YC 118 Amore Tank Your Heart contest entry.
Note: Some mature content lies ahead.
“C’est la vie, amore”, proclaims the Amarr lord with an almost mocking accent. A smile carves its way across his pale, worn out cheeks. His cerulean blue eyes pierce her as he caresses her delicate face with the back of his palm.
His answer was in response to her question about why she was his slave. The response did not satisfy her. Tears began welling up in her glistening emerald eyes. His unnerving smile crept out once more as he gently wiped away the tears with his slender, clammy finger.
“You are so beautiful when you cry,” he whispered. “Come now, take a deep breath, and go fetch us some fresh fruits! They will calm you.” At his command, the young Gallentean dressed in loose and airy fabrics rose and headed towards the kitchen. Her lord turned his attention to the holoscreen in front of him which was broadcasting an Amarrian sermon.
She was not his first Gallentean slavegirl. She can’t remember which number she was, but she was often told by some of the Minmatar slaves that all the others were either discarded due to boredom or killed themselves to escape their master. A few of the Minmatar slaves had become so disillusioned and detached from humanity that she would overhear some of them betting on what her fate would be - discarded or suicide. She tried to keep these thoughts at bay.
As odd as it sounds, she much rather preferred the company of her Cartel slavemasters over this creep. They were bought over by sum of ISK he offered them. He wanted her, and whatever the lord wanted the lord got.
She returned to the lord with a bowl of finely selected grapes. She cradled beside his legs and fed them to him, a routine she was accustomed to by now. The oversized lord gorged on the little grapes eagerly. With only a handful left to spare, he said, “the rest are yours, thank you my dear.” He shooed her away with a flick of his hand.
With a well-hidden feeling of revulsion and anger, she did as she was told.
---
It has been only a few weeks, and so far he has been fairly gentle and docile with her. He often greeted her by reminding her how mesmerized he was of her fragile beauty. He didn’t know the fragile beauty had a will of iron. It would take more than his pathetic little attempts to break her, but she wasn’t about to let on how weary she was starting to become. She had to keep fighting. She had to keep persevering. She would figure something out sooner or later. She just needed some more time.
She slept at the foot of his grand bed like a dog. Every morning, she would have to wake up earlier than he so that she may have a light breakfast already prepared and waiting. Lightly toasted bread with a thin coating of butter, jam served on the side, with a bundle of grapes, and a small glass of wine.
It was the same monotonous routine every day. It was only ever spiced up every so often when the lord had to leave the estate to handle outside affairs. These were precious moments that the slavegirl savored.
Despite her disgust for the lord, she tried her best to appease him. She knew very well her fate if he grew tired or bored with her, and she was not yet ready to accept such a fate. The girl’s fiery spirit festered within her, however. It was surely only a matter of time before it would one day erupt in an explosion of fury.
---
Months have gone by. With each passing day, she could tell his interest in her was starting to wane. He no longer looked at her with the same lustful gaze from those piercing cerulean eyes. She knew she had to act fast, but quite honestly she had grown tired. That fiery spirit sure thinned out over the course of such long, grueling months. A cold emptiness grew within her. Anger, sadness, confusion, tiredness. They all swirled within like a violent maelstrom on a storm planet. The amalgamation of these things was darkness.
One evening, the lord beckoned the young slavegirl to his private quarters. She sighed, expecting to do yet another trivial and monotonous task.
“Come closer, amore”, he gurgled. His clammy, slender fingers motioned her towards him.
She didn’t say anything. She obeyed.
“Have a seat”, those clammy, slender fingers were now motioning her to sit on his lap. An odd request. Never has he asked her to do this before.
She hesitated for a moment. She gazed into those cruel cerulean blue eyes. As if her body was disobeying her mind’s commands, it moved onto the lord’s lap.
“Are you startled, my dear?” He could feel her body trembling. He relished this sensation. He wrapped his atrophic arms around her and embraced her tightly. “Shhh. You have nothing to fear, my amore. You are my favorite, you know…”
Her dimming fiery flame was reignited that night.
---
Another day, another monotonous routine. She woke up earlier than her lord, as usual, and prepared him his breakfast. Lightly toasted bread with a thin coating of butter, just the way he liked it. Jam served on the side, just the way he liked it. A bundle of grapes and a small glass of wine to round it all off, just the way he liked it. The setup included all the necessary silverware: a fork, a knife, and a napkin. Neat, tidy, and organized.
She assembled the breakfast platter and took it to her lord. The morning sun was just starting to spread its glory into the lord’s impressive room. He awoke as she entered, and smiled. She returned the smile. With airy grace, she delivered the breakfast platter to her master. As he yawned heavily, she seized the opportunity.
She pounced on him with lightning fast precision. She grabbed the knife and drove it deep within his chest with all her might. She moved it back and forth a bit, as he gasped out in shock. For the first time that she saw, tears began forming in those cerulean eyes.
“I-I loved you…”, he managed to stutter. “Why would you do this t-to me?”
She leaned in close to him. She twisted the knife as she spoke the final words he would ever hear:
“
C’est la vie, amore.”
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Topic: C'est La Vie, Amore (Read 1731 times)