The Historian’s Novel

*Mature Content Disclaimer*

- Hey Guys, just a friendly heads up that this story does on occasion get kind of dark. I've been building up the idea that it does throughout the story, but this chapter is kind of the first that gets... Bad?

Unfortunately, despite my distaste for writing such scenes, what happens in this chapter is sort of plot relevant. A lot of really weird stuff in this story is actually plot relevant, Ha-Ha.

(I hope that doesn't sound like an excuse, I really don't like it misery all that much.)

In the Historian's novel, even before the invasion of West and of Sea there were moments where Amelia had needed to put down the book for a minute long break. Such as when Grace, at the hands of her alchemist suitor Richter, ended up suffering due to the man's choice of drugging and abducting a princess for experimentation. A decision to hoard her blood for himself, in a twisted attempt to synthesize an elixir capable of granting immortality. And with an eternity after to look forwards too, Richter frankly believed the princess would eventually see things as he did.

In the end he would fail, foiled by Stanton, leading to Richter's imprisonment in the royal dungeon for all of a week. The exact time it had taken for the princess to recover, learn of his state, and forgive him because his intentions were noble.

At her time of reading, Amelia found it peculiar The Historian would bother including an in-depth description of the drug used by Richter on Grace. From its ingredients to how it was made, everything concerning the malevolent substance had been written in punctilious detail. Flavorless, potent, and hard to detect, the drug's initial effects could be easily mistaken for drunken behavior. From there, hallucinations would set in, while at the same time debilitating the victim's ability to move or talk. Eventually leading to a deep, forgetful slumber.

Amelia had disagreed with the princess's choice. She'd wanted to yell at her storybook heroine for having let Richter off so lightly once his machinations had failed. For if the shoe were on the other foot, wouldn't Grace have been the one to unjustly suffer?

Finding herself under the effects of that very same drug, which Gregory took out from his pocket: inspecting how much remained in its vial, Amelia found herself with a horrible thought. What if the reason Grace forgave Richter, was because she couldn't remember how he had been ever so willing to violate her body in the pursuits of his science?

Amelia didn't want to forget. She didn't want to forgive the man now gloating as if drugging her amounted to some sort of triumph.

"Looks like you've caught on," Gregory said, removing his hand from Amelia's mouth to throw the door's lock. "Any complaints?" he asked, enjoying how she was unable to answer.

He dragged Amelia towards the office's only bed: A piece of furniture Amelia vaguely remembered having ordered for her father after having learnt the man would otherwise drink until he'd fallen asleep on the floor. She tried to resist. To struggle against Gregory's groping hold, but it felt as if her brain didn't work. The simplest attempt to lift an arm causing instead a mere twitch.

He threw her. Onto the bed in a heap. Where she managed to manipulate the lump of lead for a tongue to ask the only question that mattered.

"Why?"

Gregory removed his shoes, then his shirt. Before stepping onto the bed where he gently curled his hand round Amelia's neck and began squeezing. Cut off from breathing, dark spots soon appeared in Amelia's vision. She could still manage a few gasps for air, however with Gregory's tightening grip, it wouldn't take long before she ran out of hope. Close enough to passing out she could feel it, Gregory at the last moment let go. Never once showing a change in expression other than the neutral smile he showed. Even when the man began removing what was left of Amelia's top.

Not wanting to be choked again, Amelia did nothing, except pray a servant might think to check on them, and flinch when Gregory's hand reached once more towards her.

"I think you're starting to understand your place," Gregory said, revelling in every terrified reaction he tore from Amelia's disarrayed state. "Remember. When I ask a question, I expect you to answer." His touch drifted from her neck, tracing a line leading down cross her stomach. "As expected of the dragon's daughter," he said quietly, when a finger slid low enough that Amelia involuntarily shuddered, "Your body... How you smell..."

"My father —" Amelia gasped, before a hand slapped her clean cross the face.

"Is not here," Gregory said, "nor are your maids, nor your pathetic guards, or any of your servants. There is only me, and my wants." He smeared the red which leaked from Amelia's mouth. "But I am not a man without mercy. Tell me what I want, and I'll end this play here with a potion of healing. You will remain untouched, chaste... How does that sound?"

Unable to spit out her chipped tooth, Amelia swallowed what tasted of iron. While the ceiling informed her the alchemist's drug, had entered the second half of its lifecycle. She could feel her eyelids growing heavy, although not too heavy to prevent line of sight with the strange patterns now forming.

"L-Liar," she read, finding in those swirling illusions a truth.

The man had already let it slip the Marquess knew Grace's location. And from the prominent shape straining against the length of Gregory's pants, she could imagine what his intentions were. Remain chaste? Hardly. Not if Gregory meant to impregnate her, allow the alchemist's drug to erase any recollection of how it had happened, and claim the act was performed with consent on a future date, to drag Amelia, along with her handmaiden the princess, to the Marquess.

Evil. The word evil existed for people capable of reasoning themselves into committing such acts.

"Now. Speak. Why did the Baron enact war with our neighbors?" Gregory asked Amelia, while he continued removing her clothes.

Amelia barely heard the question. The warm office air on her skin felt far too distracting to answer. At least, not until more words began peeling away from every surface in sight; each colorful syllable waving towards her with its desire to be read.

"We were... out on patrol," Amelia said, mumbling to herself what felt right while twisting her body away from the man, "There... There was an ambush... D-Daddy went out to check... He came back... angry..."

Gregory sneered; he slapped Amelia on the back with his hand held wide open. A heavy enough blow to turn her onto her side. "Then my father's carefully crafted plans came undone by a barbarian's error? How... fitting."

A gargled scream died in Amelia's throat. She willed her body to move in desperation; sending a spasm down a leg which kicked out behind her. Gregory staggered, receiving her heel on his chin. But his right hand managed to land an iron hold on her ankle. He pulled her towards him. Amelia tried to protect herself from being struck until her face ran with blood.

"S-Stop..." she begged; wishing for a chance to repeat the day from its very beginning. She ought to have let Heimdall handle their guest start to finish. She should have never thought herself clever enough to use wine. And she should have never decided to follow Gregory alone by herself. "You... You p-promised you w-wouldn't."

"I did, didn't I," Gregory said, slipping two thumbs round the last piece of clothing she had: her underwear. Which he removed before placing himself between her feet. Bending each of her knees away from the other, Gregory stopped. Not out of mercy, or some newfound belief in compassion, but because there had come a knock at the door.

"Right..." Gregory said quietly to himself, "They've the gall to disturb their master. Of course."

Time tasted like molasses is what Amelia understood. The effects of Richter's drug were now in full sway, and she could see Gregory for what he truly was as fur began sprouting across all of his body. Transforming him into an abomination of a two-legged wolf; a disgusting creature that shouldn't exist among humans yet fit right in notwithstanding.

Gregory scowled. Drawing a knife from the clothes he pulled on in a hurry. Which to Amelia, looked like a set of terrible claws, wielded by a creature hungry for blood, a creature who inched towards the three repetitive raps growing louder the longer nobody answered.

Did Gregory truly think with Havoc gone he had free reign in the manor?

It could only mean one thing. And the last lucid thought Amelia had was that the Marquess must have set her up. Either his son would convince her of his engagement proposal, or, if rebuked, cause a disturbance of such epic proportions the Strightsworth family would need to bring themselves and their retinue, to the capital to seek justice.

Which meant the princess would end up in the Marquess's hands no matter what.

The same princess who appeared when Gregory opened the door by a crack.

"Who is it?" Gregory asked, his knife kept out of sight.

"Handmaiden. Drink and victuals for my lady, sent by Heimdall. Of course, Heimdall says even if you want food now, it's too late because the kitchens are closed."

"Did I not already make myself clear?" Gregory said, and Amelia watched on terror-struck as the wolf's claws unfolded, "I have no need for what you could offer."

"Never said they were for you. They're for my lady," Grace said. "Could you move please? I don't wish to disturb your meeting, but I can't leave until I've delivered this grub and you're not giving the cart enough room."

Quick like a whip, Gregory took the food cart from Grace. "There, I'll give them to her," he said, "Now leave. Least I discipline you on behalf of your master."

Forget getting rescued, Amelia wanted the fairy that twinkled in all the colors of the rainbow to run before the wolf man could eat her! So, when Grace said, "Very well," and departed, she found herself thankful, since Amelia had begun to wonder if this hiccup in saving the Kingdom was divine retribution for the sin of still living.

"I'm sorry mommy. I didn't mean to be born, I promise," Amelia mouthed, her tears streaming down either side of her face, as she began crawling towards the bed's corner.

"Now... Where were we?" Gregory said, turning the door's lock before he advanced towards Amelia who dragged herself away from him like a child.

A child who cried for her mother, unable to tell through her tears that the woman who beckoned was nothing more than three pillows piled into a corner.

Her weeping only seemed to encourage Gregory, whose manhood revealed itself from between the beast's legs when he slunk onto the bed on all fours. Positioning himself behind Amelia, with a hand pressing down to prevent her from moving as he prepared for an entrance. Amelia felt his warm rod drag itself cross her mound. The foreign, unwanted object lifting away only when its owner deemed the time for enjoyment had come.

Gregory missed as he stabbed. When a rumbling occurred; heavy enough to shake the manor, strong enough for the reverberations to throw an adult man off balance.

"Thunder?" Gregory muttered, pushing himself up to look out the nearest window, "No... That doesn't make sense," he said, upon seeing the grey clouds which were nowhere near full. "An earthquake then? Of all the rotten timing..."

Momentarily freed from the weight pressing down on her back, Amelia resumed writhing, mumbling while pulling herself closer to where her mother awaited, with that same, comforting smile.

"S-scared, "I-I'm scared mommy," Amelia said, once she'd managed to rest her face on the thigh of Ophelia Strightsworth.

"What is it that's frightened you darling?" Ophelia asked.

"T-Thunder," Amelia gasped, hearing the beast's steps leave the window to draw close behind her.

"Dearest, it can't possibly be thunder," Ophelia said, while tenderly stroking the top of Amelia's head. "Do you want to guess why?"

"No!" Amelia bawled, clutching at pillows as she buried her face in the bed. In a nonsensical attempt to hide away from her rapist. Flailing, Amelia's arm struck away Gregory's reaching hand, creating a moment between them which she used to hide herself further in the folds of Ophelia's dress.

"It can't be thunder," The hazy illusion of Ophelia consoled, only to begin disappearing when Amelia's head struck the wall upon being shoved by Gregory who began relentlessly striking her body again and again.

"M-Mommy, don't go!" Amelia cried, barely able to hear the final words of her mother, whose whisper still arrived even after she'd vanished.

"It can't be thunder," the phantom's voice told her, "It can't be thunder... Because there was no lightning before it."

Ophelia's voice faded to silence.

And from the roof came a demon which tore its way in.

Its flesh burned a charred red; bright enough to pierce past the cloud of debris which fell with it. It's shape humanoid yet alien in size, as it was immense enough that its head scraped the ceiling. One moment, Gregory revelled in the power he held over Amelia. The next, he'd been lifted by a creature of nightmares; forced to gaze into a pair of empty eye sockets from which sprung forth no light.

A clawed hand: more bone than flesh, tightened.

"Is this him?" Growled the demon, just before the door to the office was broken through at the lock, revealing Grace with a hammer who boldly marched towards the terrifying sight without hesitation. Her hair a mess, her clothes torn and dirty, but with a spiteful glare that shouted she could care less for how she currently looked.

"It's him!" Grace shouted, pointing the hammer resolutely at Gregory, "There lives the bastard responsible for drugging your daughter!"

Amelia watched without understanding as the squealing wolf like man began thrashing; his eyes rolling back to nearly pop from their sockets. The demon noticed her staring. It threw Gregory against the wall where the man crumpled with a sickening snap, before moving towards her.

She froze. Like a newborn animal whose only chance for survival remained in lying flat under a thin blanket, while hoping the demon would find her too small to be eaten. Heat from the creature rolled off it in waves that snuck past Amelia's layer of protection. Leading the way for a bloody hand to pass through and brush against her neck.

Where carefully, deliberately, two fingers pressed against a vein, as if feeling for a pulse.

"Count to ten in your head baby girl," spoke a voice that sounded like gravel. A voice Amelia knew could only belong to her father.

How had he known? Amelia didn't care. She shut her eyes tight to count those comforting, healing numbers until she felt him withdraw. Holding an absolute faith that the dragon before her; transformed from a demon, would help keep her safe.

"Is she going to be alright?" Grace asked, clambering onto the bed.

"Y-You're not supposed t-to wear shoes on the mattress," Amelia mumbled, wondering if the world might be a dream when she felt her butt leave the ground as the fairy sized princess effortlessly picked her up.

"She will be fine with rest," Havoc said, his back to both women. His attention now undivided on the Marquess's son who struggled to prop himself up. Able to tell her father meant to do something horrible, Amelia resisted the desire to cling tighter to the comforting warmth which carried her, and like a cat who refused bath time, she stretched her arms out to grab at the door's frame in passing.

"We need to go! What are you doing?!" Grace pleaded, which made Amelia feel guilty, since the last time she didn't listen to the princess, everything had gone bad.

"No! Don't hurt him... Or...or..." Amelia rambled, staring pitiably at Grace who seemed to understand, but didn't want to do.

"Oie! Havoc stop!" Grace shouted, drawing the Baron's attention before the man could gut Gregory like a pig. His fingernails already up to their cuticles in fat which split like it were butter under a hot knife.

"You can't kill him!" Grace ordered, before backing away from the doorframe to squeeze Amelia's arms and legs closer and exit side-ways out the room.

"Why not? When I can't even think of leaving our home without putting my daughter in danger!"

"Because Amelia doesn't want you to!" Grace said, which settled the matter.

The princess resumed leaving, slowly enough for Amelia to look back and watch on as Havoc dragged Gregory behind him like a rag doll, towards a window he threw wide.

"This is the second floor!" Grace yelled, reminding the Baron after she'd noticed Amelia staring over her shoulder.

Havoc hoisted Gregory over his head. "He won't die," he said, pulling back, while the Marquess's son tried incoherently pleading.

The Baron gave no quarter. Gregory's words went ignored. And the horrible, soon to be broken screams of a man sent flying through the air, reached Amelia's ears as her consciousness waned. With her last, out of touch thought being, that she had gone and caused her father more trouble by simply existing.