THE BEGINNING OF PLIGHT

**WARNING: Depictions of Abuse**

    Ariea's tear-stricken eyes filled with terror, as the Saintum advanced toward her, sending a chill coursing through her veins. Though she attempted to inch away, the iron grip of the guards restrained held her in place. In a bitter twist of hope, she prayed that maybe, with the force of some strength, perhaps by a miracle, the cold concrete floor would swallow her whole, saving her from him.

    The air thickened with menace as an ominous aura radiated from him, casting a foreboding shadow over the chamber. Quietly, Ariea bowed her head, her lips trembling in silent submission, yet his imposing presence remained unyielding. It was much too overwhelming, his towering figure exuding a very palpable rage at her display of humility.

    The Saintum, Cyrus, would never kneel himself to her height, so instead, he commanded the guards to force her upright. Ariea could only quiver in silence as waves of pain surged through her fragile frame. Without warning, he seized a fistful of her hair, wrenching her upright with a violent jerk.

    SLAP!

    The sound echoed through the chamber as Ariea's head snapped to the side, her body crumbling to the ground. Before she could recover, the blows rained down upon her once more, reopening wounds on her bare back, the crimson trails painting a grim tableau upon the wall. The only sound that could be heard was Ariea's voice begging for mercy as the cold leather licked into the folds of her flesh.

    At some point, Cyrus ceased his onslaught, but instead, grabbed her neck and squeezed. As the blood rushed to her head and the world blurred around her, Ariea thought to herself, this was it. She finally reached the end of her miserable life. She became consumed with bitter thoughts of the creators and the cruel destiny that had befallen her. What did she do to deserve such a cruel fate? Was she a wicked person in her previous life? Had she committed unforgivable crimes that could only be forgiven through this torture?

    If so, why did the gods not give her at least a glimpse of such a life so that she knew why she was left to this miserable fate? She deserved to know, even if it be just a blink of a memory.

    Even now, she did not know the cause of his anger.

    Please, I of beg you.

    She begun to shed tears. Stars danced around her eyes. Air never found her lungs. It felt as though Cyrus were strangling her with the intention of ending her. It would be simple to snap her neck, he thought, something like breaking a twig in his hands.

    Ariea was ready to go, she welcomed her fate. She wanted to kiss death and offer up a lifetime of servitude for rescuing her from this life. But suddenly, the Saintum released her. Her body collapsed to the floor in a heap. Somewhere amidst the sounds of her wheezing and gasping, Ariea heard a voice. A gentle voice that pierced through the darkness like a soothing balm to the pain she was in.

    "It was an allergic reaction," she said. "The roses... it is not widely known that Eloisa is allergic, husband. A suitor made a foolish error, they were not poisoned... by anyone."

    Through her dark matted hair, Ariea glimpsed a figure of a woman, her hair as pale as the new moon on a starless nightsky, standing at the last step to the chambers, the shadows barely making her face visible. She was staring at the Saintum, her voice unwavering when she spoke.

    Cyrus's gaze flickered to the body on the ground, disgust hinting behind his dark eyes. Something in him snapped. Ariea cried out as he brought down one foot on her shoulder. There was a pop, and a painful numbness. Her arm immediately went limp and dropped loosely at an awkward angle on her side. She knew instantly from the familiarity that he dislocated her shoulder. And as if angered by her sheer audacity to make a sound, he raised his leg, preparing to unleash his full force upon her abdomen.

    CRACK!

    He missed. 

    Ariea would have hollered in pain had the wind not been knocked out of her. Shards of her shattered ribcage had already punctured her lungs. Her strength waned completely as she became deprived of sensation. Everything faded and her eyes shut. 

    The Saintum observed her skin turn to different hues of blue and purple as her skin swelled and bruised, his expression devoid of any emotion. Her chest barely rose and fell, yet she was still alive. He clicked his tongue as his wife averted her gaze from the scene, failing to notice her clenched knuckles betraying her inner turmoil.

    "Father, come quick, grandmother calls for you." The voice of the first son sounded out through the basement.

    The Saintum adjusted his tie and smoothed out the untucked bits of his shirt as his darkness seeped back into his pores through the fabric of his clothing. The punishment was over. He did not spare a glance as he turned on his heel and marched up the stairs, casting a side-eye towards his wife who had not moved an inch. He ignored the look in her eyes and placed his callous palm on the cinch of her waist.

    The only individuals remaining in the dungeon were the guards, dutifully following orders, and the two maidservants who had falsely reported the girl to the Saintum, frozen in fear, even after their masters had departed. 

    Subsequently, they sprang into action. The guards gathered Ariea in their arms and forcibly removed her from the basement, transporting her all the way to the dilapidated annex concealed amidst the trees. They laid her inside, barely on the mattress, before sealing the door and securing it from the outside.

    Left alone in the dark, Ariea remained unconscious where her dreams were filled with shadowy monsters cursing her birth.

☽   ◐   ⬤   ◑   ☾ 

    Due to the delicate political balance between the Deitus Empire and Daemon Kingdom of Kalamor, a temporary concord was made for the battle to retrieve the Imperial Crown Consort, Bishop Luxton.

    Both beingkind and daemonkind fought the unknown for three days without respite until Teresa discovered the hidden chasm.

    The chasm was a large crack that tore near the great sea concealed by magik. Such complicated and intricately woven spells would have only been seen by sheer luck to the normal eye, if it were not for Teresa's presence. 

    Having crossed into Kalamor with her divine already armed and ready, she found Bishop's faint divine hovering in the air on the first day. She followed it all the way to the bottom of the chasm where she uncovered the entrance to the dome.

    Though the magik wards posed little challenge, the dome itself proved formidable. Teresa used her divine of Being to peel away the layers, shattering the remaining spells into nothing.

    However, it was there that the fight begun. As if having stirred a hornet's nest, swarms of hooded creatures attacked her and the party that followed. It was a bloody and brutal battle that never ceased for two whole days, the balance tipping in their favor after Teresa crumbled the last layer.

    Then, almost as if controlled like dolls, the creatures fled in opposite directions, scattering into hidden caves that appeared and vanished in smoke. When beingkind and daemonkind attempted to give chase, they'd grab onto wisps of clouds floating away.

    During this confusion, Teresa entered the dome, following the few who had scurried in. The moment she stepped in, she nearly toppled over due to the surge of Bishop's divine, though it was significantly weaker than the last time she felt it.

    She witnessed several dozens of hooded figures clawing at him, attempting to rip him from the glowing metal that chained him down.

    Teresa saw red.

    The unknown were painfully outmatched as she unleashed her wrath upon them, granting no mercy. Her swordsmanship would have been a sight to see had it not been so gruesome. Teresa ripped through them so much so that no one could tell which blood pool belonged to which body parts, if one could call the black liquid their blood.

    As Teresa stood amidst the carnage, the vanguard approached, struck by the horrific sight before them. Their princess standing over a tower of severed limbs and chunks of flesh. The knights, and the soldiers of Kalamor alike, looked at each other as if to say, 'I would not wish such a death on my greatest enemy'.

    Teresa's rage dissipated as she locked her gaze onto Bishop's body, chained to what appeared to be a floating glass disc.

    "Bishop!" She screamed, dropping her sword as she ran to him.

     But just as she was about the reach out to free him, Bishop fell. The chains seemingly gave way and he plummeted to the ground just as she managed to grasp the sizzling metal...but, it was too late.

    In the last second, Bishop hit the ground.

    The dome, as it came crumbling down, was silent. None dared to move as the watched the princess pull at the chains with great force, and snatch Bishop into her arms.

    Teresa's blood ran cold. Blood — his precious blood — began leaking from his ears, falling from his nose as his emptied eyes fluttered shut.

    "Bishop?" Her voice trembled as she held him close. "Bishop open your eyes...please."

    When he did not respond, the knights were sure their Imperial Crown Princess was going to wail and curse the heavens for ripping away her True Betrothal, but she did not. Instead, she cradled him to her chest and rose to her feet.

    "It is okay to rest for a bit, Bishop." She said, so quietly as if afraid to wake him from his sleep. "The journey home will not be too long. I will make sure of it."

    The knights felt a bitter somber mood enter their hearts as they watched their princess lose her mind to grief. But none uttered a word to her. Instead, as she carried his body (lightweight and skin clinging to the bone due to months of starvation) out the chasm, her personal Knight issued out orders to their army to prepare the long ride back to Deitus.

     The knights of the Oldunal Order were filled with shame and regret. Had they ended the battle sooner or had they followed her to deal with the unknown on her behalf while she saved Bishop, she would not be like this. Their princess would not be bowing down and thanking the King Alpha of the Daemon for their assist. She would not be carrying him to the carriage as if he were a child.

    And she would not be staring at his body as if he were to arise and embrace her.

    Word was already sent ahead of them, detailing the sensitivity of this battle won. And what was lost as a result, casting a shadow over their return to the Deitus Empire. So, when they arrived from their seven-day siege, the streets they walked through were silent as the people gathered. No wreaths were made, no fireworks were lit, no harp, lyre, or flute were orchestrated. The people could only watch them in silence as they mourned.

    At the head of the procession, the Imperial Crown Princess led her knights, with the Imperial Crown Consort's body carried behind her, not in a casket for the dead, but a carriage for the wounded.

    The people would have at least celebrated the return of his body if it were not for the rumor. 

    The rumor that the princess's grief caused her to go mad. That she was treating a dead man as if he had just scraped his knee.

    The rumor that the princess would cut down anyone who believed otherwise...