6.Skin And Bones

~Esmarie Seraphine Vale~

I didn’t know what echoed louder, my father's warning yell or the silence that settled after.

My hand still burned from the slap as it curled at my side, bunching at my dress.

My father shifted back, cracking his jaw in an attempt to regain his calm. He didn’t spare me another glance as his eyes focused on the mayor who had now gotten over his initial shock.

Cornelius shot to his feet, vibrating with barely restrained anger.

“You wretched—” His voice cracked with rage, spitting flecks of saliva toward me. His eyes didn’t look human anymore...small, mean beads in a slab of meat. His fingers twitched, as if he wanted to wrap them around my neck.

“Cornelius.”

My father’s voice. Smooth. Measured. Not the shout I was bracing for.

Cornelius turned toward him, incredulous. “You saw what she did!”

“I did,” My father sighed, slowly stepping forward. He smoothed his shirt cuffs as if he were simply getting ready to pour himself more wine. “And I also see you’ve had a long day. Sit down, and we’ll discuss this like men.”

“Like men?” Cornelius barked. “That brat humiliated me in front of you and your boys. And you want to talk?”

“She’s young. Emotional.” My father’s smile didn’t reach his eyes as they flickered to my face. “It can be fixed. She can be fixed.”

“I don’t need to fix anything,” Cornelius snapped. “You can forget about the factory deal, Edward. Forget it.”

My stomach twisted. The factory deal. He’d whispered about it for weeks—how it would cement his position, give him leverage.

His face didn’t change. His stillness made my pulse pound harder. “Cornelius,” he said evenly, “Let’s not make decisions in anger.”

But Cornelius was already shrugging into his coat. “It’s not anger. It’s clarity.” He jabbed a crooked finger at me. “You’ve raised a spoiled, shameless little whore and I will not work with a man who cannot control his household, who lets—”

“Enough,” my father barked, voice clipped.

Cornelius laughed bitterly. “This is over.”

The door slammed hard enough to rattle the chandelier.

I exhaled, fingers trembling.

I could already taste the terror on my tongue.

My father didn’t move right away. He just stood at the head of the table, fingertips resting on the wood, eyes lowered in thought. His breathing was slow. Controlled.

“Come,” he said.

My legs wouldn’t move.

“Jared.”

Jared’s chair scraped back. His hand clamped around my arm, fingers biting into my skin as he yanked me forward.

My father turned toward the hallway. “Bring her.”

Something cold slid into my chest. He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t shouting. He was deciding.

They didn’t take me far. Just around the corner, into the narrow passage that led from the dining room to where the bathroom door waited.

Trigger Warning

I opened my mouth to speak, to apologize, to plead, to scream, but the first blow landed before any sound could leave me.

White exploded behind my eyes.

The second came harder, slamming me into the wall. My ribs screamed as the sharp edge of the table dug in. My knees buckled. The air in my lungs turned to glass shards.

“Breathe,” I told myself, but my chest wouldn’t listen.

Fingers like iron hooks tangled in my hair, yanking my head up so fast my vision blurred. My cry came out strangled.

“You ungrateful little rat,” my father scoffed, voice calm as a butcher explaining the cut of meat he was about to take.

Then came the rip—hot, blinding pain as clumps of hair tore free from my scalp. My hands clawed at his wrists on instinct, but he only tightened his grip.

“You think you can embarrass me in my own house? In front of the Mayor? People like you don’t get choices. You don’t get a voice. You kneel. You beg.”

His words were sharpened.

He hurled me toward the bathroom. My face cracked against the doorframe. My teeth clacked together so hard I tasted blood.

Water was already running in the tub.

Then his hands found my throat.

The pressure was immediate, crushing. I clawed at him, nails scraping his skin, but he didn’t react. Black spots swam in the edges of my vision.

Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out.

The tub overflowed behind me, icy water soaking through my dress.

And then I was under.

The water swallowed me whole. My scream dissolved into bubbles. Panic flared bright in my chest. My lungs begged. My body betrayed me, trying to suck in air where there was none.

When he pulled me up, I collapsed over the tub’s edge, coughing so hard I thought I’d vomit my lungs. The taste of metal coated my tongue.

His boot hit my side. Then again. And again. My body folded, unfolded, folded again. Pain became a drumbeat. I felt something in my ribs give.

He crouched beside me, whispering, “If it were up to me, I’d leave your body in the forest for the wolves. But the Mayor still wants you. I know he does. So here’s what you’ll do—crawl to his house, beg him to take you, and if he wants you to use your mouth or spread your legs, you’ll do it. Or don’t come back.”

Then louder, to my brothers: “Get her out of my sight.”

I didn’t fight when they dragged me. My limbs were useless. The cold air outside bit through my soaked dress.

The steps vanished beneath me, and I hit the frozen ground hard enough to knock the breath from what little I had left.

The door shut.

Just like that, I was nothing again.

For a long time, I lay there. Gravel pressed into my back. Every inhale was a knife. Above me, the stars blurred as tears filled my eyes.

But no one came.

Eventually, I moved. I wasn’t going to the Mayor. I couldn’t go home. There was only one place left.

The hidden lake.

So I crawled.

Down the slope, past hedges, across the hill trail. My knees tore open. Thorns bit at my arms. Blood slicked my palms where the rocks cut deep.

The moon was high—an indifferent witness.

The path narrowed. Trees leaned in close, watching. My breath was shallow, my chest screaming with every jolt.

Still, I moved.

Until the rocks opened, revealing the lavender-lined trail.The lake shimmered under the moonlight, pale and patient.

I stumbled forward, knees buckling. Fingers clawed at the dirt; my mouth moved, no sound. I wasn’t alone. A shadow shifted across the water — massive, still, watching.

“Hey there, beastie,” I croaked. “Came back to finish the job?”

It glided into view.

“Not much of a meal,” I rasped. “Skin and bones… and blood.”

Its ears twitched.

I sank face-first, arms trembling. “Go on. Make it quick.”

A low growl rolled across the water — sad, not savage. My heart ached; the cold crept deeper. My eyes slid shut.

“You’re real,” I murmured. “Then please… just make it stop.”

Warmth curled around me — gentle, impossibly gentle. Then — nothing.

I hoped I wouldn’t wake. A broken part of me feared I would.