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The droll of common education, Elias mused as the man in front of him spilled word after word of the relationship between supply and demand. Economics was a subject that certainly drew Elias' interest, but there was much more he could gain by book study in regards to any subject involving numbers. Listening to lecture after lecture was beginning to tire the boy, who'd just begun to grow into manhood. In the recent weeks, Elias noticed more and more eyes draw towards him. Eyes drawn to Elias with envy, perhaps. Or was it something else? The boy Stravos was used to attention, being fawned over by his family and those who saw the marks of his status. Those beneath him willing to placate him to draw nearer to such an important child.
But this felt different. Eyes once suffused with a mixture of fear and reverence were scrutinizing every inch of him. He felt their stares wash over his face before going along the lean musculature of his unblemished body. He'd developed rapidly over the past summer and the results of it were apparent for everyone to see. Rumours even began to spill from the lips of royalty. It's unreal how beautiful that boy has become. Could it be? Blessed by Aphrodite herself? The rumours swirled deeper and spread wider throughout Athenia. He'd gained a reputation and it wasn't one he was entirely sure about. However, it had an adverse effect. Normally subject to secondary roles in the plays he'd sign up for, Elias of Stravos was approached more and more about leading roles until the thought of being anything else escaped him entirely.
My talents are being recognized, he convinced himself. But those rumours constantly made him question everything that he was. As he ruminated on the swirling rumours, he tuned out his tutor, letting his gaze wander out the window. He could hardly notice the movements of the older man until he'd circled around the Stravos heir. Seated at a table within the central fixture of Archontiko Stravos, the words spoken carried through what was once the stage floor of a theatre house. It was no effort at all for the man to throw his voice, and Elias hardly recognized his distance until the young Stravos felt hands upon his shoulders. They kneaded into his toned flesh, and for a moment, the sensation was appreciated. He did rather enjoy being soothed, and the flicker of discomfort at the suddenness whittled into nothingness as the lecture continued.
Elias of Stravos felt those hands slip away after a moment, and his ease returned. The tutor began walking Elias through equations, dictating them for the Stravos heir to solve. Question after question of recycled material the boy already knew sailed by and once finished, he placed several sheets in a stack to be reviewed. However, that grasp returned, and the discomfort swelled anew.
"What are you..." he trailed off as the grasp drew firmer, rough peasant hands coaxing along his shoulders until they curled along the flesh of his back. Bile rose within the throat of Elias of Stravos and immediately he pushed back in his chair. The wood collided with the tutor's pelvis as the young Lord turned his body, extending one arm to push his tutor backwards. A flash of red whirled throughout Elias, his vision clouded as realization stirred. This man wanted more than to soothe Elias of Stravos. He wanted much more. A fist flew through the air and cracked against rigid bone. Another and a third before the older man caught Elias' hands and used his superior strength to push the boy back. Elias felt blood pounding in his skull, anger swollen in his chest...
"Wh-what... the fuck... do you think you're doing?" he stammered, his features flushed. He drew back before he took in a deep breath and shouted out,
"Help! Mother! Father?!" he caused a stir, feeling the tremor in his hands both from a mingling sense of fear and the pain of brutal contact. He and his assailant were divided by a table, but through the struggle, the boy's chiton had turned from over his shoulder. Held up at the waist by his sash, Elias hardly noticed. His breathing was heavy, his anger rising higher and higher with the dawning comprehension.
This piece of shit wants my body... That's fucking... disgusting.
Elias felt the bile burn in his throat as he raised his wrist to brush it against the sides of his mouth.
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The droll of common education, Elias mused as the man in front of him spilled word after word of the relationship between supply and demand. Economics was a subject that certainly drew Elias' interest, but there was much more he could gain by book study in regards to any subject involving numbers. Listening to lecture after lecture was beginning to tire the boy, who'd just begun to grow into manhood. In the recent weeks, Elias noticed more and more eyes draw towards him. Eyes drawn to Elias with envy, perhaps. Or was it something else? The boy Stravos was used to attention, being fawned over by his family and those who saw the marks of his status. Those beneath him willing to placate him to draw nearer to such an important child.
But this felt different. Eyes once suffused with a mixture of fear and reverence were scrutinizing every inch of him. He felt their stares wash over his face before going along the lean musculature of his unblemished body. He'd developed rapidly over the past summer and the results of it were apparent for everyone to see. Rumours even began to spill from the lips of royalty. It's unreal how beautiful that boy has become. Could it be? Blessed by Aphrodite herself? The rumours swirled deeper and spread wider throughout Athenia. He'd gained a reputation and it wasn't one he was entirely sure about. However, it had an adverse effect. Normally subject to secondary roles in the plays he'd sign up for, Elias of Stravos was approached more and more about leading roles until the thought of being anything else escaped him entirely.
My talents are being recognized, he convinced himself. But those rumours constantly made him question everything that he was. As he ruminated on the swirling rumours, he tuned out his tutor, letting his gaze wander out the window. He could hardly notice the movements of the older man until he'd circled around the Stravos heir. Seated at a table within the central fixture of Archontiko Stravos, the words spoken carried through what was once the stage floor of a theatre house. It was no effort at all for the man to throw his voice, and Elias hardly recognized his distance until the young Stravos felt hands upon his shoulders. They kneaded into his toned flesh, and for a moment, the sensation was appreciated. He did rather enjoy being soothed, and the flicker of discomfort at the suddenness whittled into nothingness as the lecture continued.
Elias of Stravos felt those hands slip away after a moment, and his ease returned. The tutor began walking Elias through equations, dictating them for the Stravos heir to solve. Question after question of recycled material the boy already knew sailed by and once finished, he placed several sheets in a stack to be reviewed. However, that grasp returned, and the discomfort swelled anew.
"What are you..." he trailed off as the grasp drew firmer, rough peasant hands coaxing along his shoulders until they curled along the flesh of his back. Bile rose within the throat of Elias of Stravos and immediately he pushed back in his chair. The wood collided with the tutor's pelvis as the young Lord turned his body, extending one arm to push his tutor backwards. A flash of red whirled throughout Elias, his vision clouded as realization stirred. This man wanted more than to soothe Elias of Stravos. He wanted much more. A fist flew through the air and cracked against rigid bone. Another and a third before the older man caught Elias' hands and used his superior strength to push the boy back. Elias felt blood pounding in his skull, anger swollen in his chest...
"Wh-what... the fuck... do you think you're doing?" he stammered, his features flushed. He drew back before he took in a deep breath and shouted out,
"Help! Mother! Father?!" he caused a stir, feeling the tremor in his hands both from a mingling sense of fear and the pain of brutal contact. He and his assailant were divided by a table, but through the struggle, the boy's chiton had turned from over his shoulder. Held up at the waist by his sash, Elias hardly noticed. His breathing was heavy, his anger rising higher and higher with the dawning comprehension.
This piece of shit wants my body... That's fucking... disgusting.
Elias felt the bile burn in his throat as he raised his wrist to brush it against the sides of his mouth.
The droll of common education, Elias mused as the man in front of him spilled word after word of the relationship between supply and demand. Economics was a subject that certainly drew Elias' interest, but there was much more he could gain by book study in regards to any subject involving numbers. Listening to lecture after lecture was beginning to tire the boy, who'd just begun to grow into manhood. In the recent weeks, Elias noticed more and more eyes draw towards him. Eyes drawn to Elias with envy, perhaps. Or was it something else? The boy Stravos was used to attention, being fawned over by his family and those who saw the marks of his status. Those beneath him willing to placate him to draw nearer to such an important child.
But this felt different. Eyes once suffused with a mixture of fear and reverence were scrutinizing every inch of him. He felt their stares wash over his face before going along the lean musculature of his unblemished body. He'd developed rapidly over the past summer and the results of it were apparent for everyone to see. Rumours even began to spill from the lips of royalty. It's unreal how beautiful that boy has become. Could it be? Blessed by Aphrodite herself? The rumours swirled deeper and spread wider throughout Athenia. He'd gained a reputation and it wasn't one he was entirely sure about. However, it had an adverse effect. Normally subject to secondary roles in the plays he'd sign up for, Elias of Stravos was approached more and more about leading roles until the thought of being anything else escaped him entirely.
My talents are being recognized, he convinced himself. But those rumours constantly made him question everything that he was. As he ruminated on the swirling rumours, he tuned out his tutor, letting his gaze wander out the window. He could hardly notice the movements of the older man until he'd circled around the Stravos heir. Seated at a table within the central fixture of Archontiko Stravos, the words spoken carried through what was once the stage floor of a theatre house. It was no effort at all for the man to throw his voice, and Elias hardly recognized his distance until the young Stravos felt hands upon his shoulders. They kneaded into his toned flesh, and for a moment, the sensation was appreciated. He did rather enjoy being soothed, and the flicker of discomfort at the suddenness whittled into nothingness as the lecture continued.
Elias of Stravos felt those hands slip away after a moment, and his ease returned. The tutor began walking Elias through equations, dictating them for the Stravos heir to solve. Question after question of recycled material the boy already knew sailed by and once finished, he placed several sheets in a stack to be reviewed. However, that grasp returned, and the discomfort swelled anew.
"What are you..." he trailed off as the grasp drew firmer, rough peasant hands coaxing along his shoulders until they curled along the flesh of his back. Bile rose within the throat of Elias of Stravos and immediately he pushed back in his chair. The wood collided with the tutor's pelvis as the young Lord turned his body, extending one arm to push his tutor backwards. A flash of red whirled throughout Elias, his vision clouded as realization stirred. This man wanted more than to soothe Elias of Stravos. He wanted much more. A fist flew through the air and cracked against rigid bone. Another and a third before the older man caught Elias' hands and used his superior strength to push the boy back. Elias felt blood pounding in his skull, anger swollen in his chest...
"Wh-what... the fuck... do you think you're doing?" he stammered, his features flushed. He drew back before he took in a deep breath and shouted out,
"Help! Mother! Father?!" he caused a stir, feeling the tremor in his hands both from a mingling sense of fear and the pain of brutal contact. He and his assailant were divided by a table, but through the struggle, the boy's chiton had turned from over his shoulder. Held up at the waist by his sash, Elias hardly noticed. His breathing was heavy, his anger rising higher and higher with the dawning comprehension.
This piece of shit wants my body... That's fucking... disgusting.
Elias felt the bile burn in his throat as he raised his wrist to brush it against the sides of his mouth.
Circenia of Stravos lounged on a chaise in one of the sitting rooms of the archontiko, embroidery in hand while a harpist played in the corner. A decanter of wine sat on a table to her right, of which she’d already drank two cups—the warmth in her veins relaxing already indolent muscles. Overall, it was a peaceful afternoon, the princess idling the hours away while she waited for her son’s lecture to be over. Typically, when he had completed his lessons for the day, the Stravos matriarch would take him down to the kitchens for a treat or even out into the marketplace as a reward for a job well done. It was nearly a daily tradition with them now, and this day was no different.
Or, at least, that’s what she thought.
Pulling her needle through the back of the fabric she was holding, Circenia paused when she heard a sudden shout coming from another room. Holding up her hand to silence the hired musician, the princess focused her attention on the sounds from deeper in the house. There it was again, a faint yell that sounded like someone calling for help.
Face going white and dropping her embroidery, the woman leapt to her feet in an instant, gesturing for the guards at the door to follow her. That wasn’t just anyone yelling. That was her son.
The princess stormed down the hall, all but running until she reached the room Elias and his tutor occupied. Throwing open the door so that it clattered against the wall, Circenia swept inside, only to behold the terrified visage of her half-clothed child and his tutor holding himself in pain. Rage instantly colored her aquiline features, pointing toward the tutor and snapping at the guards, “Seize him!” The men did not hesitate for a moment in doing so, grabbing the older man by both arms and forcing him to his knees. He opened his mouth as if he meant to explain himself, but was quickly silenced by a blade at his throat.
Rushing over to where Elias trembled on the opposite side of the table, she pulled the boy into her arms and held him tight to her chest. Though he was as tall as he’d ever been, having hit a rapid growth spurt in the past few months, her darling boy had never felt so small in her grasp. His fear was nearly palpable, which only stoked the fires of her already considerable fury. What had this mongrel done to her boy?
“It’s all right, I’m here now,” she murmured into his hair, kissing the top of his head while a loving hand chafed his shoulder. “You’re safe.” Her voice shook with barely contained anger, casting hateful glances at the filth that knelt between the guards.
After a moment, she tore her icy gaze from him back to her son, one hand lightly grasping his chin while the other pushed the hair from his face. “What happened, Elias?” she asked, searching his gaze as if she could find the answer there. “What did this man do to you?”
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Circenia of Stravos lounged on a chaise in one of the sitting rooms of the archontiko, embroidery in hand while a harpist played in the corner. A decanter of wine sat on a table to her right, of which she’d already drank two cups—the warmth in her veins relaxing already indolent muscles. Overall, it was a peaceful afternoon, the princess idling the hours away while she waited for her son’s lecture to be over. Typically, when he had completed his lessons for the day, the Stravos matriarch would take him down to the kitchens for a treat or even out into the marketplace as a reward for a job well done. It was nearly a daily tradition with them now, and this day was no different.
Or, at least, that’s what she thought.
Pulling her needle through the back of the fabric she was holding, Circenia paused when she heard a sudden shout coming from another room. Holding up her hand to silence the hired musician, the princess focused her attention on the sounds from deeper in the house. There it was again, a faint yell that sounded like someone calling for help.
Face going white and dropping her embroidery, the woman leapt to her feet in an instant, gesturing for the guards at the door to follow her. That wasn’t just anyone yelling. That was her son.
The princess stormed down the hall, all but running until she reached the room Elias and his tutor occupied. Throwing open the door so that it clattered against the wall, Circenia swept inside, only to behold the terrified visage of her half-clothed child and his tutor holding himself in pain. Rage instantly colored her aquiline features, pointing toward the tutor and snapping at the guards, “Seize him!” The men did not hesitate for a moment in doing so, grabbing the older man by both arms and forcing him to his knees. He opened his mouth as if he meant to explain himself, but was quickly silenced by a blade at his throat.
Rushing over to where Elias trembled on the opposite side of the table, she pulled the boy into her arms and held him tight to her chest. Though he was as tall as he’d ever been, having hit a rapid growth spurt in the past few months, her darling boy had never felt so small in her grasp. His fear was nearly palpable, which only stoked the fires of her already considerable fury. What had this mongrel done to her boy?
“It’s all right, I’m here now,” she murmured into his hair, kissing the top of his head while a loving hand chafed his shoulder. “You’re safe.” Her voice shook with barely contained anger, casting hateful glances at the filth that knelt between the guards.
After a moment, she tore her icy gaze from him back to her son, one hand lightly grasping his chin while the other pushed the hair from his face. “What happened, Elias?” she asked, searching his gaze as if she could find the answer there. “What did this man do to you?”
Circenia of Stravos lounged on a chaise in one of the sitting rooms of the archontiko, embroidery in hand while a harpist played in the corner. A decanter of wine sat on a table to her right, of which she’d already drank two cups—the warmth in her veins relaxing already indolent muscles. Overall, it was a peaceful afternoon, the princess idling the hours away while she waited for her son’s lecture to be over. Typically, when he had completed his lessons for the day, the Stravos matriarch would take him down to the kitchens for a treat or even out into the marketplace as a reward for a job well done. It was nearly a daily tradition with them now, and this day was no different.
Or, at least, that’s what she thought.
Pulling her needle through the back of the fabric she was holding, Circenia paused when she heard a sudden shout coming from another room. Holding up her hand to silence the hired musician, the princess focused her attention on the sounds from deeper in the house. There it was again, a faint yell that sounded like someone calling for help.
Face going white and dropping her embroidery, the woman leapt to her feet in an instant, gesturing for the guards at the door to follow her. That wasn’t just anyone yelling. That was her son.
The princess stormed down the hall, all but running until she reached the room Elias and his tutor occupied. Throwing open the door so that it clattered against the wall, Circenia swept inside, only to behold the terrified visage of her half-clothed child and his tutor holding himself in pain. Rage instantly colored her aquiline features, pointing toward the tutor and snapping at the guards, “Seize him!” The men did not hesitate for a moment in doing so, grabbing the older man by both arms and forcing him to his knees. He opened his mouth as if he meant to explain himself, but was quickly silenced by a blade at his throat.
Rushing over to where Elias trembled on the opposite side of the table, she pulled the boy into her arms and held him tight to her chest. Though he was as tall as he’d ever been, having hit a rapid growth spurt in the past few months, her darling boy had never felt so small in her grasp. His fear was nearly palpable, which only stoked the fires of her already considerable fury. What had this mongrel done to her boy?
“It’s all right, I’m here now,” she murmured into his hair, kissing the top of his head while a loving hand chafed his shoulder. “You’re safe.” Her voice shook with barely contained anger, casting hateful glances at the filth that knelt between the guards.
After a moment, she tore her icy gaze from him back to her son, one hand lightly grasping his chin while the other pushed the hair from his face. “What happened, Elias?” she asked, searching his gaze as if she could find the answer there. “What did this man do to you?”
Elias of Stravos did not feel in danger. No, he felt dirty, afflicted with the filth of a peasant wretch who deemed himself correct to touch him how he pleased merely for being in a station of relative authority. It was disgusting, and though Elias was young, he figured that he should be intelligent enough to know to keep his distance, wise enough to understand what was happening before it did and be able to stop it before the filth laid a hand on him. After all, Elias was an adult and if he could read one vile soul's intentions how could he hope to stand up to the responsibility of possessing a barony? Much less, how could Elias hope to bring honour to the house of Stravos as a future king?
Again and again, Elias had been told of the weight placed on his shoulders, but was also propped up by a mother's love and encouragement to live up to them. However, if the young lord could not anticipate such foul intentions, what was his worth in the courts? Let alone the Senate? Elias, while an adult, certainly had years before he was to touch on any sort of mantle of responsibility, but how could he ever learn what he needed to do to rule if the people responsible for his education would abandon the premise and try to abuse him? Humiliation and rage mingled in a cocktail within Elias' brain, his shout still reverberating through him as he looked to the wretch who had dared touch him. The teacher seemed to hold some regret in his eyes, and was trying to keep his distance, murmuring words but none of them were apologies or pleas for forgiveness. None of them stopped the additional shouts that escaped his lips.
The red continued to cling at the edges of Elias' vision as the older man was grabbed by both arms and forced to his knees. A smirk caught upon his lips as Elias looked to the kneeling man. The authority his mother held was tremendous and it was a distinct pleasure for him to see the princess laying low a man who dared assault her son in anyway. When given a kiss to the top of his head, Elias allowed his eyes to fall shut, his chin tipped upwards to welcome the motion just as her hand pressed into his shoulder. Then, he opened his eyes to catch the hateful expression upon Circenia's lips, a vision of beauty that the young lord of Stravos had never seen from her before. Elias deeply admired his precious mother, for she stood in solidarity as the watchful eye over three children of different degrees of unruliness. All of the Stravos children had been taught to think for themselves, and even the youngest, to himself, and then to Chara had taken such lessons to heart.
As her fingertips pressed next to his chin and his hair was moved from his face, Elias shifted in an effort to put his chiton in its proper position. However, the fabric had torn in their scuffle and the young lord felt pain that he'd never known in his fist. Elias, after all, had never been encouraged to take into combat training, and though the mandatory military service any Athenian boy was obligated to serve was looming closer, it had not yet arrived. He'd thrown blow after blow and he could see the bruises against the wretch's body, but even then, Elias knew that it wasn't enough. Elias wanted the wretch to suffer for forcing his hand, for causing his knuckles to swell with the force of a cracked bone. He narrowed his gaze, trying again and again without success to pin his chiton back to place. But, it would not. Elias was left with half of a chiton, tied at the waist and weighty against the belt.
"Look at me, ma. He touched my shoulders, first. When... I... looked over my shoulder I could see venomous greed in his eyes. Then, he tried to slip off my chiton and his touch grew more intense and inappropriate. If I hadn't caught on to his intentions, he'd have drifted lower still. I think he was trying to touch my penis!" he bellowed, the rage flying higher and higher, infinitely soaring as he stepped forward. A sandal-clad foot crashed directly into the man's chest, bruising with its force as he used his uninjured hand to strike him across the face. Elias seethed with rage, but then he looked back to his mother, his cheeks flushed with humiliation before he acquiesced and returned to her vicinity.
"He made me feel dirty... He's a common filth, and he dared touch me. Am I... am I sullied, mother?" he wondered, the fear palpable in his expression.
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Check out their information page here.
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Elias of Stravos did not feel in danger. No, he felt dirty, afflicted with the filth of a peasant wretch who deemed himself correct to touch him how he pleased merely for being in a station of relative authority. It was disgusting, and though Elias was young, he figured that he should be intelligent enough to know to keep his distance, wise enough to understand what was happening before it did and be able to stop it before the filth laid a hand on him. After all, Elias was an adult and if he could read one vile soul's intentions how could he hope to stand up to the responsibility of possessing a barony? Much less, how could Elias hope to bring honour to the house of Stravos as a future king?
Again and again, Elias had been told of the weight placed on his shoulders, but was also propped up by a mother's love and encouragement to live up to them. However, if the young lord could not anticipate such foul intentions, what was his worth in the courts? Let alone the Senate? Elias, while an adult, certainly had years before he was to touch on any sort of mantle of responsibility, but how could he ever learn what he needed to do to rule if the people responsible for his education would abandon the premise and try to abuse him? Humiliation and rage mingled in a cocktail within Elias' brain, his shout still reverberating through him as he looked to the wretch who had dared touch him. The teacher seemed to hold some regret in his eyes, and was trying to keep his distance, murmuring words but none of them were apologies or pleas for forgiveness. None of them stopped the additional shouts that escaped his lips.
The red continued to cling at the edges of Elias' vision as the older man was grabbed by both arms and forced to his knees. A smirk caught upon his lips as Elias looked to the kneeling man. The authority his mother held was tremendous and it was a distinct pleasure for him to see the princess laying low a man who dared assault her son in anyway. When given a kiss to the top of his head, Elias allowed his eyes to fall shut, his chin tipped upwards to welcome the motion just as her hand pressed into his shoulder. Then, he opened his eyes to catch the hateful expression upon Circenia's lips, a vision of beauty that the young lord of Stravos had never seen from her before. Elias deeply admired his precious mother, for she stood in solidarity as the watchful eye over three children of different degrees of unruliness. All of the Stravos children had been taught to think for themselves, and even the youngest, to himself, and then to Chara had taken such lessons to heart.
As her fingertips pressed next to his chin and his hair was moved from his face, Elias shifted in an effort to put his chiton in its proper position. However, the fabric had torn in their scuffle and the young lord felt pain that he'd never known in his fist. Elias, after all, had never been encouraged to take into combat training, and though the mandatory military service any Athenian boy was obligated to serve was looming closer, it had not yet arrived. He'd thrown blow after blow and he could see the bruises against the wretch's body, but even then, Elias knew that it wasn't enough. Elias wanted the wretch to suffer for forcing his hand, for causing his knuckles to swell with the force of a cracked bone. He narrowed his gaze, trying again and again without success to pin his chiton back to place. But, it would not. Elias was left with half of a chiton, tied at the waist and weighty against the belt.
"Look at me, ma. He touched my shoulders, first. When... I... looked over my shoulder I could see venomous greed in his eyes. Then, he tried to slip off my chiton and his touch grew more intense and inappropriate. If I hadn't caught on to his intentions, he'd have drifted lower still. I think he was trying to touch my penis!" he bellowed, the rage flying higher and higher, infinitely soaring as he stepped forward. A sandal-clad foot crashed directly into the man's chest, bruising with its force as he used his uninjured hand to strike him across the face. Elias seethed with rage, but then he looked back to his mother, his cheeks flushed with humiliation before he acquiesced and returned to her vicinity.
"He made me feel dirty... He's a common filth, and he dared touch me. Am I... am I sullied, mother?" he wondered, the fear palpable in his expression.
Elias of Stravos did not feel in danger. No, he felt dirty, afflicted with the filth of a peasant wretch who deemed himself correct to touch him how he pleased merely for being in a station of relative authority. It was disgusting, and though Elias was young, he figured that he should be intelligent enough to know to keep his distance, wise enough to understand what was happening before it did and be able to stop it before the filth laid a hand on him. After all, Elias was an adult and if he could read one vile soul's intentions how could he hope to stand up to the responsibility of possessing a barony? Much less, how could Elias hope to bring honour to the house of Stravos as a future king?
Again and again, Elias had been told of the weight placed on his shoulders, but was also propped up by a mother's love and encouragement to live up to them. However, if the young lord could not anticipate such foul intentions, what was his worth in the courts? Let alone the Senate? Elias, while an adult, certainly had years before he was to touch on any sort of mantle of responsibility, but how could he ever learn what he needed to do to rule if the people responsible for his education would abandon the premise and try to abuse him? Humiliation and rage mingled in a cocktail within Elias' brain, his shout still reverberating through him as he looked to the wretch who had dared touch him. The teacher seemed to hold some regret in his eyes, and was trying to keep his distance, murmuring words but none of them were apologies or pleas for forgiveness. None of them stopped the additional shouts that escaped his lips.
The red continued to cling at the edges of Elias' vision as the older man was grabbed by both arms and forced to his knees. A smirk caught upon his lips as Elias looked to the kneeling man. The authority his mother held was tremendous and it was a distinct pleasure for him to see the princess laying low a man who dared assault her son in anyway. When given a kiss to the top of his head, Elias allowed his eyes to fall shut, his chin tipped upwards to welcome the motion just as her hand pressed into his shoulder. Then, he opened his eyes to catch the hateful expression upon Circenia's lips, a vision of beauty that the young lord of Stravos had never seen from her before. Elias deeply admired his precious mother, for she stood in solidarity as the watchful eye over three children of different degrees of unruliness. All of the Stravos children had been taught to think for themselves, and even the youngest, to himself, and then to Chara had taken such lessons to heart.
As her fingertips pressed next to his chin and his hair was moved from his face, Elias shifted in an effort to put his chiton in its proper position. However, the fabric had torn in their scuffle and the young lord felt pain that he'd never known in his fist. Elias, after all, had never been encouraged to take into combat training, and though the mandatory military service any Athenian boy was obligated to serve was looming closer, it had not yet arrived. He'd thrown blow after blow and he could see the bruises against the wretch's body, but even then, Elias knew that it wasn't enough. Elias wanted the wretch to suffer for forcing his hand, for causing his knuckles to swell with the force of a cracked bone. He narrowed his gaze, trying again and again without success to pin his chiton back to place. But, it would not. Elias was left with half of a chiton, tied at the waist and weighty against the belt.
"Look at me, ma. He touched my shoulders, first. When... I... looked over my shoulder I could see venomous greed in his eyes. Then, he tried to slip off my chiton and his touch grew more intense and inappropriate. If I hadn't caught on to his intentions, he'd have drifted lower still. I think he was trying to touch my penis!" he bellowed, the rage flying higher and higher, infinitely soaring as he stepped forward. A sandal-clad foot crashed directly into the man's chest, bruising with its force as he used his uninjured hand to strike him across the face. Elias seethed with rage, but then he looked back to his mother, his cheeks flushed with humiliation before he acquiesced and returned to her vicinity.
"He made me feel dirty... He's a common filth, and he dared touch me. Am I... am I sullied, mother?" he wondered, the fear palpable in his expression.
Each word Elias spoke only served to increase her fury, the princess stiffening further and further as he went on. This vile creature dared to lay a hand on her boy, in her house? What sort of fool…? No, no this would not stand, this would not stand at all. This man would know the error of his ways before he faced eternal judgment. Circenia would make sure of it.
He made me feel dirty... He's a common filth, and he dared touch me. Am I... am I sullied, mother?
“Never,” was her fierce response, taking hold of her son’s chin again to tilt his head back to look at her. “Never, you understand? This is not your fault, and the only sullied man here is the disgusting trash kneeling on the ground. He will pay, my boy, don’t you fear. And you will see today how the Stravos deal with those who dare to raise a hand against us.”
With that, she dropped her hand from his chin and briefly ran it over his hair before she turned to face the tutor. His fear was palpable, looking up at her with wide, tear-filled eyes. Woman or no, Circenia was renowned for her temper, and this… animal… would feel the full brunt of it today.
“Y-your highness, I-I can explain,” he started to stammer before a sharp blow across his cheek silenced any further drivel.
“Shut up,” the princess snapped, crouching so she might face him eye-to-eye. “You lost the right to speak as soon as your hands dared to touch my son.” Head tilting to the side with a curiously empty look on her face, she held out to her hand to one of the guards. “In fact, I think you shan’t ever speak again.”
Looking up at the man who held the tutor down, that same strange emptiness clung to her features as she requested, “Your knife, if you please.”
Silently, he handed it over while the wretch’s eyes widened in alarm. Desperate pleas spilled forth from his lips, frenzied entreaties falling on deaf ears. “I said shut up,” Circenia repeated in a venomous tone, striking the other side of his face and holding the knife at his eye level. “You see this?” she asked, her voice almost friendly. “You brought this on yourself.”
The hand not holding the knife briefly stroked his hair, a kiss dropped on the top of his head. Glancing between the two guards, she ordered, “Hold him still.”
The men didn’t hesitate to obey, tightening their clutch on the tutor’s arms and pushing him more firmly the ground. His scream echoed through the room, which only afforded her the opportunity to pry his jaw open. Seizing his tongue with her free hand, a swift cut with the other separated it from his mouth, hot crimson blood spraying across the front of her chiton. Dropping the still wriggling piece of flesh to the ground, her face was impassive as she stared at the horrified man, whose hoarse shouts of pain continued to fill the room. The guards’ faces were just as blank as hers; after all, one did not spend much time in the employ of the Stravos without witnessing their more… questionable… methods of control.
“There, there,” she crooned, slowly cutting down the length of his chiton until it fell to the floor in two pieces. “It will only hurt for a little while longer.” A cruel smile curled her lips, tapping the point of the knife against his shriveled genitalia. “But it will hurt. A lot.”
“Now, what should I take first?” she mused aloud, first tapping his shaft and then his scrotum. “Your cock or your balls?”
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Each word Elias spoke only served to increase her fury, the princess stiffening further and further as he went on. This vile creature dared to lay a hand on her boy, in her house? What sort of fool…? No, no this would not stand, this would not stand at all. This man would know the error of his ways before he faced eternal judgment. Circenia would make sure of it.
He made me feel dirty... He's a common filth, and he dared touch me. Am I... am I sullied, mother?
“Never,” was her fierce response, taking hold of her son’s chin again to tilt his head back to look at her. “Never, you understand? This is not your fault, and the only sullied man here is the disgusting trash kneeling on the ground. He will pay, my boy, don’t you fear. And you will see today how the Stravos deal with those who dare to raise a hand against us.”
With that, she dropped her hand from his chin and briefly ran it over his hair before she turned to face the tutor. His fear was palpable, looking up at her with wide, tear-filled eyes. Woman or no, Circenia was renowned for her temper, and this… animal… would feel the full brunt of it today.
“Y-your highness, I-I can explain,” he started to stammer before a sharp blow across his cheek silenced any further drivel.
“Shut up,” the princess snapped, crouching so she might face him eye-to-eye. “You lost the right to speak as soon as your hands dared to touch my son.” Head tilting to the side with a curiously empty look on her face, she held out to her hand to one of the guards. “In fact, I think you shan’t ever speak again.”
Looking up at the man who held the tutor down, that same strange emptiness clung to her features as she requested, “Your knife, if you please.”
Silently, he handed it over while the wretch’s eyes widened in alarm. Desperate pleas spilled forth from his lips, frenzied entreaties falling on deaf ears. “I said shut up,” Circenia repeated in a venomous tone, striking the other side of his face and holding the knife at his eye level. “You see this?” she asked, her voice almost friendly. “You brought this on yourself.”
The hand not holding the knife briefly stroked his hair, a kiss dropped on the top of his head. Glancing between the two guards, she ordered, “Hold him still.”
The men didn’t hesitate to obey, tightening their clutch on the tutor’s arms and pushing him more firmly the ground. His scream echoed through the room, which only afforded her the opportunity to pry his jaw open. Seizing his tongue with her free hand, a swift cut with the other separated it from his mouth, hot crimson blood spraying across the front of her chiton. Dropping the still wriggling piece of flesh to the ground, her face was impassive as she stared at the horrified man, whose hoarse shouts of pain continued to fill the room. The guards’ faces were just as blank as hers; after all, one did not spend much time in the employ of the Stravos without witnessing their more… questionable… methods of control.
“There, there,” she crooned, slowly cutting down the length of his chiton until it fell to the floor in two pieces. “It will only hurt for a little while longer.” A cruel smile curled her lips, tapping the point of the knife against his shriveled genitalia. “But it will hurt. A lot.”
“Now, what should I take first?” she mused aloud, first tapping his shaft and then his scrotum. “Your cock or your balls?”
Each word Elias spoke only served to increase her fury, the princess stiffening further and further as he went on. This vile creature dared to lay a hand on her boy, in her house? What sort of fool…? No, no this would not stand, this would not stand at all. This man would know the error of his ways before he faced eternal judgment. Circenia would make sure of it.
He made me feel dirty... He's a common filth, and he dared touch me. Am I... am I sullied, mother?
“Never,” was her fierce response, taking hold of her son’s chin again to tilt his head back to look at her. “Never, you understand? This is not your fault, and the only sullied man here is the disgusting trash kneeling on the ground. He will pay, my boy, don’t you fear. And you will see today how the Stravos deal with those who dare to raise a hand against us.”
With that, she dropped her hand from his chin and briefly ran it over his hair before she turned to face the tutor. His fear was palpable, looking up at her with wide, tear-filled eyes. Woman or no, Circenia was renowned for her temper, and this… animal… would feel the full brunt of it today.
“Y-your highness, I-I can explain,” he started to stammer before a sharp blow across his cheek silenced any further drivel.
“Shut up,” the princess snapped, crouching so she might face him eye-to-eye. “You lost the right to speak as soon as your hands dared to touch my son.” Head tilting to the side with a curiously empty look on her face, she held out to her hand to one of the guards. “In fact, I think you shan’t ever speak again.”
Looking up at the man who held the tutor down, that same strange emptiness clung to her features as she requested, “Your knife, if you please.”
Silently, he handed it over while the wretch’s eyes widened in alarm. Desperate pleas spilled forth from his lips, frenzied entreaties falling on deaf ears. “I said shut up,” Circenia repeated in a venomous tone, striking the other side of his face and holding the knife at his eye level. “You see this?” she asked, her voice almost friendly. “You brought this on yourself.”
The hand not holding the knife briefly stroked his hair, a kiss dropped on the top of his head. Glancing between the two guards, she ordered, “Hold him still.”
The men didn’t hesitate to obey, tightening their clutch on the tutor’s arms and pushing him more firmly the ground. His scream echoed through the room, which only afforded her the opportunity to pry his jaw open. Seizing his tongue with her free hand, a swift cut with the other separated it from his mouth, hot crimson blood spraying across the front of her chiton. Dropping the still wriggling piece of flesh to the ground, her face was impassive as she stared at the horrified man, whose hoarse shouts of pain continued to fill the room. The guards’ faces were just as blank as hers; after all, one did not spend much time in the employ of the Stravos without witnessing their more… questionable… methods of control.
“There, there,” she crooned, slowly cutting down the length of his chiton until it fell to the floor in two pieces. “It will only hurt for a little while longer.” A cruel smile curled her lips, tapping the point of the knife against his shriveled genitalia. “But it will hurt. A lot.”
“Now, what should I take first?” she mused aloud, first tapping his shaft and then his scrotum. “Your cock or your balls?”
Never, you understand? This is not your fault...
Certainly, the young Elias of Stravos listened to the rest of what his mother had to say to him. But, it was this, the reassurance spoken so fiercely from the lips of a woman with such high expectations for him that resonated so deeply with him. Always, Elias was expected to be better than everyone else, to rise higher and be smarter. As spoiled as he was, as he grew older, he could feel the expectations strafing against him, stifling his creative pursuits and narrowing his horizons to that which the great anchors of Athenia epitomized. His interests became less and less relevant, even as the rest of his wants and needs were met with the infinite resources and the fervor of an indulgent mother. The irony of it all, being coddled and chastised both was strange, from father to mother it was quite the distinction.
But, always, Elias of Stravos deeply treasured his family, from his sisters, to his father, to his beloved mother as she continued to assure him that everything that was happening was the fault of the tutor and not the uniquely beautiful boy he'd made the stupid decision to touch inappropriately. When Circenia's fingers threaded into his hair, his lips at last curved into a smile, the back of his hand brushed next against his teary eyes before the contact ceased and the elder Stravos turned away from him. Elias could no longer see his mother's face, but the widened eyes and the resonant clap of a strike to the face made it abundantly clear that, perhaps, Elias didn't want to see it. The fool had stammered about, stuttering pathetically in his efforts to make his words known.
It was quite unfortunate for the tutor that Circenia wasn't remotely interested in sparing him any sort of opportunity. She called for a knife, and Elias couldn't help himself. As the sound of the blade escaping its small scabbard reached his ears, the young lord shifted to the side until he could catch the tutor's face. A smirk curved Elias' lips, a brief whimper as the gaze between tutor and now-former student caught. Elias had, perhaps, exaggerated what the tutor had done, but it was quite apparent to him what might have happened and calling for help was the clear course of action. Elias reached for his chiton, impaling the fabric with the pin of his fibulae to force it into place at last, not looking at what he was doing. Circenia's response had his rapt attention, and the lord had never seen the woman so infuriated.
Circenia had her temper, as did Elias himself. All of the Stravoses were prone in one way or another to rage. It was the necessity of being one of the anchors, who were so fully engrossed in the darker side of business that to be anything but angry resulted in coddling those filth that might deserve the very blade Circenia held. The tutor continued to lament and beg even as the knife reached his mouth, then Circenia shifted her hand and the sharp blade cut through flesh in a spray that stained the lavish fabric of his mother's chiton in filthy crimson. Rather than be horrified by what transpired, Elias' eyes widened with the shock of the sanguine fluid staining expensive fabric. He watched, engrossed, as the man let his hoarse shouts free, only for them to be muffled by the gurgling of his own blood pooling within his maw.
Elias of Stravos was transfixed by the sight of it. The beaten and bruised tutor's cries grew weaker and weaker, his once flailing arms constrained by the guards growing feeble in their resistance as the same filth that stained Circenia's chiton dribbled en masse down his chin and pooled against the floor of the manor. None of the guard showed any signs of disgust or rejection of the matron's command, so handsome was their pay and so powerful the control the Stravos name held over their actions. Elias listened as Circenia shifted her attention next to the blood-soaked chiton in front of her, cutting it apart. The unpractised hand sent the tip through the uppermost layers of skin, and when stripped of the trappings, the tutor had cuts that mirrored the motions of the knife.
Then, she threatened to castrate him, and it was then that Elias grew deeply uncomfortable. It wasn't the fact that the filth was being castrated so much as the idea of it happening at all. Elias thought of how it might feel for him to lose those parts and become a eunuch. This was, perhaps, the closest Elias might come to empathy for a peasant wretch.
"Instead... mother," he began, stepping forward until he took the wrist of the arm holding the knife. Gently, he guided it upwards until he made his own suggestion,
"If you intend to send him to the Underworld, why not rob the man of something more significant to his state in death? It was you, you know," he began, his lips curving into a smirk as he tipped his head to the tutor,
"That told me that the dead take on a form similar to their living forms. That those who fought in battles were blood-splattered with their grievous wounds visible for all to see. So, why not, mother," he added, looking to his mother. The smirk upon his lips curved wider still as he whispered in her ear,
"Deprive him of all of his senses. Let him walk Tartarus without eyes, without taste, without speech and without wit. Let this filth be thrown in his eternal prison, never to see his tormentors but to languish in the infinite pain that he deserves."
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Never, you understand? This is not your fault...
Certainly, the young Elias of Stravos listened to the rest of what his mother had to say to him. But, it was this, the reassurance spoken so fiercely from the lips of a woman with such high expectations for him that resonated so deeply with him. Always, Elias was expected to be better than everyone else, to rise higher and be smarter. As spoiled as he was, as he grew older, he could feel the expectations strafing against him, stifling his creative pursuits and narrowing his horizons to that which the great anchors of Athenia epitomized. His interests became less and less relevant, even as the rest of his wants and needs were met with the infinite resources and the fervor of an indulgent mother. The irony of it all, being coddled and chastised both was strange, from father to mother it was quite the distinction.
But, always, Elias of Stravos deeply treasured his family, from his sisters, to his father, to his beloved mother as she continued to assure him that everything that was happening was the fault of the tutor and not the uniquely beautiful boy he'd made the stupid decision to touch inappropriately. When Circenia's fingers threaded into his hair, his lips at last curved into a smile, the back of his hand brushed next against his teary eyes before the contact ceased and the elder Stravos turned away from him. Elias could no longer see his mother's face, but the widened eyes and the resonant clap of a strike to the face made it abundantly clear that, perhaps, Elias didn't want to see it. The fool had stammered about, stuttering pathetically in his efforts to make his words known.
It was quite unfortunate for the tutor that Circenia wasn't remotely interested in sparing him any sort of opportunity. She called for a knife, and Elias couldn't help himself. As the sound of the blade escaping its small scabbard reached his ears, the young lord shifted to the side until he could catch the tutor's face. A smirk curved Elias' lips, a brief whimper as the gaze between tutor and now-former student caught. Elias had, perhaps, exaggerated what the tutor had done, but it was quite apparent to him what might have happened and calling for help was the clear course of action. Elias reached for his chiton, impaling the fabric with the pin of his fibulae to force it into place at last, not looking at what he was doing. Circenia's response had his rapt attention, and the lord had never seen the woman so infuriated.
Circenia had her temper, as did Elias himself. All of the Stravoses were prone in one way or another to rage. It was the necessity of being one of the anchors, who were so fully engrossed in the darker side of business that to be anything but angry resulted in coddling those filth that might deserve the very blade Circenia held. The tutor continued to lament and beg even as the knife reached his mouth, then Circenia shifted her hand and the sharp blade cut through flesh in a spray that stained the lavish fabric of his mother's chiton in filthy crimson. Rather than be horrified by what transpired, Elias' eyes widened with the shock of the sanguine fluid staining expensive fabric. He watched, engrossed, as the man let his hoarse shouts free, only for them to be muffled by the gurgling of his own blood pooling within his maw.
Elias of Stravos was transfixed by the sight of it. The beaten and bruised tutor's cries grew weaker and weaker, his once flailing arms constrained by the guards growing feeble in their resistance as the same filth that stained Circenia's chiton dribbled en masse down his chin and pooled against the floor of the manor. None of the guard showed any signs of disgust or rejection of the matron's command, so handsome was their pay and so powerful the control the Stravos name held over their actions. Elias listened as Circenia shifted her attention next to the blood-soaked chiton in front of her, cutting it apart. The unpractised hand sent the tip through the uppermost layers of skin, and when stripped of the trappings, the tutor had cuts that mirrored the motions of the knife.
Then, she threatened to castrate him, and it was then that Elias grew deeply uncomfortable. It wasn't the fact that the filth was being castrated so much as the idea of it happening at all. Elias thought of how it might feel for him to lose those parts and become a eunuch. This was, perhaps, the closest Elias might come to empathy for a peasant wretch.
"Instead... mother," he began, stepping forward until he took the wrist of the arm holding the knife. Gently, he guided it upwards until he made his own suggestion,
"If you intend to send him to the Underworld, why not rob the man of something more significant to his state in death? It was you, you know," he began, his lips curving into a smirk as he tipped his head to the tutor,
"That told me that the dead take on a form similar to their living forms. That those who fought in battles were blood-splattered with their grievous wounds visible for all to see. So, why not, mother," he added, looking to his mother. The smirk upon his lips curved wider still as he whispered in her ear,
"Deprive him of all of his senses. Let him walk Tartarus without eyes, without taste, without speech and without wit. Let this filth be thrown in his eternal prison, never to see his tormentors but to languish in the infinite pain that he deserves."
Never, you understand? This is not your fault...
Certainly, the young Elias of Stravos listened to the rest of what his mother had to say to him. But, it was this, the reassurance spoken so fiercely from the lips of a woman with such high expectations for him that resonated so deeply with him. Always, Elias was expected to be better than everyone else, to rise higher and be smarter. As spoiled as he was, as he grew older, he could feel the expectations strafing against him, stifling his creative pursuits and narrowing his horizons to that which the great anchors of Athenia epitomized. His interests became less and less relevant, even as the rest of his wants and needs were met with the infinite resources and the fervor of an indulgent mother. The irony of it all, being coddled and chastised both was strange, from father to mother it was quite the distinction.
But, always, Elias of Stravos deeply treasured his family, from his sisters, to his father, to his beloved mother as she continued to assure him that everything that was happening was the fault of the tutor and not the uniquely beautiful boy he'd made the stupid decision to touch inappropriately. When Circenia's fingers threaded into his hair, his lips at last curved into a smile, the back of his hand brushed next against his teary eyes before the contact ceased and the elder Stravos turned away from him. Elias could no longer see his mother's face, but the widened eyes and the resonant clap of a strike to the face made it abundantly clear that, perhaps, Elias didn't want to see it. The fool had stammered about, stuttering pathetically in his efforts to make his words known.
It was quite unfortunate for the tutor that Circenia wasn't remotely interested in sparing him any sort of opportunity. She called for a knife, and Elias couldn't help himself. As the sound of the blade escaping its small scabbard reached his ears, the young lord shifted to the side until he could catch the tutor's face. A smirk curved Elias' lips, a brief whimper as the gaze between tutor and now-former student caught. Elias had, perhaps, exaggerated what the tutor had done, but it was quite apparent to him what might have happened and calling for help was the clear course of action. Elias reached for his chiton, impaling the fabric with the pin of his fibulae to force it into place at last, not looking at what he was doing. Circenia's response had his rapt attention, and the lord had never seen the woman so infuriated.
Circenia had her temper, as did Elias himself. All of the Stravoses were prone in one way or another to rage. It was the necessity of being one of the anchors, who were so fully engrossed in the darker side of business that to be anything but angry resulted in coddling those filth that might deserve the very blade Circenia held. The tutor continued to lament and beg even as the knife reached his mouth, then Circenia shifted her hand and the sharp blade cut through flesh in a spray that stained the lavish fabric of his mother's chiton in filthy crimson. Rather than be horrified by what transpired, Elias' eyes widened with the shock of the sanguine fluid staining expensive fabric. He watched, engrossed, as the man let his hoarse shouts free, only for them to be muffled by the gurgling of his own blood pooling within his maw.
Elias of Stravos was transfixed by the sight of it. The beaten and bruised tutor's cries grew weaker and weaker, his once flailing arms constrained by the guards growing feeble in their resistance as the same filth that stained Circenia's chiton dribbled en masse down his chin and pooled against the floor of the manor. None of the guard showed any signs of disgust or rejection of the matron's command, so handsome was their pay and so powerful the control the Stravos name held over their actions. Elias listened as Circenia shifted her attention next to the blood-soaked chiton in front of her, cutting it apart. The unpractised hand sent the tip through the uppermost layers of skin, and when stripped of the trappings, the tutor had cuts that mirrored the motions of the knife.
Then, she threatened to castrate him, and it was then that Elias grew deeply uncomfortable. It wasn't the fact that the filth was being castrated so much as the idea of it happening at all. Elias thought of how it might feel for him to lose those parts and become a eunuch. This was, perhaps, the closest Elias might come to empathy for a peasant wretch.
"Instead... mother," he began, stepping forward until he took the wrist of the arm holding the knife. Gently, he guided it upwards until he made his own suggestion,
"If you intend to send him to the Underworld, why not rob the man of something more significant to his state in death? It was you, you know," he began, his lips curving into a smirk as he tipped his head to the tutor,
"That told me that the dead take on a form similar to their living forms. That those who fought in battles were blood-splattered with their grievous wounds visible for all to see. So, why not, mother," he added, looking to his mother. The smirk upon his lips curved wider still as he whispered in her ear,
"Deprive him of all of his senses. Let him walk Tartarus without eyes, without taste, without speech and without wit. Let this filth be thrown in his eternal prison, never to see his tormentors but to languish in the infinite pain that he deserves."
Perhaps Circenia should have been worried at the sadistic suggestions her son made; perhaps if she had paid closer attention when he was a child, she would have realized what it was he would grow into. Then again, what chance of normalcy did he have with parents like his? The Stravos were not exactly known to be gentle, and the actions the princess had taken this afternoon only further reinforced that notion. But none of that mattered here or now with the peasant prone beneath her knife and looking at her with an unintelligible plea for mercy. There was no mercy at her hand, not when it came to her children. Elias was right—he would suffer more for the loss of his faculties than the wrinkled member between his legs.
“You taught my son too well, it seems,” she told the quickly weakening man, her tone light and almost conversational. “Who would’ve thought it would come back to bite you so fiercely in the end?”
Puling the knife from between his legs, the former tutor visibly sagged in relief, though that relief wouldn’t last long. Circenia raised a sanguine-stained hand to his face, grasping his jaw to hold him still. His struggles against her were weak and feeble with the loss of blood, and she barely had to expend any effort to keep him in place.
“Now, I wonder which eye you’re less attached to, eh?” The tip of the knife settled against the base of his left orb, his gaze widening fearfully in response. “Is it this one?” A guttural groan left his lips before she jammed the point in, not bothering to remove the eye, but simply making it unusable. His hoarse cries of pain had little effect on the impassive look on her face, pulling the knife back out and moving it to his other eye. A sluggish trail of blood trickled down his cheek, only to join the macabre spectacle on the rest of his face.
“Or maybe it’s this one,” she remarked as she repeated the motion again, his scream echoing off the walls around them. Pulling the knife back once more, his face was no longer even recognizable, simply a bloody mess that had once been human.
At this point, the princess should have even frightened herself, but faced with the story of what this man had done, she felt nothing. Nothing but a rage that wouldn’t be quelled by anything but his pain. Did he really think he would get away with it? With violating a Stravos, and the son and heir of the house itself? He deserved whatever judgment awaited him in the afterlife. She wasn’t even convinced that would be enough.
“Let the other shades look on you in horror and disgust,” she told him with a dark glimmer in her eye. “As you stumble blindly to await Hades’ judgment. May you never know a kind hand again.”
Wiping the blade on the fabric of his ruined chiton, she summoned her son with a simple call of his name. “Elias, come here.” Crystal eyes never leaving the tutor’s face, she held out her hand for her boy.
“Today will serve as a valuable lesson,” Circenia told her child, her own face still curiously devoid of expression. “A lesson of what happens to those who dare oppose us.” Her fingers beckoned once more. “Give me your hand, my son, and let it be known how we deal with our enemies ourselves.”
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Perhaps Circenia should have been worried at the sadistic suggestions her son made; perhaps if she had paid closer attention when he was a child, she would have realized what it was he would grow into. Then again, what chance of normalcy did he have with parents like his? The Stravos were not exactly known to be gentle, and the actions the princess had taken this afternoon only further reinforced that notion. But none of that mattered here or now with the peasant prone beneath her knife and looking at her with an unintelligible plea for mercy. There was no mercy at her hand, not when it came to her children. Elias was right—he would suffer more for the loss of his faculties than the wrinkled member between his legs.
“You taught my son too well, it seems,” she told the quickly weakening man, her tone light and almost conversational. “Who would’ve thought it would come back to bite you so fiercely in the end?”
Puling the knife from between his legs, the former tutor visibly sagged in relief, though that relief wouldn’t last long. Circenia raised a sanguine-stained hand to his face, grasping his jaw to hold him still. His struggles against her were weak and feeble with the loss of blood, and she barely had to expend any effort to keep him in place.
“Now, I wonder which eye you’re less attached to, eh?” The tip of the knife settled against the base of his left orb, his gaze widening fearfully in response. “Is it this one?” A guttural groan left his lips before she jammed the point in, not bothering to remove the eye, but simply making it unusable. His hoarse cries of pain had little effect on the impassive look on her face, pulling the knife back out and moving it to his other eye. A sluggish trail of blood trickled down his cheek, only to join the macabre spectacle on the rest of his face.
“Or maybe it’s this one,” she remarked as she repeated the motion again, his scream echoing off the walls around them. Pulling the knife back once more, his face was no longer even recognizable, simply a bloody mess that had once been human.
At this point, the princess should have even frightened herself, but faced with the story of what this man had done, she felt nothing. Nothing but a rage that wouldn’t be quelled by anything but his pain. Did he really think he would get away with it? With violating a Stravos, and the son and heir of the house itself? He deserved whatever judgment awaited him in the afterlife. She wasn’t even convinced that would be enough.
“Let the other shades look on you in horror and disgust,” she told him with a dark glimmer in her eye. “As you stumble blindly to await Hades’ judgment. May you never know a kind hand again.”
Wiping the blade on the fabric of his ruined chiton, she summoned her son with a simple call of his name. “Elias, come here.” Crystal eyes never leaving the tutor’s face, she held out her hand for her boy.
“Today will serve as a valuable lesson,” Circenia told her child, her own face still curiously devoid of expression. “A lesson of what happens to those who dare oppose us.” Her fingers beckoned once more. “Give me your hand, my son, and let it be known how we deal with our enemies ourselves.”
Perhaps Circenia should have been worried at the sadistic suggestions her son made; perhaps if she had paid closer attention when he was a child, she would have realized what it was he would grow into. Then again, what chance of normalcy did he have with parents like his? The Stravos were not exactly known to be gentle, and the actions the princess had taken this afternoon only further reinforced that notion. But none of that mattered here or now with the peasant prone beneath her knife and looking at her with an unintelligible plea for mercy. There was no mercy at her hand, not when it came to her children. Elias was right—he would suffer more for the loss of his faculties than the wrinkled member between his legs.
“You taught my son too well, it seems,” she told the quickly weakening man, her tone light and almost conversational. “Who would’ve thought it would come back to bite you so fiercely in the end?”
Puling the knife from between his legs, the former tutor visibly sagged in relief, though that relief wouldn’t last long. Circenia raised a sanguine-stained hand to his face, grasping his jaw to hold him still. His struggles against her were weak and feeble with the loss of blood, and she barely had to expend any effort to keep him in place.
“Now, I wonder which eye you’re less attached to, eh?” The tip of the knife settled against the base of his left orb, his gaze widening fearfully in response. “Is it this one?” A guttural groan left his lips before she jammed the point in, not bothering to remove the eye, but simply making it unusable. His hoarse cries of pain had little effect on the impassive look on her face, pulling the knife back out and moving it to his other eye. A sluggish trail of blood trickled down his cheek, only to join the macabre spectacle on the rest of his face.
“Or maybe it’s this one,” she remarked as she repeated the motion again, his scream echoing off the walls around them. Pulling the knife back once more, his face was no longer even recognizable, simply a bloody mess that had once been human.
At this point, the princess should have even frightened herself, but faced with the story of what this man had done, she felt nothing. Nothing but a rage that wouldn’t be quelled by anything but his pain. Did he really think he would get away with it? With violating a Stravos, and the son and heir of the house itself? He deserved whatever judgment awaited him in the afterlife. She wasn’t even convinced that would be enough.
“Let the other shades look on you in horror and disgust,” she told him with a dark glimmer in her eye. “As you stumble blindly to await Hades’ judgment. May you never know a kind hand again.”
Wiping the blade on the fabric of his ruined chiton, she summoned her son with a simple call of his name. “Elias, come here.” Crystal eyes never leaving the tutor’s face, she held out her hand for her boy.
“Today will serve as a valuable lesson,” Circenia told her child, her own face still curiously devoid of expression. “A lesson of what happens to those who dare oppose us.” Her fingers beckoned once more. “Give me your hand, my son, and let it be known how we deal with our enemies ourselves.”
Elias was, with all things considered, quite pleased with himself.
The idea of turning this filth into a witless fool bound for an eternity in the dungeon of the Underworld was one that appealed to him tremendously. It was the natural order, in his opinion, for those wretched beasts who deigned lay a hand on royalty deserved to suffer for their wicked suppositions. Elias did not think it sadistic to trade his innocence and the feeling of his own sanctity for everything the foolish tutor had. There was no amount of money, service, or pleading that could turn either of the Stravoses from their course of action and it was in his eyes only logical for them to continue along on them.
The wretch in front of Elias had taught the Stravos the grace of law and the enforcement of justice that politics could provide. However, what good was the law when it would demand they kept this wretch alive and even tolerate his despicable actions? The burden of proof would be on them to impose, and what proof was there that anything at all had been committed? The word of a young man was very little, even a lord of the wealthiest of the royal lines. No, taking justice into one's own hands, as Circenia did, was the epitome of righteousness. So long as those who did so could defend or obscure their actions.
Elias was not mortified by what was happening as his mother raised her bloodstained hand and held the tutor's jawline in place. Instead, he stepped forward, crushing his sandalled foot against the joints that bound the wretch's ankle to his shin. Elias pressed downward until the inevitable crack of bone could be heard, quite pleased to do whatever he could do to aid in the crippling and torture of the wicked fool. He still felt the echo of disgust, both with the tutor and himself for being touched in the way that he was. He narrowed his gaze as he listened to hoarse cries turn into agonized screams. With the tutor's eyes rendered unusable and the socket disrupted by the knife, a lid fell and it was only a matter of time before... Elias held back the thought.
Elias couldn't begin to know how the intricacies of biology, for the purview of such studies were beyond the realm of his generation. Far be it from Elias of Stravos to take interest in matters that simply couldn't be known and instead was far more invested in seeing the psychology of agony. Brutal lamentations, apologies upon apologies were murmured by a partially intact tongue. Elias heard garbled pleas earlier when the wretch was choking down on his own blood. But, quickly enough, the begging turned to something else. The anguish palpable on the tutor's expression grew less distinguishable as the second eye was crippled. Eye sockets with lids torn from the flesh and let to fall to the floor held not the strength to hold the orbs within. Within moments, both eyes fell from their sockets, suspended only by the nerves that connected them to the brain. The wretch's body had not ceased in its seizing up all the while.
The pitch of his half-murmured pleas from hoarse lips seemed to take on a different tone. Rather than begging for mercy, the pitiable murmurs seem to be asking for something else. Elias found his lips that were curved into a smirk widen into an 'o' as the realization dawned on him exactly what sort of plea this could be.
Death. He wants to end his corporeal pain, but he knows just as well as we do that his pain will never cease. Does he believe himself worthy of Elysium? the Stravos wondered, a scoff escaping his lips audibly at the idea of this putrid waste going to the hall of champions, a resting place just shy of Mount Olympus itself.
It was asinine.
Elias might've been alarmed by his mother's words, but had his own been any different? Mother and son had spent a lifetime together, and certainly, the morbid, sadistic qualities of the mother had seeped into this child of hers more than either of the others. Rage was Elias' ally, the fiery blade that his entitlement would wield now and in the future in order for him to pave himself and his future accomplishments in the sky. Elias aspired for greatness, for honour and to prove to the woman who beckoned him towards her that he deserved her confidence and her love that she gave to him so readily.
This ire that Circenia held, waxed within Elias himself. There was no voice of dissention or reason that might bring either of them back to a semblance of normalcy. The young lord of Stravos felt the swelling in his knuckles from the blows he'd weakly delivered and compared them to the agonizing simplicity of Circenia's movements with the knife. It was all too easy for her, and that served as a lesson just as well as the one she sought to impose upon him.
Always use the right tool for the task at hand. he repeated to himself before he raised his good hand and offered it to his mother to guide. He knew what she wanted to do with him, and his fingers brushed gently against the back of her hand before it curled with hers on the hilt of the knife.
"Of course."
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Elias was, with all things considered, quite pleased with himself.
The idea of turning this filth into a witless fool bound for an eternity in the dungeon of the Underworld was one that appealed to him tremendously. It was the natural order, in his opinion, for those wretched beasts who deigned lay a hand on royalty deserved to suffer for their wicked suppositions. Elias did not think it sadistic to trade his innocence and the feeling of his own sanctity for everything the foolish tutor had. There was no amount of money, service, or pleading that could turn either of the Stravoses from their course of action and it was in his eyes only logical for them to continue along on them.
The wretch in front of Elias had taught the Stravos the grace of law and the enforcement of justice that politics could provide. However, what good was the law when it would demand they kept this wretch alive and even tolerate his despicable actions? The burden of proof would be on them to impose, and what proof was there that anything at all had been committed? The word of a young man was very little, even a lord of the wealthiest of the royal lines. No, taking justice into one's own hands, as Circenia did, was the epitome of righteousness. So long as those who did so could defend or obscure their actions.
Elias was not mortified by what was happening as his mother raised her bloodstained hand and held the tutor's jawline in place. Instead, he stepped forward, crushing his sandalled foot against the joints that bound the wretch's ankle to his shin. Elias pressed downward until the inevitable crack of bone could be heard, quite pleased to do whatever he could do to aid in the crippling and torture of the wicked fool. He still felt the echo of disgust, both with the tutor and himself for being touched in the way that he was. He narrowed his gaze as he listened to hoarse cries turn into agonized screams. With the tutor's eyes rendered unusable and the socket disrupted by the knife, a lid fell and it was only a matter of time before... Elias held back the thought.
Elias couldn't begin to know how the intricacies of biology, for the purview of such studies were beyond the realm of his generation. Far be it from Elias of Stravos to take interest in matters that simply couldn't be known and instead was far more invested in seeing the psychology of agony. Brutal lamentations, apologies upon apologies were murmured by a partially intact tongue. Elias heard garbled pleas earlier when the wretch was choking down on his own blood. But, quickly enough, the begging turned to something else. The anguish palpable on the tutor's expression grew less distinguishable as the second eye was crippled. Eye sockets with lids torn from the flesh and let to fall to the floor held not the strength to hold the orbs within. Within moments, both eyes fell from their sockets, suspended only by the nerves that connected them to the brain. The wretch's body had not ceased in its seizing up all the while.
The pitch of his half-murmured pleas from hoarse lips seemed to take on a different tone. Rather than begging for mercy, the pitiable murmurs seem to be asking for something else. Elias found his lips that were curved into a smirk widen into an 'o' as the realization dawned on him exactly what sort of plea this could be.
Death. He wants to end his corporeal pain, but he knows just as well as we do that his pain will never cease. Does he believe himself worthy of Elysium? the Stravos wondered, a scoff escaping his lips audibly at the idea of this putrid waste going to the hall of champions, a resting place just shy of Mount Olympus itself.
It was asinine.
Elias might've been alarmed by his mother's words, but had his own been any different? Mother and son had spent a lifetime together, and certainly, the morbid, sadistic qualities of the mother had seeped into this child of hers more than either of the others. Rage was Elias' ally, the fiery blade that his entitlement would wield now and in the future in order for him to pave himself and his future accomplishments in the sky. Elias aspired for greatness, for honour and to prove to the woman who beckoned him towards her that he deserved her confidence and her love that she gave to him so readily.
This ire that Circenia held, waxed within Elias himself. There was no voice of dissention or reason that might bring either of them back to a semblance of normalcy. The young lord of Stravos felt the swelling in his knuckles from the blows he'd weakly delivered and compared them to the agonizing simplicity of Circenia's movements with the knife. It was all too easy for her, and that served as a lesson just as well as the one she sought to impose upon him.
Always use the right tool for the task at hand. he repeated to himself before he raised his good hand and offered it to his mother to guide. He knew what she wanted to do with him, and his fingers brushed gently against the back of her hand before it curled with hers on the hilt of the knife.
"Of course."
Elias was, with all things considered, quite pleased with himself.
The idea of turning this filth into a witless fool bound for an eternity in the dungeon of the Underworld was one that appealed to him tremendously. It was the natural order, in his opinion, for those wretched beasts who deigned lay a hand on royalty deserved to suffer for their wicked suppositions. Elias did not think it sadistic to trade his innocence and the feeling of his own sanctity for everything the foolish tutor had. There was no amount of money, service, or pleading that could turn either of the Stravoses from their course of action and it was in his eyes only logical for them to continue along on them.
The wretch in front of Elias had taught the Stravos the grace of law and the enforcement of justice that politics could provide. However, what good was the law when it would demand they kept this wretch alive and even tolerate his despicable actions? The burden of proof would be on them to impose, and what proof was there that anything at all had been committed? The word of a young man was very little, even a lord of the wealthiest of the royal lines. No, taking justice into one's own hands, as Circenia did, was the epitome of righteousness. So long as those who did so could defend or obscure their actions.
Elias was not mortified by what was happening as his mother raised her bloodstained hand and held the tutor's jawline in place. Instead, he stepped forward, crushing his sandalled foot against the joints that bound the wretch's ankle to his shin. Elias pressed downward until the inevitable crack of bone could be heard, quite pleased to do whatever he could do to aid in the crippling and torture of the wicked fool. He still felt the echo of disgust, both with the tutor and himself for being touched in the way that he was. He narrowed his gaze as he listened to hoarse cries turn into agonized screams. With the tutor's eyes rendered unusable and the socket disrupted by the knife, a lid fell and it was only a matter of time before... Elias held back the thought.
Elias couldn't begin to know how the intricacies of biology, for the purview of such studies were beyond the realm of his generation. Far be it from Elias of Stravos to take interest in matters that simply couldn't be known and instead was far more invested in seeing the psychology of agony. Brutal lamentations, apologies upon apologies were murmured by a partially intact tongue. Elias heard garbled pleas earlier when the wretch was choking down on his own blood. But, quickly enough, the begging turned to something else. The anguish palpable on the tutor's expression grew less distinguishable as the second eye was crippled. Eye sockets with lids torn from the flesh and let to fall to the floor held not the strength to hold the orbs within. Within moments, both eyes fell from their sockets, suspended only by the nerves that connected them to the brain. The wretch's body had not ceased in its seizing up all the while.
The pitch of his half-murmured pleas from hoarse lips seemed to take on a different tone. Rather than begging for mercy, the pitiable murmurs seem to be asking for something else. Elias found his lips that were curved into a smirk widen into an 'o' as the realization dawned on him exactly what sort of plea this could be.
Death. He wants to end his corporeal pain, but he knows just as well as we do that his pain will never cease. Does he believe himself worthy of Elysium? the Stravos wondered, a scoff escaping his lips audibly at the idea of this putrid waste going to the hall of champions, a resting place just shy of Mount Olympus itself.
It was asinine.
Elias might've been alarmed by his mother's words, but had his own been any different? Mother and son had spent a lifetime together, and certainly, the morbid, sadistic qualities of the mother had seeped into this child of hers more than either of the others. Rage was Elias' ally, the fiery blade that his entitlement would wield now and in the future in order for him to pave himself and his future accomplishments in the sky. Elias aspired for greatness, for honour and to prove to the woman who beckoned him towards her that he deserved her confidence and her love that she gave to him so readily.
This ire that Circenia held, waxed within Elias himself. There was no voice of dissention or reason that might bring either of them back to a semblance of normalcy. The young lord of Stravos felt the swelling in his knuckles from the blows he'd weakly delivered and compared them to the agonizing simplicity of Circenia's movements with the knife. It was all too easy for her, and that served as a lesson just as well as the one she sought to impose upon him.
Always use the right tool for the task at hand. he repeated to himself before he raised his good hand and offered it to his mother to guide. He knew what she wanted to do with him, and his fingers brushed gently against the back of her hand before it curled with hers on the hilt of the knife.
"Of course."
Where had Circenia of Stravos acquired her ruthlessness, one might wonder? Not even she could really answer that question, the spoiled youngest child of King Omiros of Xanthos. Perhaps that spoiled indulgence was the reason she was like this now; unused to being opposed, the princess reacted violently to those who dared it. Even as a child, she’d been sent into fits of rage by disobedient servants and sycophantic liars. Many a maid had been quietly dismissed from Xanthos service after facing the brute force of Circenia’s wrath.
But this, this was a first. She’d had men killed before, had even watched it carried out. However, to perform the act with her own hand… it was like an epiphany. To wield the power over life itself, it was like nothing she’d ever felt before. Perhaps she’d be horrified later, but now, she was exhilarated.
When Elias placed his hand in hers, she turned to face him with a brief smile, a chilling expression that would have sent any sane man running for the hills. Closing her hand around his as they both clutched the hilt of the knife, she dropped a kiss against his fingers.
“Never forget your power, Elias, and never let anyone else forget it, either. Let this man serve as an example to those who would show you such callous disrespect.”
Gazing coldly at the broken man before her, Circenia sneered. “I hope you’ve made your peace with the gods, for you shall never know peace again here.”
The conjoined hands of mother and son struck at his throat, moving the knife in a fluid slice that viciously parted the thin skin protecting his life’s blood. A vicious crimson waterfall borne of uncontained fury splattered the princess, her child, and the floor below, but still, Circenia appeared unconcerned. Clutching ineffectually at his pouring throat in an unsuccessful attempt to stymy the blood flow, her boy’s former tutor managed but a single strangled cry before he slumped forward to fall prone at their feet.
There was a long moment of silence as the Stravos matriarch regarded the creature on the floor. Perhaps she should have felt remorse at taking a man’s life, but it wasn’t like he was innocent. In her eyes, he was a monster, a monster who thought to harm her precious boy, and every act of pain they’d inflicted on him was justified. If she hadn’t arrived when she did, if she hadn’t intervened… what if he’d been successful? What if the pain they’d given him had been enacted upon Elias instead? It was better this way. Truly, they had done the world a favor in ridding it of this filth.
“Get this cleaned up, and be quiet about it,” she finally told the guards, looking up at them from the wreckage of flesh and handing them back the knife. “I mean it, not a single word, you understand? This never leaves this room.” Two brusque nods affirmed her words, the men hastening to obey.
Returning her attention to her son, she gently squeezed his hand, searching his face for a sign of what he was thinking. “As for us, we need to get cleaned up too before anyone sees us. No one is to know about this, Elias, not even your father or your sisters. Should they ask where he’s gone, simply tell them that you were not progressing quickly enough with your education, and he was relieved of his duties. This will be our secret, and no one else’s. Got it?”
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Where had Circenia of Stravos acquired her ruthlessness, one might wonder? Not even she could really answer that question, the spoiled youngest child of King Omiros of Xanthos. Perhaps that spoiled indulgence was the reason she was like this now; unused to being opposed, the princess reacted violently to those who dared it. Even as a child, she’d been sent into fits of rage by disobedient servants and sycophantic liars. Many a maid had been quietly dismissed from Xanthos service after facing the brute force of Circenia’s wrath.
But this, this was a first. She’d had men killed before, had even watched it carried out. However, to perform the act with her own hand… it was like an epiphany. To wield the power over life itself, it was like nothing she’d ever felt before. Perhaps she’d be horrified later, but now, she was exhilarated.
When Elias placed his hand in hers, she turned to face him with a brief smile, a chilling expression that would have sent any sane man running for the hills. Closing her hand around his as they both clutched the hilt of the knife, she dropped a kiss against his fingers.
“Never forget your power, Elias, and never let anyone else forget it, either. Let this man serve as an example to those who would show you such callous disrespect.”
Gazing coldly at the broken man before her, Circenia sneered. “I hope you’ve made your peace with the gods, for you shall never know peace again here.”
The conjoined hands of mother and son struck at his throat, moving the knife in a fluid slice that viciously parted the thin skin protecting his life’s blood. A vicious crimson waterfall borne of uncontained fury splattered the princess, her child, and the floor below, but still, Circenia appeared unconcerned. Clutching ineffectually at his pouring throat in an unsuccessful attempt to stymy the blood flow, her boy’s former tutor managed but a single strangled cry before he slumped forward to fall prone at their feet.
There was a long moment of silence as the Stravos matriarch regarded the creature on the floor. Perhaps she should have felt remorse at taking a man’s life, but it wasn’t like he was innocent. In her eyes, he was a monster, a monster who thought to harm her precious boy, and every act of pain they’d inflicted on him was justified. If she hadn’t arrived when she did, if she hadn’t intervened… what if he’d been successful? What if the pain they’d given him had been enacted upon Elias instead? It was better this way. Truly, they had done the world a favor in ridding it of this filth.
“Get this cleaned up, and be quiet about it,” she finally told the guards, looking up at them from the wreckage of flesh and handing them back the knife. “I mean it, not a single word, you understand? This never leaves this room.” Two brusque nods affirmed her words, the men hastening to obey.
Returning her attention to her son, she gently squeezed his hand, searching his face for a sign of what he was thinking. “As for us, we need to get cleaned up too before anyone sees us. No one is to know about this, Elias, not even your father or your sisters. Should they ask where he’s gone, simply tell them that you were not progressing quickly enough with your education, and he was relieved of his duties. This will be our secret, and no one else’s. Got it?”
Where had Circenia of Stravos acquired her ruthlessness, one might wonder? Not even she could really answer that question, the spoiled youngest child of King Omiros of Xanthos. Perhaps that spoiled indulgence was the reason she was like this now; unused to being opposed, the princess reacted violently to those who dared it. Even as a child, she’d been sent into fits of rage by disobedient servants and sycophantic liars. Many a maid had been quietly dismissed from Xanthos service after facing the brute force of Circenia’s wrath.
But this, this was a first. She’d had men killed before, had even watched it carried out. However, to perform the act with her own hand… it was like an epiphany. To wield the power over life itself, it was like nothing she’d ever felt before. Perhaps she’d be horrified later, but now, she was exhilarated.
When Elias placed his hand in hers, she turned to face him with a brief smile, a chilling expression that would have sent any sane man running for the hills. Closing her hand around his as they both clutched the hilt of the knife, she dropped a kiss against his fingers.
“Never forget your power, Elias, and never let anyone else forget it, either. Let this man serve as an example to those who would show you such callous disrespect.”
Gazing coldly at the broken man before her, Circenia sneered. “I hope you’ve made your peace with the gods, for you shall never know peace again here.”
The conjoined hands of mother and son struck at his throat, moving the knife in a fluid slice that viciously parted the thin skin protecting his life’s blood. A vicious crimson waterfall borne of uncontained fury splattered the princess, her child, and the floor below, but still, Circenia appeared unconcerned. Clutching ineffectually at his pouring throat in an unsuccessful attempt to stymy the blood flow, her boy’s former tutor managed but a single strangled cry before he slumped forward to fall prone at their feet.
There was a long moment of silence as the Stravos matriarch regarded the creature on the floor. Perhaps she should have felt remorse at taking a man’s life, but it wasn’t like he was innocent. In her eyes, he was a monster, a monster who thought to harm her precious boy, and every act of pain they’d inflicted on him was justified. If she hadn’t arrived when she did, if she hadn’t intervened… what if he’d been successful? What if the pain they’d given him had been enacted upon Elias instead? It was better this way. Truly, they had done the world a favor in ridding it of this filth.
“Get this cleaned up, and be quiet about it,” she finally told the guards, looking up at them from the wreckage of flesh and handing them back the knife. “I mean it, not a single word, you understand? This never leaves this room.” Two brusque nods affirmed her words, the men hastening to obey.
Returning her attention to her son, she gently squeezed his hand, searching his face for a sign of what he was thinking. “As for us, we need to get cleaned up too before anyone sees us. No one is to know about this, Elias, not even your father or your sisters. Should they ask where he’s gone, simply tell them that you were not progressing quickly enough with your education, and he was relieved of his duties. This will be our secret, and no one else’s. Got it?”
More than anything else that Circenia of Stravos could have told him or described, the sight of the ruined man ahead of the mother and son duo informed Elias. This man had laid his hands on a Stravos and it was abundantly clear that the princess was going to stop at nothing to protect her progeny. Elias knew his father, Keikelius to be a brutal man, but one thing he'd noticed about his father was a lack of sadism in his vile actions. Keikelius of Stravos simply did what was needed, but the princess, Circenia... it was palpable upon her expression that she reveled in the pain she caused.
A chill rolled down Elias' spine, not one of fear, but rather the same sort of rush that coursed throughout. Such was a mother's love that for the slight against her son, she turned her eyes away from anything resembling humanity and enacted horrors upon horrors for the sake of vengeance. It wasn't just her vengeance, because with each moment the blade hovered over the blinded, crippled and ruined man's throat, Elias felt the sensation of filth against his skin wither away. No, the young lord-heir of the Stravos lineage was made intimately aware of his worth, and though there was no smile upon his features as he met his mother's gaze, he felt warmth course through him at her lips pressing to his fingertips.
Elias felt comfort in the pits of darkness, and once Circenia of Stravos instructed him to never forget his power, he nodded in understanding. His grasp on her fingers grew tighter as their hands moved in unison, a diagonal slash gouging a deep hole within the filth's throat. Gargled cries were no longer. Air trapped within his throat escaped through the hole, a final croak muffled and silenced by the blood filling the wound. This strike did not spurt out blood in the same way the wound to his tongue had. There was no pressure, but instead the deluge that flowed along his chest, to his abdomen and fell to the floor between his legs. Elias didn't watch the movement of the blood, but instead, allowed his expression to rest squarely on his eyes.
What does it look like when the soul leaves the body?
The question always burned within Elias, particularly as he learned more and more about the bloody history of the Stravos lineage and his imminent place within it. Elias was very young, but was well aware of the fact that growing up as a commoner, noble or even a royal in a different Dynasteia meant very different things in the face of being the heir to Dynasteia Stravos.
I must become stone in the face of such atrocities... Elias thought, but realized even in the utterance of it the thought was undone in its purpose. Calling such a thing an atrocity made Elias intimately aware of the fact that he lacked the sheer ruthlessness that either of his parents possessed. Darkness existed within his soul, but he, as any young man would, clung inexorably to the crutch of sentiment. Elias did his utmost to steel himself of the lingering emotions, of the guilt that immediately surfaced at ending a life. It was an instinct, suppressed quickly enough. He felt, in the midst of that, pleasure. Pleasure at the power to end a life as he did, the insignificant existence of a wretch extinguished almost at his whim.
It was Circenia's whim, but Elias of Stravos had wanted it too. Elias and Circenia pulled the blade away, and as the deranged figure in front of them fell backwards under its own weight, its eyes rolled back. The life left its eyes before gravity had even begun its work, and as the tutor fell back, arms held by the guards kept him suspended in the air until they released the body and allowed it to collapse to the ground in a heap. Blood pooled at the floor on either side of the figure's mouth, at its feet, and smeared against the stone. Elias, as he looked upon the prone and unmoving corpse, no longer felt the guilt. He felt nothing at all, regarding the figure as his mother did, with callous indifference.
As Circenia issues her instructions to simple nods and quick efforts, it was made apparent that none of the servants would enter this room. The two guards worked in tandem to secure the body and cover it in a tarp, and Elias watched with sheer fascination as they dabbed the bloody mess of wounds dry before lugging the corpse off to places unknown. Clearly, the corpse wouldn't leave the house. Would they cremate it? Would the body be used to fertilize the plants in the conservatory? Morbid curiosity almost had Elias join the guards and see, but his mother spoke to him next, and a soft laugh escaped his lips as he regarded his mother.
Honeyed hues betrayed none of the conflict he'd held in them just moments before. The laughter felt hollow in his throat, but nonetheless, he held his mother's gaze. His features never curved into a smile, kept in a thin, unwavering line until he answered her,
"That goes without saying, doesn't it?"
At last, the hollow laughter dissolved to an uncomfortable chuckle. He shrugged his shoulders once before he stepped towards his mother and tugged lightly on her arm,
"I know I didn't finish the lesson this time, mother, but could we go to the marketplace, anyway? There was a bracelet I was eyeing the other day. And the chef promised me that he'd have more of those pastries I asked for yesterday. And he better deliver," he threatened idly, growing more and more comfortable once the tutor was carted away. Still, there was blood strewn all over the floor. It covered both mother and son, though to Elias a lesser extent. He pressed forward and drew his mother into a brief hug before he said,
"I'll go get changed and have a short rinse. How much time should I factor having before we're due to leave?"
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More than anything else that Circenia of Stravos could have told him or described, the sight of the ruined man ahead of the mother and son duo informed Elias. This man had laid his hands on a Stravos and it was abundantly clear that the princess was going to stop at nothing to protect her progeny. Elias knew his father, Keikelius to be a brutal man, but one thing he'd noticed about his father was a lack of sadism in his vile actions. Keikelius of Stravos simply did what was needed, but the princess, Circenia... it was palpable upon her expression that she reveled in the pain she caused.
A chill rolled down Elias' spine, not one of fear, but rather the same sort of rush that coursed throughout. Such was a mother's love that for the slight against her son, she turned her eyes away from anything resembling humanity and enacted horrors upon horrors for the sake of vengeance. It wasn't just her vengeance, because with each moment the blade hovered over the blinded, crippled and ruined man's throat, Elias felt the sensation of filth against his skin wither away. No, the young lord-heir of the Stravos lineage was made intimately aware of his worth, and though there was no smile upon his features as he met his mother's gaze, he felt warmth course through him at her lips pressing to his fingertips.
Elias felt comfort in the pits of darkness, and once Circenia of Stravos instructed him to never forget his power, he nodded in understanding. His grasp on her fingers grew tighter as their hands moved in unison, a diagonal slash gouging a deep hole within the filth's throat. Gargled cries were no longer. Air trapped within his throat escaped through the hole, a final croak muffled and silenced by the blood filling the wound. This strike did not spurt out blood in the same way the wound to his tongue had. There was no pressure, but instead the deluge that flowed along his chest, to his abdomen and fell to the floor between his legs. Elias didn't watch the movement of the blood, but instead, allowed his expression to rest squarely on his eyes.
What does it look like when the soul leaves the body?
The question always burned within Elias, particularly as he learned more and more about the bloody history of the Stravos lineage and his imminent place within it. Elias was very young, but was well aware of the fact that growing up as a commoner, noble or even a royal in a different Dynasteia meant very different things in the face of being the heir to Dynasteia Stravos.
I must become stone in the face of such atrocities... Elias thought, but realized even in the utterance of it the thought was undone in its purpose. Calling such a thing an atrocity made Elias intimately aware of the fact that he lacked the sheer ruthlessness that either of his parents possessed. Darkness existed within his soul, but he, as any young man would, clung inexorably to the crutch of sentiment. Elias did his utmost to steel himself of the lingering emotions, of the guilt that immediately surfaced at ending a life. It was an instinct, suppressed quickly enough. He felt, in the midst of that, pleasure. Pleasure at the power to end a life as he did, the insignificant existence of a wretch extinguished almost at his whim.
It was Circenia's whim, but Elias of Stravos had wanted it too. Elias and Circenia pulled the blade away, and as the deranged figure in front of them fell backwards under its own weight, its eyes rolled back. The life left its eyes before gravity had even begun its work, and as the tutor fell back, arms held by the guards kept him suspended in the air until they released the body and allowed it to collapse to the ground in a heap. Blood pooled at the floor on either side of the figure's mouth, at its feet, and smeared against the stone. Elias, as he looked upon the prone and unmoving corpse, no longer felt the guilt. He felt nothing at all, regarding the figure as his mother did, with callous indifference.
As Circenia issues her instructions to simple nods and quick efforts, it was made apparent that none of the servants would enter this room. The two guards worked in tandem to secure the body and cover it in a tarp, and Elias watched with sheer fascination as they dabbed the bloody mess of wounds dry before lugging the corpse off to places unknown. Clearly, the corpse wouldn't leave the house. Would they cremate it? Would the body be used to fertilize the plants in the conservatory? Morbid curiosity almost had Elias join the guards and see, but his mother spoke to him next, and a soft laugh escaped his lips as he regarded his mother.
Honeyed hues betrayed none of the conflict he'd held in them just moments before. The laughter felt hollow in his throat, but nonetheless, he held his mother's gaze. His features never curved into a smile, kept in a thin, unwavering line until he answered her,
"That goes without saying, doesn't it?"
At last, the hollow laughter dissolved to an uncomfortable chuckle. He shrugged his shoulders once before he stepped towards his mother and tugged lightly on her arm,
"I know I didn't finish the lesson this time, mother, but could we go to the marketplace, anyway? There was a bracelet I was eyeing the other day. And the chef promised me that he'd have more of those pastries I asked for yesterday. And he better deliver," he threatened idly, growing more and more comfortable once the tutor was carted away. Still, there was blood strewn all over the floor. It covered both mother and son, though to Elias a lesser extent. He pressed forward and drew his mother into a brief hug before he said,
"I'll go get changed and have a short rinse. How much time should I factor having before we're due to leave?"
More than anything else that Circenia of Stravos could have told him or described, the sight of the ruined man ahead of the mother and son duo informed Elias. This man had laid his hands on a Stravos and it was abundantly clear that the princess was going to stop at nothing to protect her progeny. Elias knew his father, Keikelius to be a brutal man, but one thing he'd noticed about his father was a lack of sadism in his vile actions. Keikelius of Stravos simply did what was needed, but the princess, Circenia... it was palpable upon her expression that she reveled in the pain she caused.
A chill rolled down Elias' spine, not one of fear, but rather the same sort of rush that coursed throughout. Such was a mother's love that for the slight against her son, she turned her eyes away from anything resembling humanity and enacted horrors upon horrors for the sake of vengeance. It wasn't just her vengeance, because with each moment the blade hovered over the blinded, crippled and ruined man's throat, Elias felt the sensation of filth against his skin wither away. No, the young lord-heir of the Stravos lineage was made intimately aware of his worth, and though there was no smile upon his features as he met his mother's gaze, he felt warmth course through him at her lips pressing to his fingertips.
Elias felt comfort in the pits of darkness, and once Circenia of Stravos instructed him to never forget his power, he nodded in understanding. His grasp on her fingers grew tighter as their hands moved in unison, a diagonal slash gouging a deep hole within the filth's throat. Gargled cries were no longer. Air trapped within his throat escaped through the hole, a final croak muffled and silenced by the blood filling the wound. This strike did not spurt out blood in the same way the wound to his tongue had. There was no pressure, but instead the deluge that flowed along his chest, to his abdomen and fell to the floor between his legs. Elias didn't watch the movement of the blood, but instead, allowed his expression to rest squarely on his eyes.
What does it look like when the soul leaves the body?
The question always burned within Elias, particularly as he learned more and more about the bloody history of the Stravos lineage and his imminent place within it. Elias was very young, but was well aware of the fact that growing up as a commoner, noble or even a royal in a different Dynasteia meant very different things in the face of being the heir to Dynasteia Stravos.
I must become stone in the face of such atrocities... Elias thought, but realized even in the utterance of it the thought was undone in its purpose. Calling such a thing an atrocity made Elias intimately aware of the fact that he lacked the sheer ruthlessness that either of his parents possessed. Darkness existed within his soul, but he, as any young man would, clung inexorably to the crutch of sentiment. Elias did his utmost to steel himself of the lingering emotions, of the guilt that immediately surfaced at ending a life. It was an instinct, suppressed quickly enough. He felt, in the midst of that, pleasure. Pleasure at the power to end a life as he did, the insignificant existence of a wretch extinguished almost at his whim.
It was Circenia's whim, but Elias of Stravos had wanted it too. Elias and Circenia pulled the blade away, and as the deranged figure in front of them fell backwards under its own weight, its eyes rolled back. The life left its eyes before gravity had even begun its work, and as the tutor fell back, arms held by the guards kept him suspended in the air until they released the body and allowed it to collapse to the ground in a heap. Blood pooled at the floor on either side of the figure's mouth, at its feet, and smeared against the stone. Elias, as he looked upon the prone and unmoving corpse, no longer felt the guilt. He felt nothing at all, regarding the figure as his mother did, with callous indifference.
As Circenia issues her instructions to simple nods and quick efforts, it was made apparent that none of the servants would enter this room. The two guards worked in tandem to secure the body and cover it in a tarp, and Elias watched with sheer fascination as they dabbed the bloody mess of wounds dry before lugging the corpse off to places unknown. Clearly, the corpse wouldn't leave the house. Would they cremate it? Would the body be used to fertilize the plants in the conservatory? Morbid curiosity almost had Elias join the guards and see, but his mother spoke to him next, and a soft laugh escaped his lips as he regarded his mother.
Honeyed hues betrayed none of the conflict he'd held in them just moments before. The laughter felt hollow in his throat, but nonetheless, he held his mother's gaze. His features never curved into a smile, kept in a thin, unwavering line until he answered her,
"That goes without saying, doesn't it?"
At last, the hollow laughter dissolved to an uncomfortable chuckle. He shrugged his shoulders once before he stepped towards his mother and tugged lightly on her arm,
"I know I didn't finish the lesson this time, mother, but could we go to the marketplace, anyway? There was a bracelet I was eyeing the other day. And the chef promised me that he'd have more of those pastries I asked for yesterday. And he better deliver," he threatened idly, growing more and more comfortable once the tutor was carted away. Still, there was blood strewn all over the floor. It covered both mother and son, though to Elias a lesser extent. He pressed forward and drew his mother into a brief hug before he said,
"I'll go get changed and have a short rinse. How much time should I factor having before we're due to leave?"
Circenia raptly watched the play of emotion over her son’s face, the conflict and mild disgust that came and went. He had handled this spectacle remarkably well, especially for someone so young. Now that the deed was done, she thought perhaps she ought to be a little worried about just how well he’d handled it.
Then again, was she really one to talk? At his age, would she have not done the same? Did learning about such ruthlessness early in life not better prepare him for what would come later? The princess made a silent note to keep a close eye on Elias in the coming weeks, to watch for nightmares or elevated reactions during the day. While it was certainly the proper reaction to what had just happened, she had to make sure this wouldn’t be his reaction for everything. She didn’t need to set loose a little sociopath on the world, at least not visibly.
Pulled into a hug, she kissed the top of his blood-flecked hair and gently stroked down his back. Listening to the hollow timbre of his laugh, she smiled at the question that followed. Yes, he would be fine. Better he learn to compartmentalize these things now, lest he be unprepared for such trauma later.
“Of course, darling, we can head out as soon as we’re both washed up and changed. Make sure to burn the chiton you’re wearing now; blood will not lift from that silk.” Nothing if not practical, Circenia turned an assessing eye on her and her son’s clothing. “I’ll have to do the same with mine. A shame, really. This was one of my favorites.” Sighing, she lifted a slim shoulder in a shrug. “I suppose we ought to look for new fabrics while we’re out, as well. A blessing in disguise, really. I’ve been wanting some new dresses.”
Stepping back, she gently cupped her boy’s face and searched his eyes once more. It was a mother’s job to protect her children, and by all counts, she had just done that very thoroughly. Would the trauma sit with him for a time to come? Or would he just brush it from his shoulders like it seemed he’d already done? Time would tell, and no matter what happened, she’d be sure to keep protecting him from whatever resulted.
“Meet me in the front sitting room in an hour,” she told him, smoothing his hair back. “We’ll get you a dozen of those pastries, hm?”
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Circenia raptly watched the play of emotion over her son’s face, the conflict and mild disgust that came and went. He had handled this spectacle remarkably well, especially for someone so young. Now that the deed was done, she thought perhaps she ought to be a little worried about just how well he’d handled it.
Then again, was she really one to talk? At his age, would she have not done the same? Did learning about such ruthlessness early in life not better prepare him for what would come later? The princess made a silent note to keep a close eye on Elias in the coming weeks, to watch for nightmares or elevated reactions during the day. While it was certainly the proper reaction to what had just happened, she had to make sure this wouldn’t be his reaction for everything. She didn’t need to set loose a little sociopath on the world, at least not visibly.
Pulled into a hug, she kissed the top of his blood-flecked hair and gently stroked down his back. Listening to the hollow timbre of his laugh, she smiled at the question that followed. Yes, he would be fine. Better he learn to compartmentalize these things now, lest he be unprepared for such trauma later.
“Of course, darling, we can head out as soon as we’re both washed up and changed. Make sure to burn the chiton you’re wearing now; blood will not lift from that silk.” Nothing if not practical, Circenia turned an assessing eye on her and her son’s clothing. “I’ll have to do the same with mine. A shame, really. This was one of my favorites.” Sighing, she lifted a slim shoulder in a shrug. “I suppose we ought to look for new fabrics while we’re out, as well. A blessing in disguise, really. I’ve been wanting some new dresses.”
Stepping back, she gently cupped her boy’s face and searched his eyes once more. It was a mother’s job to protect her children, and by all counts, she had just done that very thoroughly. Would the trauma sit with him for a time to come? Or would he just brush it from his shoulders like it seemed he’d already done? Time would tell, and no matter what happened, she’d be sure to keep protecting him from whatever resulted.
“Meet me in the front sitting room in an hour,” she told him, smoothing his hair back. “We’ll get you a dozen of those pastries, hm?”
Circenia raptly watched the play of emotion over her son’s face, the conflict and mild disgust that came and went. He had handled this spectacle remarkably well, especially for someone so young. Now that the deed was done, she thought perhaps she ought to be a little worried about just how well he’d handled it.
Then again, was she really one to talk? At his age, would she have not done the same? Did learning about such ruthlessness early in life not better prepare him for what would come later? The princess made a silent note to keep a close eye on Elias in the coming weeks, to watch for nightmares or elevated reactions during the day. While it was certainly the proper reaction to what had just happened, she had to make sure this wouldn’t be his reaction for everything. She didn’t need to set loose a little sociopath on the world, at least not visibly.
Pulled into a hug, she kissed the top of his blood-flecked hair and gently stroked down his back. Listening to the hollow timbre of his laugh, she smiled at the question that followed. Yes, he would be fine. Better he learn to compartmentalize these things now, lest he be unprepared for such trauma later.
“Of course, darling, we can head out as soon as we’re both washed up and changed. Make sure to burn the chiton you’re wearing now; blood will not lift from that silk.” Nothing if not practical, Circenia turned an assessing eye on her and her son’s clothing. “I’ll have to do the same with mine. A shame, really. This was one of my favorites.” Sighing, she lifted a slim shoulder in a shrug. “I suppose we ought to look for new fabrics while we’re out, as well. A blessing in disguise, really. I’ve been wanting some new dresses.”
Stepping back, she gently cupped her boy’s face and searched his eyes once more. It was a mother’s job to protect her children, and by all counts, she had just done that very thoroughly. Would the trauma sit with him for a time to come? Or would he just brush it from his shoulders like it seemed he’d already done? Time would tell, and no matter what happened, she’d be sure to keep protecting him from whatever resulted.
“Meet me in the front sitting room in an hour,” she told him, smoothing his hair back. “We’ll get you a dozen of those pastries, hm?”