Chapter 1: Chapter 1 - Discipline
Priscilla sat kneeling on the cold marble floor, her bruised knees numb to the too-familiar ache.
Her tutor knelt before her on a small velvety, red cushion that had been worn thin from years of use.
Her tutor was an old, greying woman of indeterminate age and who always seemed to smell of mothballs. She wore the same, black dress each day and as the years had worn on, Priscilla had noticed the deterioration in its material hadn't bothered her in the least since she never had it changed…or washed.
At the moment, her voice was scratching its way past her throat as she recited a religious journal written by one of the Old Mages. The journal detailed everything that was evil in the world, and how no matter how that evil may have appeared, it needed to be destroyed.
The old woman's small, black eyes stared dully at the fading pages and Priscilla was almost certain she had read it so many times, she could have recited it from the top of her head if she'd wished.
Every night had been spent like this for as long as Priscilla could remember and although she hated it, she knew it was a mild punishment compared to what her father might have put her through.
It was what both her father and her tutor called discipline. It was what she was to endure for her sins. Her father, the Duke of Graymoor, was a cruel and vicious man, infamous for his open hatred of monsters, demons, and all other manners of creatures that roamed their realm. His form of discipline included a daily beating, a listing of all of her faults and the ways in which she had dishonoured their family name with her impure heart.
As a young girl, she often wondered why her father insisted on keeping her there. If he didn't love her if she brought him nothing but shame, why keep her? Many young women befell accidents when they went out for walks, after all. She could never see this happening to her however because as much as he loathed her, the Duke was also a very greedy man. One night, she had overheard him talking with her tutor. It seemed her mother had spent more money than what they initially had in their coffers, and her father was fast running out. The only way to replenish those coffers was to marry off his heirs but the only one he had, was herself.
Thus, she was made to live until he could find what he called, a suitable fool, to marry her and share his wealth.
The tutor continued in her monotonously grating voice and Priscilla really did try to follow along but it was almost impossible when she couldn't keep her eyes from sliding shut.
As her eyelids grew heavy, a sharp thwack caught her knuckles that were folded neatly in her lap.
Her eyes snapped open.
"Pay attention! You do not yet deserve rest, you ungrateful little shit." She spat.
Although she was used to the way her tutor spoke to her, it still stung. She nodded but didn't speak. She was forbidden from speaking after what had happened to her late sister.
Her tutor carried on reading until the candles had burned low in their braziers and a guard knocked on the door to return Priscilla to her room.
As she stood, she kept her eyes cast down, trying with great difficulty, not to give her tutor any reason to beat her. However, it seemed her tutor was still upset with her almost having fallen asleep and she caught her ankles hard with her cane. For a woman who looked nothing more than skin pulled tight over bones, she hit hard.
Careful not to trip on her skirts, she shuffled out of the room, always at least five steps behind the guard.
The halls of the palace were cold at this time of year and she longed for her bed where she could warm up and finally be left alone.
When she reached her room, she walked in and jumped at the slam of the door behind her.
Despite her father's hatred, he insisted on keeping up appearances. She continued to have her own room, however, it had been moved to the back part of the castle, where there was no one nearby. No maid would come near her, however, so she was left to put her own hair and clothes into order when she was presented in front of other people, which was rare. In fact, she was never allowed to leave the castle except once in the early hours of the morning so she could have some fresh air.
She treasured those quiet mornings when she was not made to read boring books or practice arithmetic. They were peaceful and she could look up without fear of seeing the vile hatred in people's eyes or being at risk of her tutor's wooden cane. When she was feeling particularly brave, she would sing old hymns to herself, just enough that the guards could not hear her but enough that she could continue to practice as her mother had taught her as a small child.
Now, she looked around her dark and cold room and shivered.
She slipped out of her thin dress and into her soft, silken nightgown. It was peach and seemed to blend into her equally pale skin.
Slipping under the covers, she prayed, as she always did, that one day, she would be able to escape her father's vile clutches and be somewhere where no one knew who she was.
Here, she was feared. People hated her, the servants included. She was what they called a demon spawn. Her mother died many years ago at the hand of her father after her sister died. The death of her sister was a heartbreaking one and an accident though the Duke never saw it as such.
No, her father truly believed what Priscilla had done was from a root of evil buried deep in her soul and he was certain that she was no daughter of his.
One rainy day, the two sisters had been sat in the library reading books. They enjoyed being in there as it was so big and crowded, one could hide for hours, especially from their tutors or their mistress. The girls weren't hiding that day, but being mischievous. They had overheard the local mage talking about a section in the library where he kept his magical tomes and that there was a new one, in particular, he had collected for its rare section on necromancy, something to do with bringing back the dead.
One of their kittens had died and Priscilla's sister had been distraught. They decided to try out the mage's book and see if there was a way to bring the poor thing back to life.
Of course, little did they know you needed to be a trained mage who had studied the art of magic for years, to actually do a spell, especially one of such high power such as that of necromancy.
The girls snuck into the library, found the book, and then found the section they wanted. Priscilla was better at translating and reading Latin than her sister, so she read aloud from the book. When she finished reading, she looked up to see her sister's pale, lifeless eyes staring back at her.
She'd screamed. She'd screamed for all she was worth that night. Maids and servants came running into the library and when they saw her with the book in her hand, they'd taken her straight to the Mage.
To say the Mage had been angry would have been an understatement. He spoke with her father, convincing him it was impossible for her to have cast such a spell unless she had demon blood in her unless she had some penchant for evil already buried within.
She was sent back to her room where she promptly froze, staring at the once dead kitten now running around the room with its brothers and sisters.
She'd successfully brought the kitten back to life, but had taken her sisters in the process.
With this memory running around her head in circles, she closed her eyes, trying to remind herself that the days she spent here were her rightful punishment for her foolishness all those years ago.
Weekly Power Status
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