Red Room |18+|

♤Birth of death♤

........32........

........Evie.......

I count the chapters of my life, the hard truth of the torment I’ve lived throughout my days. From the beginning of my time, I wished for the end, I prayed that the night will silently devour me, spit me out and leave me in a place full of absolute darkness. Darkness I have become too comfortable in, I’ve become part of it as I silently move in the shadows, destroying men for who they are-

Beast.

As the dagger is clenched tight between my fingers, a sinister smile creeps up my lips, watching the life slip out of a body, the silent cries of pain, the plea of mercy, so loud yet deafening that it silences the compassion in my heart for their loss. “You’ve done well my queen” Dimitri’s cold voice echoes as I stand beside him, loving his praise. The man, Don Luiz Fernández’s first son, I think he is called Marcus, I’m not sure, is sprawled across the floor, the open wound in his neck, allowing blood to flow down to the Italian tiled floor. Dimitri hums in satisfaction as he towers over the dead man, he tilts his head to the side, examining my work of art.

A small smile plays on the corners of his lips.
“Very good Королева” (Queen) his praise is what feeds my dark soul, I bask in it every time I hear it. His own sword as he keeps sharpening it until it is used to cut him open.

At age sixteen I should be sipping Royal English tea at the courtyard of the Palace, with other Princess across England but here I am, splitting men in half, bathing in the blood and lying in wait until it is turn of the king. It is never common to hear that a princess is sold to the most ruthless Mafia in the world because her father chose his kingdom over her.

I have been in the Ivanov house for a six months, and with each passing day, I’ve been subjected to cruelty beyond measure. In the first month I was fighting it, I couldn’t possibly allow Ivanov to touch me, even though he made it less cruel by marrying me. It still didn't change the fact that I was just his commodity, waiting to receive his orders and bad dick.

In the second month, I was being prepared to be Queen Ivanov, series of training commenced, and I was at the mercy of every man in that house. Each of them had a part to play, I was thought every thing I needed to learn about weapons, guns of all types, daggers, bombs, grenades and every other weapon of death you can possibly think of. By the end of that month, I was tired of fighting my destiny.

The third month came crawling into my chaos, the most difficult month of all. I learnt physical combat. Fighting off thirty men by the end of the month. A bruised face, blood dripping from my nose and mouth, my knuckles telling the story it had to go through. That month I missed home, until remembered there were monsters there too. That month, I settled in the darkness, I chose to hold onto the thought that it was more enjoyable being the Tormentor than the victim. I paid a price, a heavy one when I decided not to fight. By the time the month slowly and painfully came to an end, I was no more princess Evie, I had become Queen Ivanov. A shadow of the darkness called death,  waiting patiently to be summoned by her king. He became pleased with my surrender.

Then came the fourth month, quiet and serene. Promising joy, but keeping chaos close, a night before I was crowned, a sick tradition by the occult  Ivanov clan, I was stripped naked by my husband, and under his icy gaze I danced, trying to hold on to the little dignity I had left but it was impossible, when his lustful eyes glazed over my thong covered pussy and lace bra. I whimpered, when he walked closer to me. My heart hurting my ears with each violent beat. He is a man, like every other man, his touch will fade away in the distance, but it didn’t. His touch was rough, cold and menacing.

“Let me take care of you.” He whispered through smoked breath, laced with whiskey. A combination so nauseating that I scrunched my nose in disgust. He touched my shoulder, a light touch that had me wincing and almost Jenkins away.
“Please me.” My ears were stiff from the loud words that were spoken in my ears, I let out the cry I was withholding and he scoffed, telling me to go down on my knees. I obliged, sniffing and telling myself that it is what the king desires, my king. He removed his belt, and pulled down both pants and boxers together, as it stretched over his ankles. I look at his huge length and gulp, my throat already begging for mercy but I push her down with a gulp. My mouth circle around his top.

He hold out his hands and his fingers hold my jaw, tilting it up to look at him. A tear escapes and he wipes it as my tongue swipes his length. He groans, a sound that has my ears hating myself, and I continue as I take him in, hollowing my mouth so he can be fully down my throat.
“You’re doing so good my love” his strained voice echoes, as the tears in my eyes multiply down the length of my face. He guides my head as I fuck him with my mouth, and with each stroke of my tongue, my innocence disappears with it.

He splattered cum in my mouth and I swallow every drop, mostly because I am not given a choice. “Good girl” He patted my back and removed his length from mouth. The morning came and I was dressed up in a gown, ready to be crowned the Queen of the Russian Mafia world, a force to be reckoned with.

The fifth month was the dirtiest month. It was full of bodies, blood and chaos. Dimitri and Vladislav showed me how life in the ruthless and unforgiving criminal world would be like as they slaughtered men in my presence while I was tied to a chair. I watched men die, in the most inhumane way possible. They were severed, some were cut in half, others were defaced.

I watched a blood bath and as I thought about my survival, I succumbed to the reality by not shedding a tear, a simple behaviour that pleased my King as he slaughtered a man, detaching his head from his body in front of me. The man’s blood graced my face. “Good girl.” He praised as he released me from my binds, his brother was then left in the room with me.

He hit me, over and over again, and with every blow I vowed to make the life of the Ivanov brothers a living hell. As I lay in my pool of blood with the dead men, quietly listening to death’s calling, I made it my life’s decision to put those brothers through death but not kill them.

Then here I am, in the six month, as my husband examines my first kill. He silently approves of my method. He likes the way I cut straight through his throat and opened up his windpipe, making him choke on his blood.

Beautifully displayed across the floor for all to see. I stand over the body, inhaling the smoke of the cigarette that Dimitri has exhaled, I pat my own back, as I watch the last bit of humanity stripped off of me.
“Clean this place up.” He calls up to his soldiers and they nod as we exit the warehouse.

As Queen Ivanov came to be, so did all the stories begin.

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