Loving Pride

Her Reason To Fight

Lydia Thorne had taken off every piece of clothing that covered her soul, leaving her in her pale, sickly skin.

The Colonel looked up only now. His eyes noted every strange feature of her as she stood embarrassed in her pool of clothes, but it wasn't the first time he was seeing her bare, she reminded herself.

But that was six years ago, when she was sixteen. Lydia Thorne barely had breasts back then—her chest had been identical to a young boy's, but now she was back in front of him as a woman with pink nipples.

Colonel Marquez Agaria had seen multiple women in his life, most of them naked and seductive. Yet he had never seen one like Lydia Thorne—the current Lydia Thorne.

Her cheeks were hollow, and there was no light in her eyes. In fact, she looked tired. Her hands trembled at simple actions because of the lack of sugar. She had breasts, but his focus was on her ribcage, which stuck out. Her waist was the tiniest he had ever seen, and her lower body was just as small, fragile.

Nothing about her body made her desirable to the Colonel, let alone any man.

Under his heated gaze, she felt small, like always. But he wasn't lusting over her. His eyes were stuck on her stomach, specifically on the large scar that stretched from the edge of her right ribcage down to her left thigh.

"Bloody hell," He gulped the contents of his glass and took sharp strides toward her. The hair on her back stood on end when his rough fingers traced her scar.

"Only war can grant a scar like this. Who tore you open?"

His question wasn't out of sympathy, only curiosity. He had taken the reins as a Colonel ten years ago when he was a young man of 32, and in all the years he had battled in the war, he had seen many men being ripped open, but he had never met any of them make it out alive with a scar similar to Lydia's.

And that too, a woman.

She had certainly amused him in multiple ways.

"My mother..." She gulped, "My mother did it so I'd give birth early... God saved me and my baby." She allowed her hands to drop to her sides, feeling less guarded now. The Colonel's rough hand grazed up to stay on her protruding ribcage. Lydia exhaled deeply.

"And I believe you've been on the run from your family in Palona for six months without food? You were lying about the bag of gold coins."

"Everyone in Palona is dead. The Red Army murdered everyone. But I managed to escape by a thread... And my bag of coins may not be gold... It's copper torrens, but I don't spend much. I'm saving." She stared down.

"What I don't understand," He shoved her onto the bed before straddling her in the blink of an eye. When Lydia tried to sit up, Marquez wrapped his hand around her throat, forcing her down onto the mattress.

"Is that why a homeless girl has grown so fond of me despite knowing very well that I offer no one pleasure?" His tone was vicious.

Lydia did know about those rumors, of course. She had heard multiple tales of Colonel Marquez Agaria, who never offered pleasure but only pain. He's taken multiple women to his bed, but he's never given any of them the privilege to bear his child.

To him, deriving pleasure and never returning it was an act he took pride in. He offered physical pain in the worst way possible, depending on how needy the women were, but he's always had a firm grip on himself to retrieve before mistakes happen.

Thus, the Colonel had spent 42 years of his life without an heir to his name, never surrendering to anyone. His pride always ran deep before anything and everything else.

But unfortunately, that one night he spent in prison before his supposed execution—when a young girl came to his cell as her mother had demanded she bear the child of a war hero—Colonel Marquez Agaria erased it from his memory.

"I'm not... looking for... happiness..." She struggled to breathe as he squeezed her neck.

"What are you looking for then, girl?" He loosened his grip so that she could speak.

"A purpose to live in this war, a reason to fight in my own way," she replied, panting.

The Colonel gave her a good stare before getting off the bed and pulling on the shirt she had sewn. Lydia sat back up immediately and stared at him, confused.

"I've seen many corpses in the war, but you're the first living one in my eyes. I'd rather not fuck a corpse." He was hinting at the lack of flesh on her bones.

"Then give me a job, Colonel. I swear to put my heart and soul into it. At least let me sew your uniforms. Pay me five torrens for every stitch at least, please."

She begged. It made him feel good because she was begging for him.

He walked over to the full-length mirror while buttoning his shirt. The uniform looked as good as new, even though he could smell her through the cotton. She had sewn well.

The Colonel now opened a drawer and picked up five copper torrens for Lydia before tossing them on the bed. "You've earned your pay for today, now get out." He ordered.

She nodded a thank-you before slowly pulling on her clothes. "When do I come again, Colonel?" Her tone was chirpy now, but the Colonel returned a glare.

"Leave." He deadpanned.

Lydia didn't wait around, asking more questions.

"As you say, sir."