Scrambling on my hands and knees, I push frantically through the low doorway and out into the humid evening air. I slam the rough-hewn door behind me, collapsing in a shuddering heap amidst the scratching chickens and swirling dust motes of the small barnyard.

But even here, the awful sounds of their coupling reach me - Aislin's muffled sobs, the slap of flesh on flesh, Oisin's grunts of exertion. I bury my face in the straw, trying in vain to block out the noises as my own tears soak the ground beneath me.

I bury my face deeper into the scratchy straw, trying in vain to block out the sickening sounds of Oisin's grunts and Aislin's muffled whimpers. But the noises still reach me, no matter how tightly I clamp my hands over my ears.

"Please husband, you're hurting me!" Aislin cries out, her voice thick with anguish. "Have mercy!"

Oisin's only response is a harsh bark of laughter and the unmistakable wet smack of flesh striking flesh. Aislin's pained gasp cuts through me like a dagger.

I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I could simply will myself away from this nightmare. But the horror is inescapable, a waking hell I'm trapped in with no divine salvation in sight. There is no merciful God watching over us, no angels to swoop down and rescue the innocent. We are forsaken, left to suffer the cruelties of men like Oisin.

The chicken coop offers no sanctuary either, just more filth and squalor. Even these feathered beasts are not spared the village's degradations, forced to scratch and peck in their own excrement. There is no escape from the bleakness, the hopelessness that pervades every inch of this existence.

So I simply lie there amidst the straw and chicken droppings, body wracked with silent sobs as I listen to my mother's torment at the hands of that monster. If there truly is a God, He has long since abandoned us to the void.

The Viking healer's blunt assessment of Oisin's failings as a husband and patriarch clearly struck a nerve, wounding that bastard's fragile male ego. Of course the ignorant brute would lash out, reasserting his dominance through violence and cruelty rather than face the truth.

I can still hear Aislin's muffled sobs from the other room as Oisin vents his impotent rage upon her body. The wet sounds of his thrusting, his grunts of exertion...it makes me want to claw my own ears off to deafen myself to the horror.

What future awaits me in this endless nightmare? If even Colm's promised riches cannot improve our circumstances, if I'm still condemned to this squalor and abuse day after day with no escape...then what's the point? Why continue enduring the torture when oblivion beckons with the promise of peace?

Perhaps I should simply end it all tomorrow before that Viking arrives. Find a length of rope from the barn and hang myself from the rafters, or hurl my body into the well until the icy depths claim me. Anything to escape this unending bleakness, this torture of the soul that grinds me down inexorably.

There are no rays of sunshine here, no rainbows or happy endings. Just filth, cruelty, and the inescapable degradations of a world that has utterly forsaken me. Death seems a blessed mercy compared to the hell of this existence.

So if Colm's arrival changes nothing, if I'm still just a piece of property to be beaten and defiled at Oisin's whims...then I'll simply remove myself from the equation. One way or another, I'll find oblivion's cold embrace.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

After what feels like an eternity lying amidst the scratchy straw and chicken droppings, I feel a gentle hand on my back. I scream in terror, flinching violently as visions of Oisin's meaty fists flash through my mind. "No Papa, please don't hit me again!" I beg, curling into a protective ball.

But the hand doesn't strike - instead it pats my matted hair in a soothing gesture. I crack open my puffy eyes to see Aislin's careworn face gazing down at me, her sunken features etched with worry and regret.

"Hush now, lamb," she murmurs, voice hoarse. "Oisin's passed out for the night. Come back inside with me."

She helps me sit up, then pulls me into a fierce embrace. I tense at first, but her scent of wood smoke and faded flowers is strangely comforting. "I'm so sorry, Lile," Aislin whispers brokenly. "I'm a terrible mother who couldn't protect her own babe."

Anger surges through me at her self-recrimination. I want to rage at this broken woman, to scream that she's just as much Oisin's victim as I am. But the words stick in my throat, choked back by the scalding tears that suddenly blur my vision.

I bite my lip fiercely, determined not to let the keening wail building inside me escape. But the sobs come regardless, racking my slight frame as the dam finally bursts. Scalding tears stream down my cheeks, leaving clean tracks through the grime coating my face.

I clutch at Aislin's faded skirts like a drowning victim, fingers twisting in the rough fabric as I keen my anguish into the humid evening air. She simply holds me tighter, rocking us back and forth in silence.

At last the storm passes, leaving me limp and hollow. Aislin releases me from the embrace, grasping my chin to tilt my face up. Her pale eyes bore into mine with an intensity I've never seen before.

"Listen to me well, Lile," she says, voice low but ringing with conviction. "I swear on my immortal soul that you'll never be hurt like that again. Not while I still draw breath."

Her face contorts then, features twisting into a snarling rictus of pure, unadulterated rage. For an instant, Aislin's expression resembles some demonic entity - eyes burning like hellfire, lips peeled back from clenched teeth in a furious grimace. I shrink back, suddenly terrified of this woman who has always seemed so meek and resigned.

But then she blinks, and the mask of fury dissolves as swiftly as it appeared. Aislin's face softens back into its usual careworn lines as she gathers me into another gentle embrace.

"Come along now, poppet," she murmurs, rising with me cradled in her arms like a babe. "Let's get you settled for the night."

She carries me inside the stifling confines of the sleeping alcove. The reek of sweat, smoke and other bodily odors assaults my nostrils as my eyes adjust to the gloom. There, sprawled amid the stained straw, lies the unmoving bulk of Oisin's snoring form.

Aislin carefully lays me down on the opposite side of the cramped chamber, as far from that drunken pig as possible. She stretches out beside me on the prickly bedding, wrapping her thin arms around my shuddering frame.

"Hush now, my wee lamb," she croons, lips brushing my brow. "Let me sing you the lullaby my own mam used to chase the nightmares away."

And so Aislin begins murmuring an ancient Celtic verse, the words blending into a soothing, wordless melody. I feel my eyelids growing heavy as she rocks me gently, her scent and the familiar lilt gradually lulling me into an uneasy slumber...

This has to be a dream, a horrific nightmare conjured by my subconscious. It simply must be a fever dream, my mind delirious with sickness as it torments me with these waking visions of squalor and abuse.

This place cannot be real. There's no way the world I've awoken in - this primitive, filthy backwater of a village - actually exists. No, this tortuous existence as a lice-ridden peasant waif cannot truly be my life now. It just can't.

Please, I beg whatever deities may be listening, just kill me. End this torment and release me from this unending cycle of degradation. Anything would be preferable to enduring one more moment trapped in this fresh hell, surrounded by cruelty and hopelessness.

My thoughts spiral deeper into panic and despair, whirling around the same pleas for oblivion as bitter tears streak my grimy cheeks. I cry myself into an exhausted slumber, praying I'll wake to find this was all just a terrible delusion.