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Week Three: Monday - Narrative
He hadn’t left. Asya could feel him still, just outside her door. In her minds eye she could see him even. The only thing she couldn’t see was his thoughts. Why he did any of what he did. Did he know how broken she was? Did he care? Had he wanted it to be worse? When Sergio had sought to demoralize her, she had shaken of course, quaked under his powerful grip. But what Diarmad had done in his inaction had been far more damaging than any pain Sergio had sought to inflict.
She drew her bath alone, not wishing to be seen, or to see, any of her servants. When any came near they were answered with complete silence, ignored, or else a hissed angry reply. After a moment, none thought to bother their mistress. She wanted only to be left alone. A fact that bothered them all, as “alone” never before excluded them. But Asya now knew that even when surrounded she was utterly alone. And always would be. And yes, she knew also that it was all by her own choices. A fact that did nothing to make any of it any easier to stomach.
Yards away he stood. Four walls separated them, and nearly as many doors. Anastasiya undressed, aware of the scar, hideous to the eyes, tender still to the touch. She thought she’d never grow used to it. Nor did she want to. Ever. The idea of it sickened her. For reasons beyond the physical. With Diarmad so separated, she’d not have to worry about him seeing. Not have to worry about him asking.
Indeed it was better this way. But why wouldn’t he go? Why did he refuse to leave even when she said leave? He was done. His service to her completed. And if he couldn’t leave, then why was he not here at her side? Asya knew what she wanted. Knew what she ached for. But knew also… It could never be.
Diarmad could never love her. She had made sure of it. By every word, every action, certainly every selfish deed. The most selfish had been in capturing the fallen hero, not allowing him the death he had earned. How she’d wanted him. It seemed so simple a matter than, no matter the complications in bringing it about. Nothing was too much for her desires after all.
How foolish she’d been then. How foolish she was still.
She drew her bath alone, not wishing to be seen, or to see, any of her servants. When any came near they were answered with complete silence, ignored, or else a hissed angry reply. After a moment, none thought to bother their mistress. She wanted only to be left alone. A fact that bothered them all, as “alone” never before excluded them. But Asya now knew that even when surrounded she was utterly alone. And always would be. And yes, she knew also that it was all by her own choices. A fact that did nothing to make any of it any easier to stomach.
Yards away he stood. Four walls separated them, and nearly as many doors. Anastasiya undressed, aware of the scar, hideous to the eyes, tender still to the touch. She thought she’d never grow used to it. Nor did she want to. Ever. The idea of it sickened her. For reasons beyond the physical. With Diarmad so separated, she’d not have to worry about him seeing. Not have to worry about him asking.
Indeed it was better this way. But why wouldn’t he go? Why did he refuse to leave even when she said leave? He was done. His service to her completed. And if he couldn’t leave, then why was he not here at her side? Asya knew what she wanted. Knew what she ached for. But knew also… It could never be.
Diarmad could never love her. She had made sure of it. By every word, every action, certainly every selfish deed. The most selfish had been in capturing the fallen hero, not allowing him the death he had earned. How she’d wanted him. It seemed so simple a matter than, no matter the complications in bringing it about. Nothing was too much for her desires after all.
How foolish she’d been then. How foolish she was still.