The Empty Mirror
Chapter 46: Vinegar
In the well, hope stands tall, a dizzying abyss where the darkest and brightest possibilities unfold, a chasm in which the soul ventures in its insatiable quest for understanding and meaning. Conversely, the stagnant, gloomy, and pestilent ditch embodies the most perverse stagnation, the absence of progress, where still and moldy waters reflect the lack of movement and development.
In this quagmire of complacency, willpower grows dormant, personal growth becomes a mirage, and the soul plunges into the darkness of its own decay. The forest, where servants dare not show their faces, stands as a realm of submission and oppression, where autonomy is a distant illusion and control over one's own existence is wrested away by external dictates. In this imposed fate, the dispossessed lack the fruits of hard labour, loyalty shattered by the force of the whip, and skills fading in the shadow of foreign domination.
For Esme, the revelation of carnal encounters between her beloved and her own progenitor represented a blow as atrocious as it was unimaginable. The echo of anger resonated in the depths of her being, but a dark current of depravity enveloped her, inclining her towards tacit acquiescence to avoid the eruption of an even greater chaos. Despite the wrenching tumult of screams, insults, and threats echoing in her mind, finally, amidst the shadows of discord, emerged the revelation of that shared lubricity.
Between her thighs, with greedy fingers, she stoked the fire of her lust, surrendering herself to the delight of these charlatans' whims. She had succumbed to the grotesque and delirious perversion concocted by her comrades, accepting the dark choreography of her own inclinations as an unholy blessing, for if it were your own mother, or your only daughter, the excitement would reach its climax, though Esme could not fully discern the heaviness which Dougal impressed on the heart of her mother, Hilda, a truth buried in the depths of the soul, the consequences of which might be as bewildering as the tumultuous waves of the raging sea. Hilda, therefore, like a docile slave to her own repressed passions, watched with cunning and submission over the outrage to her dignity.
They surrendered to the intoxicating delight, emptying the liquor bottle to the last drop, merging in a communion of excesses. Before the elixir was completely depleted, Dougal succumbed to sleep, embracing the shadows that called to him, despite the moderate strength of the brew. Meanwhile, Hilda, once the reserves were exhausted, retreated to the forest in search of intestinal relief, anticipating the veil of the ethereal night falling upon the horizon. The harsh truth was that we were obliged to evacuate our waste in nature, among the trees, far from the cabin. Likewise, we allowed nature to cleanse us in its waters, away from the stagnant puddles of the ditch.
Although it might seem that no outrage or abuse had been suffered immediately, Esme and Hilda, despite their malice, were but neophytes in the aesthetics of evil, barely exploring the limits of their incipient depravity. A satire in itself, for if at first they were mere fugitives from the mafia, now, by perpetrating such a heinous crime against an innocent, they would become fugitives from justice, vilified as heartless criminals in society.
Esme remained by my side in the cabin, immersed in eloquent silence as she circled the dwelling with Dougal asleep. Her steps led her close to the shelf, where she examined the kitchen utensils and crockery carefully. The lurking twilight and the growing veil of darkness enveloped the cabin, but her determination did not waver. With skill acquired through habit, she lit the lamp's wick, battling against the resistance of time. Amidst hesitation, she took in her hands a bottle resting on the mantelpiece, next to candles nearly consumed in their entirety: an ancient jar, a silent witness of forgotten times, containing purported olive oil, a relic of sea-scented aromas within.
The glass, aged by the passage of years and the narratives that surrounded it, curved with elegance into a classic shape, as if the waves of the sea had sculpted its outline. Intricate patterns, worn by time, told the story of its artisanal crafting on its surface. The aged and worn cork stopper jealously protected the liquid treasure nestled within: a dark liquid, of deep blackness, that seemed to capture the very essence of the sun. Esme took the bottle for a moment, as if she were contemplating a sacred object, before returning it reverently to its place of origin.
For this purpose, she set about preparing two chamomile infusions, a facade of protection and purification against the emanations of negative energy, although in her astute mind, these infusions would be employed to mitigate the ravages of intoxication. Recognizing the need for a balm for her own unease and that of her mother, she opted for chamomile tea, known for its soothing properties that alleviate stomach discomfort and nausea.
After preparing the water and serving the tea in wooden bowls, just at that moment, Hilda emerged from the forest and approached her daughter without the need for words. Without hesitation, they sat face to face in the dining room and began to drink the tea, apparently indifferent to my condition as a captive, bound with worn ropes. I offered no resistance, nor uttered cries or tears; I simply kept my head bowed, awaiting the torment that undoubtedly Esme and then Dougal would execute upon me. Although initially claiming to be only an excited spectator, their promises proved to be mere fallacies. Of course, sooner or later, Hilda too would succumb to licentiousness, joining the feast of depravity.
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Dougal, upright, emerged from the bed, his eyelids still heavy as if sleep had overtaken him without warning. As he scanned the scene around him, he recalled the nocturnal havoc. He fixed his gaze on Esme and Hilda with disdain and snapped, "Cease this vile consumption” - as he rose unsteadily. His eyes, sidelong, sought the aged floorboards, whose wood invariably always bore a cloak of earth. With force, he kicked at the boards until the hollow sound betrayed a secret. He leaned down, extracting a bottle. The ancient liquor vessel exhibited a deep brown hue, almost amber, evoking a sense of opulence and warmth. The glass, aged by time, boasted intricate and elegant patterns that paid homage to the craftsmanship of bygone eras. The label, worn by the inexorable passage of time, barely revealed the brand and contents of the liquor, hinting at a long and enigmatic history.
As he held it, he sensed the weight of the years, evoking a melancholic feeling of nostalgia and convention. The aged cork stopper, marked by use, promised a hidden treasure of complex flavours and aromas, eager to be discovered with each pour. It seemed as if Dougal had raided a clandestine cellar in the past and hidden this bottle for his exclusive delight, without notifying any of those present. Upon closer examination, it was evident that he himself had enjoyed its contents in the past, but more than half of its essence remained trapped inside. It gave the impression that he had only tasted a fleeting sip before stashing it away for a moment of indulgence, like this one. He approached cautiously, ready to discard the tea, but found that the women had already consumed it entirely. Without a word, they returned to indulging in the liquor, gradually elevating the intensity of the evening, transforming into livelier conversationalists as they drank from the envy harboured within Dougal.
Esme, emboldened by the liquor, rose abruptly, leaving her glass on the rough tavern table. With skill, she searched among the ancient shelves and retrieved a bottle of vinegar. The glass vessel, simple in its execution yet inherently functional, revealed its amber contents through its transparent glass, acquiring darker hues over time. The bottle's silhouette, with classic lines, displayed rounded shoulders and a narrow neck widening towards its base. The label, pristine and precise, detailed the name of the vinegar and its origin, revealing the secrets of its production process. When held, it felt light yet solid, exuding a sense of unwavering quality and authenticity. Its stopper, whether metal or cork, ensured a tight seal intended to preserve its contents and maintain its freshness unaltered. Though modest in appearance, this bottle contained the power to enhance any dish with its sour and distinctive flavour. Esme, through gritted teeth, let out a malicious laugh as she approached me, holding the vinegar bottle with determination.
"Do you also desire a sip, sweetheart?" - Esme muttered, intoxicated, as she uncorked the bottle, her voice tinged with mockery. With one hand, she forced my mouth open while I, with gestures of disgust, resisted. At that precise moment, the vinegar cap came off and fell to the ground, forcing me to ingest the acidic liquid spilling uncontrollably onto the floor, nearly choking me and causing a torrent of uncontrollable coughs.
Upon hastily ingesting the vinegar, I experienced a sharp pang in the back of my throat, followed by a scorching sensation that spread down my oesophagus. My mouth was instantly flooded with a sour and pungent taste, causing me to grimace with distaste. Each sip seemed to intensify the sensation, contracting my stomach and making it difficult to breathe. The persistent acidity left a bitter aftertaste on my palate and discomfort in my belly. My eyes involuntarily squinted, and I felt the urge to seek water to dilute the vinegar's intensity, while those three vile individuals dissolved into laughter at my gestures, reveling in my misery for no reason other than their own pleasure.
"Do you fancy yourself a traveller? Indeed, in some way you are, for I adore your exotic and unique features, although I am unaware of which continent you hail from, as I have never ventured beyond this place. Allow me to tell you that I appreciate your unusual features, young lady, your almond-shaped eyes slightly upturned at the corners, with the sockets slightly flat, and the lashes straight. Your finely delineated eyebrows stand out against clear, smooth skin that radiates luminosity. You are to our liking, young lady; I believe we now prefer foreign women” - Esme proclaimed amidst laughter, mocking my misfortune as I remained bound hand and foot, defenseless, with gestures of irony adorning her full lips, ready to steal a kiss.
Dougal rose from his seat with calculated steps after a sip of his drink. With determination, he searched through the folds of my dress as if seeking something lost, avoiding any lascivious insinuation for the moment. "I like how that dress fits you; it must be a gift from Esme. It suits you very well, leaving nothing to the imagination, dejar” - he declared, extracting from my attire the knife I had kept hidden near my waist. The white blade gleamed voluptuously as he briefly admired it before handing it to Esme. At that moment, I understood what Dougal meant when he spoke of guarding against wolves, both the wild ones that lurk in the forest and the humans who exploit the vulnerability of young women to satisfy their darkest desires, turning them into mere pieces of virgin flesh for their delight.
Esme gazed at the knife eagerly before concealing it within the folds of her dress, then returning to the table to savour her drink. In the height of confidence, while Esme and Hilda indulged in the pleasure of their drinks, Dougal found himself enveloped in decadence, to which I uttered words laden with lubricious morbidity: "Dougal, you are a true libertine”.
To which Dougal responded with a sardonic smile: "There are multiple possibilities, but this is what excites me most”.
"If that's so, why don't you confront the sins that come with having two women at your service? Why not reveal the sinfulness that occurred in Bafranbu?" - I expressed in a sombre tone, for this was the second truth I had uncovered. Dougal harboured a dark secret linked to Bafranbu, something beyond protecting Esme and Hilda. My deduction was based on his behaviour and his persistent refusal to speak about what happened there. Even if it was just an assumption, I had full confidence that this secret would be shocking enough to unleash chaos among the trio, placing my blind faith in this hypothesis.
"Leave me alone, you have no idea what you're talking about, you asshole” - Dougal snapped, muscles tense and nervous, as he struck me with a series of kicks to the stomach. However, upon noticing Esme and Hilda's astonished gazes, he halted his aggression to justify his sentence in my words. I, writhing in pain from the beating, could only resign myself to being a spectator to the impending drama.