Abella

Abella

She was fourteen, and already considered to be beautiful. Abella was a bright and cheery girl, with a streak of stubbornness that rarely come out. Her parents, and even the servants would describe her as the perfect daughter. She learned the arts that made her more feminine, how to run a household and estate, and play the role of proper d'Angeline woman. She could sing, dance, and sew. She rode a horse with skill, and play perfect hostess for guests. Had she not been their only child, they might've considered sending her to Camellia House in the city. Such that she was, they were happy to name her as heir to the estate. She looked forward to her sixteenth birthday, hoping to go to the city of Elua at some point and play the courting game, and her parents hoped for a love marriage of good blood.

The merchant who visited that summer was wealthy. He was older, but seemingly kind. He made the family deals that profited both himself and them, and the families living on their lands. He promised that the money would continue to flow in, and indeed, they never struck a better deal. Everyone prospered the next few years with the deals that were struck. They celebrated happily, her family playing proper host. No one took notice of the way he looked at Abella when they weren't looking. His eyes followed her every movement.

It was a hot night, and lightning was flashing in the sky way before the storm ever hit. Abella had gone to bed with the windows of her room open, the breeze the only repose from the heat. She was dressed in a cotton night gown, her coverlets thrown to the ground. It was in the middle of the night that she woke, the sound of thunder clashing in the distance. She wasn't afraid of thunder, not at this age, so she closed her eyes to go back to sleep. Something felt out of place though, and she sat up, realizing that someone was in her room with her. A hand covered her mouth, and pushed her back down. It was the merchant, his eyes dark and greedy.

"Shhhh, little Abella, you don't want to wake the others, do you?" He whispered, his voice thick with lust. He began to manipulate her dress and his own clothes. She struggled, afraid, trying to push the hand away to scream. "I said not a word!" He pressed harder, threatening to cut off her air supply. "Don't struggle or I will kill you." He moved to hover over her, his hand still covering her mouth. Her tears streaked down her cheeks unto her pillow, the sound of the storm playing soundtrack to the horror he inflicted on her. When he was done, he rolled off. "Scream, and I will burn this place to the ground. Understand?" She nodded again, her head barely moving. He removed his hand.

He stroked her cheek with affection. "Ah, so beautiful, little Abella. You know what this means now? It means you are mine. I only take perfection, you know..." He said, his hands tracing her body. She shuddered with disgust, afraid to move, afraid to cry. "In a few years, I'll come back, and take you away from here. You'll like that, I promise." He kissed her, she remained still, fear and shock taking over her body. "Until then…if you speak of this, I will kill your family, and then I will kill you. Slowly, and painfully, I swear it. Do you understand?"

She only sobbed, and he gripped her hair and pulled her up to him. "Do you understand, Abella?"

"Y…yes…" She managed to get out, still weeping. She hiccuped, looking up at him in terror. He grinned. Her innocence was matched by her beauty, amplified in his mind by those beautiful tears, and he felt a tug of arousal again. He moved again, this time not bothering with covering her mouth. The storm was still raging outside, and any cries she let out were drown out. Finally when he was done, he stood, and fixed his clothes.

"Not a word, little Abella." He didn't wait for an answer, slipping out of her room as silently as he entered. The fear was in her. She stumbled out of bed, cleaning herself with water from the basin while sobbing silently. She hurt. She was afraid…terrified. Humiliated. And most of all angry. She never felt so helpless before. The stubborn side of her hated that feeling.

It only got worse. Every night for the next month, that darkness was repeated until he left the estate, his business concluded. He stole every ounce of innocence she ever had. On the night before he left, he climbed out of her bed when he was finished with her. She never fought back, something he noted to her in whispers. It meant she wanted it, he told her. She wanted to scream no, that wasn't true, but she couldn't. Instead, she curled into a ball, waiting for him to leave.

It was weeks after he left that Abella began to change. At first, she feigned sickness, and asked to be left alone. Summer fevers were common so no one questioned it. She began to dwell on it, reliving the nights even after he was gone. She lashed out more at the servants, though her parents shrugged it off as normal adolescence. It was only when she attacked on of the maids, pinning her against a wall to threaten the girl to stay out of her business did she begin to realize that she wanted control again.

After a stern lecture from her parents that striking the servants was never acceptable, though again, it was shrugged off as something common, she began returned to her obedient self, resuming her lessons, and playing the part of perfect daughter. She began riding more, taking her long afternoon excursions, and when she found her secret spot. It was perfect for bathing, which she did almost every day there, trying with no luck to wash away the shame she felt. He had marked her as his own, and nothing she could do got rid of that invisible mark.

In truth, she longed to lash out at others. She swore she would never let anyone take her like that again, and if the merchant ever returned, she would kill him. It was years before she would find a release suitable to the crimes done to her. In the mean time, she took control where she could find it. She made sure everyone know that she was the young Lady of the manor, that the servants respected her, and anyone else that visited. Her parents praised her for her powerful demeanor, her perfect posture, the way she controlled her horse, and the perfection of her arts as a woman and as nobility. When she took lovers, it was she that was in control. Before long, she pushed the memory so far back it was nearly forgotten.

She had cried like a weakling against him, but it would never happened again, she promised herself over and over. She would never be a victim again.