Alexander

Angelica

Alexander went up the stairs and into his own room for the first time in nearly a week. This time, instead of Lily, Elizabeth was with him, preparing him for the marvelous feast that was going to take place in honor of Sir Nicholas, the country's hero.

He couldn't really tell if Elizabeth was happy or upset about having to be the one to do it. He'd tried to convince them that he was fully capable of doing it on his own, but Nicholas wouldn't hear of it. Probably because he was afraid he would try and drown himself or something.

"Alright, brat, dress down. You need a good scrub," Elizabeth said. Once the water was prepared, Elizabeth left, probably figuring that she was in no danger of being snitched on by Alexander Sit-Pretty. She'd figured right. She lounged on his comfortable bed while Alexander tried to scrub all of the dirt and grime off of himself.

He scratched his head until it was tender to the touch, he scrubbed his body rigorously in spite of the bruises. By the end of the frenzy, Alexander felt no cleaner. He felt raw and sodden, but not cleaner, not by a fraction. He doused himself in all of the herbs and soaps and oils that he could get his hands on, but he still felt filthy. He was filthy, and Alexander realized that it wasn't the outside that was the problem.

Nicholas had managed to damage him from the outside in. Every touch that sent unapproved shivers down his spine was another bit of dirt shoved down his throat to permanently crust itself onto his insides. Some nights Nicholas got in the mood to be gentle. Mostly because when he got rough again Alexander would complain more, giving Nicholas greater satisfaction. But occasionally it felt good, and that made Alexander feel guilty. It was kind of his fault. What was to stop him from locking himself in the cellar, or running away, or even killing himself? If he honestly thought about it, were there moments where he enjoyed the attention? No. There wasn't. Right?

He sat and scrubbed for another while longer. Maybe if he rubbed hard enough the dirt on the inside would clean off, too.

Elizabeth rushed in, her sandy blond hair arrayed in perfect ringlets lying gracefully on her sloped shoulders. The dress she was wearing was elegant and slim, hugging her rounded hips and arse, exposing the slight bumps of her breast that was hardly visible unless she was being squeezed by silk in this manner. "What's taking so long?" It was then that she really saw him and she gasped. She stuck her hand in the water and splashed for a moment before squinting her eyes at the bright red boy. "Alexander, the water's freezing! You look burned."

"I'm fine," he assured her, standing up and wrapping a cloth around himself. He pulled the stopper out of the hole, allowing all of the dirt and nearly an entire layer of skin to make its way into the river, and eventually the sea.

"Here, let me do your back properly so that you don't ruin your robes," Elizabeth said, forgetting for a moment that her brother was the spawn of Satan himself. He turned around unfeelingly and allowed her to dab at him with ointment. His original dress robes were torn and beaten, so Elizabeth handed him his next best (and not quite as frilly) things. It was just his normal pants, but a newer pair, as well as a v-necked top and a silk vest. Nothing too fancy, but nice enough. Once she was finished taming his wild, thick hair she stepped back to appreciate her work. "There. Now you don't look awful." Alexander didn't reply.

Elizabeth had to admit, it was hard seeing him this way. It was so much easier to see him as mother's sin reborn when he was snarky, rude, and his fiery little self. "No retort?" she asked hopefully. "Nothing?"

"Thank you for helping me," he said, like some sort of unresponsive ghost of the Alex he used to be. She wished that Nicholas would just kill him and get it over with. In her opinion, this was worse.