chapter forty-one #2
I was a fly on the wall, clinging to the outer edge of the Den as I only observed.
I rubbed the back of my neck and was surprised to feel my own skin for once.
The blouse I chose did not have a high collar and exposed down to my chest. I realized how much I missed my armor, the garments that kept me safe and hidden.
The clothes that made people turn the other way when they saw me.
While the activities were chaotic, it was primarily a positive environment. There was no need to hide anything, and everyone involved acted like they were in a club. How odd it was for everyone to be so relaxed, though I was sure the substances in those pipes helped.
The thought had seemingly hexed my surroundings. Something was unfolding down by the lounge area in the middle.
The men whistled one of the feeders forward, and some mumbled words were exchanged before the woman got down on her knees. She looked in rough shape. She was pale, thin, and had a deadness in her eyes that made me feel a chill in my core. Three men crowded around her, circling her like dogs.
The situation slowly demanded the room’s attention, and the others fell silent, watching as if they knew what was about to happen. No one seemed bothered. It was more like the dimming of voices before a show would start.
The three men lunged but were obscured when a hand slapped across my eyes and a strong body pulled me back.
A scream was cut off abruptly before a thud was heard. Then, the sounds of ripping began.
I panicked within the arms holding me and clawed at the hand over my eyes, my body trembling from the noises alone.
“Don’t look,” Silas whispered in my ear, holding me tight against his chest. “This is why you can’t venture into treacherous places like these without me.” He rested his head on my shoulder. “The people who live in these places would make me look like a saint.”
“Let me see it,” I whispered. “I must know.”
The wet ripping noises continued, but no one else seemed to make any commotion.
After the noises died down, the regular clamor of the crowd returned to how it was before. Silas’s hand fell away, allowing me to observe the aftermath.
Nothing could have prepared me for the sight. It reminded me of how they performed dissections in universities, except I had only seen illustrations of them in books.
The woman’s body was flayed open, her chest cavity torn and the flesh peeled away from her body like a flower. Her rib cage was cracked open and posed like open jaws toward the ceiling. Nothing was inside. It was empty.
Her head laid limp. I wished I could imagine that it was painless, but her broken-jawed expression told me otherwise. It was clear from her oddly angled neck that it was not a clean break.
“Alina, look at me,” Silas whispered into my hair, but my eyes stayed glued to that spot on the floor. The gravity of my situation weighed on me. My stomach churned, and barely any thoughts formed cohesively.
If this was what the corrupted did, a mental picture of what Silas’s Nest would do when they found me entered my mind.
What if they realized I was here? What if they all found out who I was?
Silas had said my poison was on its way to infamy within these circles.
What happened when they found out? My body was shaking hard, my fingers and toes getting cold from the panic.
Sharp teeth sank into my neck, and I flinched, digging my nails into Silas’s arm that was wrapped around my waist.
“Ouch, Sil—” He bit harder, and I yelped.
He fed more aggressively, his other hand possessively tangling in my hair, pulling my head to the side so he could have better access. It prompted a whimper from me, and my body stopped shaking, his venom calming my electric nerves. He must have sensed my panic, fearing I would make a scene.
He let go of my neck and lapped at the spot. “Let me know when you’ve had enough.”
THE CREATURE
One day, maybe I would understand why she did this to herself.
She looked like she was on the brink of either passing out or throwing up, and for once, it was in spite of my toying with her.
My arm held her up as her breathing steadied. She had to look at that abomination on the floor below us to prove a point to herself. There was no doubt that she would use this to fuel her vendetta against anything she found unjust.
The more I learned about her, the more I realized she thought she could save the world. Her rigid routine and pious beliefs were to torment herself as punishment for not doing more, for not knowing better.
Someday she would learn that no matter what she did, she could not save every fawn, and she could not smite the wolf for eating. Whether she liked it or not, it was the other side of the natural order that she held so dear.
I licked my lips and wiped away the remaining taste of her. It seemed to have calmed her, but I could see in her far-off gaze that it would not be enough to pull her from this spiral.
“Let me know when you’ve had enough,” I said cautiously.
“It will never be enough.” Her words were barely above a whisper. “Nothing I do will be enough.”
I glanced at the scene below being cleaned up, the body being scraped off the wooden floor. The blood added a slick gloss to the dark stain of the wood.
“Then you have your answer.” I sighed, scooping her into my arms and walking toward the back entrance.
Her head rested on my chest, not one sound from her.
I had hoped that allowing her to sneak away and see this place would discourage her from taking on these excursions alone, but it might have done much worse than I intended.