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Written by Arude_Chan on Webnovel. Triggers - abuse, psychological harm, unhealthy power dynamics, and fucked up stuff in general.
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Willow walked behind Obsidian, shaking like a leaf trembling in the wind. Wilted like a woman on the verge of death.
Her hands rested atop one another in front of her waist, gripping tightly to one another as they tried not to shake. They failed, visibly. The adrenaline from the meeting not that long ago was still fresh in her mind, and now this on top had set her body spiraling into fight or flight.
Neither was a viable option here, so she merely accepted her role and the pain it brought.
Their room was guarded by their Druidae guards, not the Paragons, a fact which brought to her a very familiar dread.
They entered Obsidian's room, the clean white marble walls and floor stood, matching the adorned king-sized bed in the middle of the room, along with a large closet and more than enough room to pace around while in deep thought.
A fireplace flickered in the corner of the room, a gentle golden glow it cast, though curiously no smoke flowed from it.
Willow silently closed the door behind her. A pleasant yet now unnerving click echoed in her ears. Silence then loomed over the room like a tired king. No noise dared make itself known until Obsidian spoke.
"You..." He spoke slowly, reigning in waves of anger and rage born from an ego larger than any man, "...Forgot your place for a second, didn't you?"
He did not turn to face her, even as he folded his hands behind his back.
Willow didn't talk; the strange lump that filled her throat didn't permit it. She twirled her fingers around one another in an effort to calm down, too energetic to stand still, yet too afraid to act; that is what she was.
"Did you forget whose clothes you wear? Who fed you and kept you alive, even offered to pull you from the misery of poverty and orphanhood?"
Willow trembled, holding her hands tighter. He was correct; he always was about these things.
Within that ever-so-imposing figure, however, loomed a sense of awareness - and the only true source of his insecure rage. After all, though his ego refused to acknowledge the truth, a part of him knew all too well the critical role Willow had to play in his plan.
'I will not let her ruin me. Not a useless orphan girl like her.'
He gritted his teeth, suppressing the anger flowing through his veins.
Willow gulped. No coherent thought floated through her mind, just emotions that each flared in alarm and worry. That, and another presence that sank deeper into her gut.
"Listen." Obsidian said with a looming yet calm tone, "They don't know who you are. A commoner, an orphan with no worthy trait except your body. But I do."
He turned to face her and stepped forward. Willow dared not meet his gaze.
"You know what they will do to you if they knew the truth? That you weren't useful to them?" He asked rhetorically, as if the answer wasn't obvious.
Still, as Willow remained silent with tears pooling in her eyes, he grabbed onto her jaw and forced her to look into the dark abyss of his eyes - gates to a twisted soul.
"Fucking-!" He shouted, cutting himself off as he breathed deeply, "Would you answer me, for fucks sake?"
Willow nodded meekly, and Obsidian let her go. This time, she kept her head up, though her eyes still avoided his form.
"I-I... Th-they would... B-be mad...?" She answered, unsure of what the answer was. After all, how was she supposed to know how they would react if she barely knew anyone here?
Obsidian resisted the urge to beat her. After all, why damage valuable merchandise so close to its auction? No, instead, he sharpened his gaze and spoke.
"Kneel."
Willow blinked, shrinking away from him instinctively.
Surely, he did not intend to...? To use her in such a way? He had never been interested in her like that, so why now? Was this her punishment? She must've deserved it, after all, he said it himself.
He's the only one who knows how worthless she is, and the only one who kept her around despite that. So how could she step away, even if he devoured her ego whole?
She didn't blush, flail around, or scream. Nothing, just dead silence and a very pale, scared teenager too young to know any better - and a man who never cared enough to be better himself.
With a very shaky lowering of her form, she kneeled. Dressed barely hiding her privates, revealing glimpses of her skin in a way that would sicken any moral man to the core.
"Good. See, it is not that hard, is it?" he tightly gripped her hair, earning a wince of pain as tears flowed down her cheeks from her eyes, which filled with stress and pain.
"Now, I am kind. No? After all, I gave you a chance to marry into a powerful position in this wealthy city, and I will leave you alone after you succeed! How magnanimous am I? My father had such lowly plans for you... Tch."
Willow eagerly nodded and praised him. That was the best way to avoid punishment, and the best way to maybe save herself from being used in a way that horrified even her broken self.
Obsidian clicked his tongue as his father entered his mind, every thought swirling around him like planets near stars.
"So... What will we do now?" He asked, looming over her like a predator would over its prey.
"I...I w-wi-will ob-obey you..." She stuttered out, anxiety and dread mixing in her to create a profound sense of claustrophobia that made her tremble like a scared child - Because that is exactly what she was.
"Good..." Obsidian said, stepping away, causing Willow to relax ever so slightly.
"Get out of my room. And if anyone asks, you cried because you felt homesick." He noted with a disgusted hiss, watching her tears as if they tainted him somehow.
Willow stood up and bowed as low as she could, shaking like a leaf in the autumn wind, holding onto a rotting branch as if it cared for her life.
She then left, the door swinging open under her soft, shaky touch. She closed it behind her, the soft click echoing in the pristine hallway as she collapsed to her knees, barely catching herself with her arms.
She breathed, albeit barely. She was intact, again, barely. There was nothing else but a sense of relief and release, causing her numb fear and dread to spike into sorrow, grief, anxiety, and worry at a pace she could not possibly contain.
The two Druidae guards watching her spiral did not move or budge, either apathetic or numb to the sight of Willow breaking down.
Indeed, as her shaky breaths turned into hyperventilation, there was not a single molecule of justice and no sight of a man willing to stand against the injustice in her life.
Until a hand reached for her.
Michael, who had been walking around The Ark to calm himself down, was shocked to find Miss Willow completely out of her mind, sobbing and heaving on the floor.
Naturaly, he had rushed to her side, the girl was so deep into her spiral she didn't even hear him running - the loud clanging of plate armor made him less than stealthy - so his concern only grew with each loud step.
"Allow me, Miss Willow." He said as he placed a hand on her forehead, a sense of cool stability filled her being as her breathing calmed.
'The spirit is absolutely livid at the presence of holy magic in her bloodstream, but it'll have to bear with it. Not like it did anything to help either. In fact, it isn't the only being here that has failed in its duties.'
Seeing her stable, Michael rose to his feet and looked at the two guards with a face of righteous fury.
"What were you doing?" He asked, barely holding back the urge to shout.
"What?" Asked one of the guards, as if the question was unjustified or unexpected.
"Your charge was shaking on the floor, clearly afraid and distressed, and you stood there like a statue." He took an enraged step closer, "Hell, I laid my hand on her, and even then, you did nothing. What are you guarding? The air?"
In reality, they were simply accustomed to this sight. Frankly, it was uninteresting at this point. Not to mention, showing Willow kindness was equivalent to angering Obsidian, something none of them dared to do.
Still, the Druidae guards would not tolerate such disrespect; one of them tightened his hand into a fist while the other spoke.
"You shouldn't poke into things that are not relevant to you, Sir Michael." He said, barely maintaining any sense of respect.
"You-" Michael started, but halted as Willow gently grabbed onto his hand and put on her best smile, one that made her look more distressing than calming.
"I-I'm alright, Sir Michael... I... I just felt a little homesick, is all." She said while struggling to stand up. Her legs were shaking despite Michael's calming touch.
He let her lean on his forearm, and she could only thank him with a wordless sigh.
It would be inappropriate for him to speak up now that the victim had excused the guards, but Michael struggled to do so. Still, his discipline won out over his emotion in the end.
"Very well then, allow me to escort you to your room at the very least." He suggested, turning away from the guards. Willow nodded, her arm starting to shake a little as they walked together, her body still leaning on Michael's for support.
'I...I guess I should... Do something?' She realized, gulping as she glanced at his tall figure. 'Goodness... I never flirted with anyone and... I don't want to...'
But nobody cared. Nor would they ever, or so she convinced herself. She coughed, trying to use it as an excuse to stumble further into Michael's arms, but he didn't let that happen.
He caught her with his other arm and propped her up without a word or a laugh, dutiful in his consistency and kind in the dignity he treated her with.
They reached her room soon enough, despite Willow's repeated stumbling and attempts at physical flirting; she had hopelessly failed. Defeated and hollow, she now stood in the doorframe of her room.
"Thank you for, uhm, the escort." She said, her shyness returning to her as her skin regained some color.
"It is not an issue, I am always happy to help," Michael said with a kind look, looking only above her neck at all times.
"R-Right... Uhm..." Willow panicked, feeling silence reign and Michael prepare to leave, then she decided to do something bold.
She went to stand on her tiptoes, preparing to give Michael a peck on the cheek. Michael could see her preparing and pretended to drop his halberd on the floor.
The loud clanging noise that followed made Willow flinch and pull away again, looking at the fallen halberd and Michael in surprise.
"Ah, my apologies if that scared you. I didn't mean to drop it." He lied, but Willow was too startled to realize that.
"A-Ah, it's okay..." She said softly, unsure of what to do.
Michael picked up his halberd smoothly, "Well, my apologies, but I have business to attend to. Let the maids know if you need anything… And feel free to find me if you need help." With that, Michael bowed lightly and walked away before Willow could say anything else, leaving her standing alone in the doorway, defeated.
"Oh..." She sighed with a lowered look. Quietly, she turned to her room and closed the door behind her. The room was the same as Obsidian's; both guest rooms naturally lacked the same opulence the Consort enjoyed.
Still, the lodging was comfortable enough, more so than anywhere else Willow had ever been. The air was crisp and clean, the pillows were soft and dreamy, while the fireplace lit itself for her. No smoke filled the room - the fire didn't create any, even as it cast its warmth.
She quietly sat on the bed, patting the edge before collapsing down without pause.
"Ah..." She sighed, eyes resting on the white marble ceiling above her. Small flickers of green light appeared there; she blinked, and they blinked in and out of reality with her look.
Quietly, she gulped, feeling the stench of rotten plants and sour honey fill her mouth. Strangely, she didn't gag; instead, she merely felt the stench and disliked it.
Along with the stench rose a feeling of her stomach dropping lower, as if it were swimming through her gut. Her heart shivered, and her lungs beat as Willow sighed, exhausted beyond the reach of panic.
For the first time, quiet misery gave birth to a seedling of frustration. She gripped the sheets of her bed harder, crumpling them as she breathed out a sea of green spores.
That scent was familiar; it had to be the creature she saw in the carriage. There was no other possibility from her perspective.
"Why don't you just leave me alone?!" She demanded as a question, finally feeling some anger flowing through her veins - more so out of a need to live than a desire to protect.
There was a distant presence, a knot that tied itself at the core of her belly, one that seemed to shiver at the acknowledgment. She felt its alarm and its joy, both of which concerned her more.
Still, she braced herself.
Then something strange happened, something appeared in her mind, a thought that came from her mind, her brain, her very own biology, but it was not hers. It felt alien, rough, unrefined, like the unpracticed stumbling of a toddler trying to walk for the first time.
'This is my... my body. I... I don't want anyone to make it their own. Maybe I shouldn't let them?'
It was disruptive, and Willow instinctively turned her full focus to it.
She felt a wave of sickness wash over her. A thought that didn't feel like her? She had experienced disassociation, but this was weird even for her.
"Why does this stuff happen to me..." Willow asked nobody in particular. The spirit remained silent, knowing it was not its turn to speak.
Feeling the silence resting on her like a coat, Willow hid herself under the sheets of her comfortable bed; no tears flowed despite her whimpering, eyes running dry.
In a matter of minutes, she managed to sleep. The spirit silently stretched itself across her body once more, doing its best to help soothe her exhausted mind.