They had finally summoned me to the Duke’s study. The news I’d been so eager to receive were delivered in the most predictable stance.
“You will marry Terrel, the firstborn son of Duke Wharton.” Alvin declared in his typical bitter tone without even glancing at me. His fingers held a bright red quill as he scribbled on some loose sheets, completely unbothered by my presence.
I bobbed my head respectfully. “As you wish.”
His hands froze momentarily, as his mind took in my words before continuing his affairs. It seemed he wasn’t expecting such a compliant daughter, especially after our minor incident. The truth was, no matter whether I cried, pouted or tried to change his mind, he wouldn’t move. His decision lied beneath a pile of stones so heavy, one wouldn’t even succeed in moving the smaller pieces.
About to leave the room, I heard his voice, echoing through wind. “Are you not going to ask why?”
Utter disbelief struck me, momentarily feeding my foolish being with hopes that had since long perished, before returning to my regular, apathetic expression. “If I did, would you answer truthfully?”
After some minutes in plain silence, he simply waved his hand in the air, signaling me to leave. The moment I heard the door close behind me, a painfully smile spread across my lips. That man was no father of mine.
✽✼✽✼✽✼✽
Ophelia’s 2nd Life
Father summoned me to his room after almost sixteen years of pure silence and, unexpectedly, he greeted me with the same dreadful sentence I’d heard once before. He intended to marry me off, once again, to that hideous man.
My whole body shivered as tears dropped at a rapid pace. Memories from everything Terrel had done were vividly repeating in my mind. His smell, his voice, his touch, all came back to me. Was I bound to live the same nightmare once more?
Immediately, I kneeled on the ground, partially from horror, partially from pure fear. “Father please...! Anyone but him! I beg of you!”
“Terrel Wharton is a fine young man, I assure you.” His words were cold but somehow had a strange, enticing sweetness to them, a sweetness I’d never heard before. My heart ached causing me to press my head strongly onto the carpet, wetting it with overflowing tears.
The words struggled to come out, making my resolution grow weaker in his eyes. I couldn’t be sent to the Wharton’s estate; I couldn’t be Terrel’s wife again. “P-Please Father...”
His fingers moved towards his forehead as he massaged it slightly, applying pressure on the sides of his skull. A sigh escaped his body before he leaned his bottom onto his long desk. “Why are you so opposed to this wedding, dear?”
My head rose, my expression drowned in complete disbelief. Had I heard him correctly? Had he just called me… dear?
“You know you can talk to me.” He approached me with a strangely kind and warm smile. A tingling sensation rose in my body, unsure of how I felt about his sudden change of attitude. “Come on now, what’s troubling you, dear?”
My body froze into place, rooting deeply onto the floor it kneeled into. This time I’d heard it correctly; his absurd honey-coated words held a hint of disdain which his tired eyes couldn’t hide. Father didn’t care about me, he never did.
“Terrel is...” My fists clenched onto the crimson-colored carpet stretched over the center of the floor, tears still running through my cheeks. “He is a monster, Father... he abuses young women! How could I marry a man like that!?”
Alvin’s eyes widened before returning to his normal, stern stance. He walked back to his desk and let out an even longer sigh. “He’s young... didn’t you make some mistakes when you were little?”
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Little!? How dare he!? Terrel was ten years older than me and had far passed his prime. This marriage was completely undesirable for most of the maidens, otherwise, how come he was yet to be taken? And these so-called mistakes... Don’t make me laugh.
Losing money in a terrible investment was a mistake. Forgetting your elder’s birthday was a mistake. Raping, torturing and harassing young women for his own selfish desires could not - and would not - be labeled as a simple ‘mistake’.
“My mistakes didn’t rely on stealing another one’s virtue.” Reluctantly, I spoke, head hung low. Father’s gaze was too powerful, too terrifying, no matter how hard my soul tried, it couldn’t bear to look back at him, even after such bold statement. Without moving, his boiling wrath burned the top of my head and penetrated my hot skin.
“Ophelia Criswell, you should be thankful to the Wharton’s. They are willing to put up with you, even knowing about your lack of grace.” He stated coldly, making my body freeze in place. Father was furious. I could hear it in his tone. “If it weren’t for them, you would die alone, without a man to provide for you. Is that what you want?”
My head reactively shook, knowing exactly what those words meant. They shunned single women out of society, and most of them, ended up begging for scraps on the streets - at least, that’s what I’d been told. It was a harsh and uncertain future but I’d rather beg on the streets than to wed that man again.
“Good, I’m glad to see you’ve come to your senses.” Exhaustion sat behind his voice. “I’ll get everything settled then.”
“Father, please...” My whole body shivered in fear. This couldn’t be happening again. Father wasn’t listening to reason - he wouldn’t trust my words, no matter how much they rang true. “I’ll marry anyone you wish. I won’t complain even if you wed me to an ill-man filled with riches, but please, I beg of you, do not wed me to Terrel Wharton.”
His right fist banged on the wooden table, making me tremble even further. Immediately, my head sunk onto the floor.
“Get up.” His voice so cold, I thought it capable of freezing humans in the middle of Blistering. “I said, get up!”
Reluctantly, my body rose, hoping to not lose balance with the current lack of strength within my muscles; my head still lowered, averting father’s intense glare. His muffled footsteps on the carpet rung in my ears before turning into silence, as he stopped right in front of me.
“Look at me.” He said, but I couldn’t mutter up the courage to do what he ordered. It was only after he repeated the same command in a loud yell that, out of a pure reflex, my being moved.
A burning sensation passed through my cheek, forcing it to become more flushed than what originally was. It was then that genuine pain hit me, obliging my body to crumble on the floor. Father had just slapped me with all the strength he had.
After the shock of his sudden action passed, tears rolled once again. My trembling right hand caressed the hurtful cheek, still confused by what had come to pass.
“Who do you take me for!? Do you think I’m only marrying you to Terrel because of the Wharton’s riches!? I’m not some lowly peasant!” His voice was as icy as a harsh breeze in the middle of Frosting, freezing anything around it as he continued to yell. “Since you seem to be deluded, I’ll explain it, Ophelia; no man in this kingdom will want to marry a curse, especially one that looks like you! You should feel blessed by the Wharton’s offer!”
“I... I...” I didn’t know what to reply. Strange, twisted feelings traveled through me.
Was I angry with his words or was I angry with myself for still believing in them?
“Remember my words, Ophelia; you are a disgrace of a woman, a cold-blooded murder, a curse.” Even if father wasn’t yelling at the top of his lungs, one could still feel the pure hatred unraveling in each word. “You are to be wed to Terrel, and that’s final.”
“No.” Was the only word that left my lips, as resolute as it could.
“What did you say?” Noticing my resilience, he approached me again, already stretching his arm to strike me but, before he could, I continued.
“If you don’t go back on your word, I will not eat nor drink. If you force me to go to their estate, I will cut my own wrists before the wedding even occurs. But I will say it again Father, I will marry anyone of your choosing, anyone but him.” As confident as my nerves allowed, my mind flew through my lips, knowing this was the only way he would take me seriously.
His lips pressed into each other before a wide, wicked grin popped out. “Is that so? Then, by all means, let’s see how far your determination goes. Guards!” With his words, two well-built men opened the door and held on tightly to each of my arms. “Take her!”
As I was being dragged out by those men, strongly grabbing me, he cursed, passing his messy fringe through his fingers. “What a mess...!”
For the next days he ground me by forcing me not to leave my chambers, but such futile thing didn’t bother me in the slightest. For days, the meals brought by the chef were exquisite, clearly cooked with care and almost to perfection, but all returned untouched. No matter how much my stomach grumbled, how much its enticing smell drew saliva to my mouth, no food entered my starving body.
It was only when a full week had passed that he summoned me back. His eyes tainted with disdain and disgust, probably from my overwhelming bony figure, deprived of any type of fatness.
That’s the day he told me, I was to wed Layton Verne, the second son of Marquess Verne, next Blistering. Obeying and inwardly celebrating, my body left that room feeling a hint of pride and a flow of relief. But it would only take two years for me to regret such decision.