with hints of citrus and honey, as if I had my nose buried in them. The wood from the floorboards, the wax they were scrubbed with, the fine dust particles between them. The wine that had been spilt and left a stain on the carpet, and a cleaning agent used to try to remove it. How could that be? The powder in the closed reservoir, the empty perfume bottle, fallen behind the washing table. These scents were so overwhelming that I felt nearly dazed by them.

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