Violet Shadows

8

For the first time in her life, Christine hit an elder.

With the golden tin Sir Garnet gifted to her, now leaving a curved dent. The crone braced for another blow as Christine's hand rose, then fell. The maids behind her were on their knees, whimpering. Once hit against the head maid was enough, even if anger was carving everything up inside her like a thundering storm. Christine could not see the crone's face as she was clutching her shriveled cheek with both of her hands, the impact stinging red. She had only done as much as was required to remedy the situation.

Issac was crying silently, hidden behind one of the columns in her bedroom. Christine steeled herself at the sight. This act of violence was for his sake. She couldn't be weak. Roma wouldn't be weak.

Ignoring him, her expressions of cold eyes sharpened into daggers. "You have damaged what is mine. You have hurt something that is mine." She said it with a feral snarl, hoping it was similar enough to Roma's putrid nature. The anger came natural, but not the arrogance. "No one touches my toys except me."

The crone sank to her knees. "Please, my lady. It won't happen again." She clung to the hem of Christine's gown, stretching the lace like cotton. "I beg of you. I have been your one and true loyal maid for all of your life. I would not betray you so."

"And yet Issac stands there with new welts on his stomach!" Christine snapped, sending a finger towards his direction. Shaking and crying, Issac could no longer continue to stay hidden behind the column. Not when this was about himself. He stepped into the light and nearly harrowed within it.

"Have mercy, my lady!" The other maids cried. Some sank to their knees, others pressed their heads to the floor. Christine kept upright, sinister eyes leveling over them all. "Madame Jesson would never punish the slave for naught!" They continued.

The slave. Her chest burned at the degradation."What do you have to say for yourself?"

The crone's skin had burst into hives, but her grip on the gown tightened with a will of iron. "He was caught stealing food, my lady. For the fifth time."

"It was merely punishment, my lady." The other maid added.

Christine's scowl deepened. "As it was punishment for all the other times, right?"

She knew of their indifference to him, their disdain for Margrita, but never expected to come this far. If, as she suspected, Issac was receiving harassment despite her new demeanor towards him, then it must have come from beyond her quarters. House Ducal was not safe for him. For either prince. Christine knew of the disrespect heaved towards them, the sorts of ordeals they suffered through, but her hand did not extend so far. In secluded places, ones where she held no eyes, Issac could still be hit. Cut. Raped. She had no way of knowing who would dare, or if it had taken place. What if during these weeks down in the streets, someone tried harming him?

She wasn't confident that he'd tell her. After this morning when she ordered him to lift his robes after the third time he had trouble bowing, he almost refused. Almost. Then, teeth chattering, he did so. And Christine saw red.

She never thought she'd actually have to tell someone to treat another person as an equal, but this book proved her wrong. The servants, her maids, House Ducal—they hated because it was natural. It was in the timbre of their voices, written within the threads of their soul. Christine pushed down what that meant to her, her goodwill for these people failed. If they could not understand compassion, then they'd certainly be able to understand possession.

So she'd start with the rats, the hidden pillars of House Ducal. They would spread her words like disease, knowing to never harm the Margrita princes.