Fairydale a dark gothic.., p.39
Fairydale: A Dark Gothic Fantasy Romance, page 39
"You have it all wrong. I did this for you. So you would be happy," Amon tries to explain himself.
Elizabeth keeps shaking her head, her cheeks red with tears, her expression one of inconsolable pain.
"No. You did it for you. Never once did you think of me," she suddenly says, her voice cold—too cold. "I can't do this anymore, Amon. I'm done."
Stepping back, she gives him one last look before she walks away.
Yet she doesn't get to take one step before Amon flashes himself in front of her.
"What do you mean you're done?" he snarls, his hands on her shoulders as he shakes her. "You're mine, Lizzie. You're mine and only mine. Do you think I'll ever let you go?"
"That's right," she releases a dry laugh. "I'm yours because that's the only thing you care about. That I'm yours and no one else's," she scoffs at him, pushing him off her. "You're wrong if you think you can own me, if you think you can dictate my life in any way," she tells him resolutely before she continues on her way out.
"Lizzie!" Amon's voice thunders in the church, the intensity of his roar making the walls quake and tremble. "What do you think you're doing?" he asks, and suddenly, his voice changes.
No longer the human-like voice from before, now it's a full on demonic one, a perverted quality to it that makes my skin erupt in goosebumps.
God, but I don't think I've ever heard something so...vile.
There's no other way to put it. His cadence carries a negative energy with it that makes me want to scrape all layers of skin off my body to get rid of its stain.
"Go to hell, Amon," Elizabeth snaps at him. "But that would be just an exotic destination for you, wouldn't it?" she snickers as she walks away.
Yet just like before, she doesn't get to go too far.
In just a second, Amon has his hands around her throat as he pushes her against the wall.
His eyes flash a mix of red and black—like I'd seen him do before—as he bares his teeth at her.
"You think you can just leave me?" he snarls in the same demonic voice. "You think you can just walk away and what? Find someone else? Let another puny male human put his hands on you?" he demands roughly.
Elizabeth's eyes widen, her features bathed in fear.
It's the first time I see that emotion flash on her face.
"Let me go," she wheezes out.
Amon doesn't listen. Instead, his hand pulls at the material of her dress, tearing the entire bodice.
"Amon what..."
"Tell me again," he demands. "Tell me again how you're going to leave me, Lizzie."
"What are you doing?" she asks, her voice laced with anxiety.
He doesn't answer as he continues to pull at her clothes, ripping her gown to pieces until she's standing naked before him.
Suddenly, I have an inkling of what's about to happen, and I do not want to witness anything like that.
"Turn this off," I snap at Rhiannon. "I don't want to watch this, turn it off," I repeat.
But she doesn't reply. It's so dark around save for the projection of the images, that even as I turn three-sixty, I can't find her.
"Rhiannon!" I yell.
And it's exactly at that point that it happens.
One moment he has her against the wall, the next he lays her flat against the ground, his hands on his breeches as he unfastens his falls.
It feels like I'm swallowing glass as I'm watching what comes next.
She's struggling in his hold, crying out for mercy and for him to stop, yet he doesn't.
He holds her to the floor, his hand still on her neck as he parts her legs, settling between them before...
I turn away, squeezing my eyes shut just as her first cry of pain resounds in the air.
More screams follow in a quick succession, as well as his own grunts of pleasure as he ruts her like a beast.
Despite her continuous cries of anguish and physical pain, despite her pleas for him to stop, he doesn’t.
He keeps raping her, forcing himself onto her like it was his right to do so.
My eyes are still closed, the accompanying sounds the only indications of what's happening. Even so, I feel my stomach churning, nausea overtaking me just as a soul-searing pain consumes me at witnessing something like that.
Amon... My Amon... How could he do something like that?
But he's not my Amon after all, is he? Because if this is true... Then I never knew him. I only knew the pleasant face he wanted to show to me—to the world.
The true him is this beast. This merciless creature that takes and takes as if it was his God given right to own every piece of her—of me.
And that's the worst.
Because Elizabeth isn't just one of his victims.
It's me.
I just watched myself get raped by a beast, and I don't think I will ever be able to erase those images from my mind, nor the sounds.
Everything is ingrained deep in my memory and will likely haunt me for an eternity.
"She lived through it. You must watch," Rhiannon finally speaks. "Look, Darcy. Now!"
Opening my eyes, I peer tentatively to see Amon lift his arm, his hand turning into something resembling a lance before he brings it over her heart, stabbing her with it.
One second.
That was all it took for him to kill her.
And as he steps away from her, I see the entire devastation. Her thighs are bloody and covered in semen, her eyes wide and unblinking.
She's unmoving.
Dead.
He...killed her.
He really did kill her.
Yet the destruction is not done. As he steps towards the nave of the church, he falls to his knees, a wild cry escaping him. A blast of power emanates from him in circular waves.
At the same time, the walls to the right and left of my field of view change, showing me different sights.
The village.
Everyone is dying.
People are spilling their guts, blood pouring out of every orifice.
They are dying just like Leo Pierce died.
Is that... Is that the plague?
"Look what he did. Not only in Fairydale, but to all the villages nearby."
More images appear of people dying everywhere, and in the worst of manners.
Amon bellows in the church, and it's at that moment that six people arrive, a portal opening right next to Elizabeth's body.
The first to come out is Fiona. The rest, I do not know, but I can guess who they are—the other families.
What ensues next is a bloody battle between them. Six against one, and they're barely hanging on.
The fight goes on, until Amon is shackled with iron bonds, while the other witches are wasting away to the sides.
And suddenly, I realize just how they'd died. How they'd given up their lives to seal Amon.
They'd formed a barrier and closed themselves off in the church with him, tying their own life-forces together as a net to keep him away from the world.
They had killed themselves—sacrificed themselves to the spell so Amon would not walk free.
As the images slowly disappear, the room comes back to its previous state.
"So you see now," Rhiannon comes by my side, laying one hand on my shoulder.
My lashes are stained with tears, my soul shattering in my chest. I try to contain my erratic breathing, but the only thing I seem to be capable of is to keep myself from choking as I painstakingly inhale and exhale.
Amon. He...
"He killed Elizabeth and everyone in Fairydale. He tortured them before they died. We call it a plague now, but it was malice of the highest order. And to stop him, the elders gave their lives to the seal. All so they could keep Amon from walking free—from killing more."
Her words barely register in my mind. Not when I'm still shaken by what I've seen. By the fact that...
"You must have already noticed that you're the spitting image of Elizabeth. We believe you to be her incarnation in this life. That means that you, more than anyone, should not want him to walk free. He raped you. Killed you. As he did everyone in the village. And you know what's worse? He killed even those children—the ones he stole from your sister. The ones you raised as your own babies. How could that not convince you of the evil he is capable of?"
"You're not any less evil for showing that to me," I croak, barely keeping myself together.
"What?" She frowns. "It is the truth and it shows you how bad this Amon is. It's something you need to know."
A dry laugh escapes me.
"You don't even realize, do you?" I tilt my head. "Do you care about anything other than this stupid quest?"
"W-what?" she sputters. "Stupid quest? How dare you! You saw how many people died. You saw what he did. And you dare..."
"In case you didn't realize," I pause, my throat clogging with emotion. "You just made me watch myself get raped in another life. Yes, Amon may have been awful for being the initial perpetrator. But what you did..." I shake my head.
Her gaze is full of indignation, ready to defend herself and her priceless mission.
What about me then?
What about the fact that I may never in my life forget what I saw?
But then it dawns on me. Why would that matter if I might not even live long enough?
My mouth twists into a sardonic smile. She doesn't understand it. She thinks herself so self-righteous standing there, on the side of the coven and telling me what a bad guy Amon is, that she doesn't see herself.
Without saying another thing, I simply leave.
I fear that if I stay on, I won't be responsible for my actions.
The only thought residing in my mind as I dash down the stairs is that I need to be alone—close myself to the world so I can let the tears fall freely.
I barely look where I'm going as I hurry to my room, closing myself in the bathroom.
Mr. Meow sees my anxious state, and tries to claw his way at the door. But I don't let him in.
I can't even face him at this point.
With shaky hands, I snap open the buttons on my dress, letting it fall to the ground as I stand naked in front of the mirror.
My gaze moves over my face—Elizabeth's, Sela's—before going lower, to my birthmark and to my body.
Good Lord, but what I'd seen...
A sob racks my body as the images continue to assault me—the sight of Amon with his hand around my throat, holding me immobile while he had his way with me. His bruising hold, and the way he'd snapped at me replay in my mind, his voice echoing and making me physically flinch.
Bringing my hands to my ears, I try to push it out of my mind, yet I cannot.
It's there, taunting me, mocking me and my foolish feelings.
I stumble out of my clothes, stepping into the tub and turning on the shower, letting the water wash over me and drown out the sound of my sobs and tears—the cries that no one cares to hear.
Because hadn't Rhiannon said just that? It doesn't matter what happened to me before, it only matters what I'll do about it now.
She only needs me to act against Amon—as a weapon, not a human. She cares nothing about me or my feelings, only what I can provide for her and her coven.
And Amon...
Good God but Amon, my Amon. How could he do something like that?
My wails become louder as something inside me shatters, the mere thought that he could act against me in violence—in such a vile manner—proving my undoing.
I'd been told time and time again what type of person he was—that he was evil personified—but I still kept the belief that he was good to me.
Just like he'd promised.
Maybe he was bad to the world, but to me he was good.
It's so hypocritical of me to admit it, but as long as he was mine—as long as he did everything for me and never against me—I would have been fine with it.
I would have accepted anything and everything.
Because he was mine.
And that was my ultimate fault.
Thinking that someone could change who they are at their core—that I would be the exception to the rule.
Over and over again I'd been told about his deeds against Fairydale and the world. By Fiona. By Rhiannon. By Mr. Nicholson. Everyone had agreed that he was a powerful demon who only cared about himself and wreaking destruction to the world—that he relished spreading evil wherever he went.
I'd been told this, and still, in my heart, I chose to keep a glimmer of hope. That it was all fake. That it was a misunderstanding.
Because otherwise my heart couldn't have been so damn full of him. My soul couldn't have belonged so entirely to him.
If he'd been that evil—that type of scourge—it wasn't possible that I would have ever fallen in love with him.
And yet I had.
That is what hurts the most.
I'd fallen for him, time and time again.
As Sela, he'd been my whole world and I considered myself unworthy of him. I'd sensed that the moment I'd gazed upon him. I'd loved him deeply—too deeply one might say.
As Elizabeth, I'd slowly fallen for him. Second after second in his presence and he had me wrapped around his finger—he'd made me his thrall.
And as Darcy... As Darcy, I remember every other life, and I remember all the feelings. For that and that alone I know that a piece of myself belongs to him—irrevocably.
But now?
Now I have to come face to face with my own failings, and the fact that I'm in love with a monster—that I gave away a piece of myself to that monster.
The tears continue to fall just as the water courses down my skin, its warmth enveloping me in a big blanket of comfort.
"Why?" I croak between sobs.
Why did I have to come to Fairydale? Why did I have to return to this miserable place that is the root of all my misfortune?
Though I am lost to my sorrows, I can't ignore the fact that the water is becoming increasingly colored—at first a pinkish hue before becoming redder under my gaze.
I suddenly stand up, confused, terrified, and heartbroken.
For a moment, I can't possibly figure out where the color is coming from, but as a trickle of blood makes its way down my thigh, I finally realize the source.
My period.
Damn it all to hell, but why did it have to come right at this moment?
Right when I look at the droplets of blood, I'm reminded of the images Rhiannon had showed me—of the fact that Amon had forced himself between my legs, hurting me until my entire body was bloody and battered.
Something snaps within me at that moment, and grabbing a small block of soap, I move it all over my skin, lathering myself in it in an attempt to cleanse myself and get rid of his soiling touch.
I wash myself everywhere—every inch of my skin. Yet when my hand reaches between my legs, I hesitate.
A cry is wrenched from my throat as I fall to my knees into the bath, the impact bruising my flesh. Yet I can't bring myself to care. Not about any injury I might sustain, or the pain I will feel.
After all, pain is what I'm looking after.
I want to hurt—anything to dim the guilt and heart wrenching sadness I'm feeling. And so I bring my nails to my skin, scrubbing myself clean. What the soap didn't cleanse, my sharp nails will. Dragging them down my arms, I see the red trails left behind, the irritation of the skin and at times, the deep lacerations. Blood trickles to the surface just to be drowned out as my skin melds together.
So I do it again.
And again.
I scrub myself until I feel like my skin is about to fall off, and still it's not enough.
Will it ever be enough?
Yet no matter how much I clean my body, I can barely bring myself to touch that spot at the junction of my thighs.
After moments of deliberating—of hesitating and of sobbing out loud in an attempt to soothe my own battered heart—I finally slip the soap between my legs, slowly cleaning myself.
More red accompanies the bubbles of soap, the clear of the white stained by my period blood.
"Damn you," I cry out, dropping the soap from my hands just as I fall into the tub.
Bringing my hands to my face, I hunch over as I weep loudly, consumed by pain and consuming every little bit of tears I have left.
The crying, the washing, the wailing.
It's my catharsis.
It's my mourning of things that never happened to me, but happened to me all the same.
More than anything, it's the last time I'll let Amon influence me in any way.
Too many times I've given him the benefit of doubt when I shouldn't have.
Even now, I know I would have made excuses for him—that it was all a mistake, that it couldn't possibly be him—if his words had not been so irrevocably his own.
Who else would have known he called me Lizzie mine?
Who else would have been able to contrive his manner so perfectly?
It was Amon—my lover and my heartbreak.
But from now on, he will only be my regret and disappointment.
My...enemy.
I don't know how much longer I spend in the bathroom. I seem to have an endless supply of tears where he is concerned, and no matter how much I try to stop myself, they will simply not stop.
I cry.
I cry and cry and cry until my heart breaks and my soul fractures.
I cry until I'm ready to relegate him to the past.
When the water grows too cold for me to be able to sit in it, I finally get out of the bath.
Getting a towel and wiping myself, I wrap it around myself before I exit the bathroom.
As I open the door, though, I come face to face with the last person I want to see.
Caleb.
His face is ravaged by pain, his features scrunched up in worry.
"W-what are you doing here?" I whisper.
But as I take a step forward, I trip on the door frame.
My arms flail out, and before I know it, I'm on the floor on my ass, my towel unwrapped all around me.
My knees are spread, my elbows back as I'd tried to keep my balance.
And I'm...completely naked.
Caleb mutters a curse under his breath as he picks me up from the floor, placing me gently on the bed.
"I..." I gulp down as I try to say something, but no words come to mind.
