TORTURER’S DEMISE
Paramnesia (noun): a disorder of memory.
DAY 30, HOUR 23
Five men held down my sweet Arabella while her mother carved into her flesh. I experienced everything that she had.
My Revered screamed in pain, and I suffocated.
The pain was heinous, but it was her suffering that broke my heart.
I was helpless to do anything but experience it.
I couldn’t help her.
Four of the five letters were carved into her back before I found the willpower to examine the men holding her down.
With one glance, I memorized their faces.
Then I focused on Arabella. As she begged. As she cried. As she screamed. As tears dripped down her face.
I planned out all the things I would do to the men who held her down while her mother sliced into her.
Their eyes would be removed because they’d looked at her.
Their lips would be carved off their faces because they’d smiled while she screamed.
Their fingers would be removed because they’d touched her bare skin.
Their muscles would be extracted from their bodies because they’d used them to restrain her.
Unlike Scorpius, I would get no pleasure from hurting them, but I would do it because it had to be done. They’d brought it upon themselves when they’d held down my Revered. They’d brought it upon themselves when they’d smirked while she’d begged for help, and they did nothing.
They would die because they were already dead men walking.
I would do it for her.
Because that was what you did for those you loved: you hurt those who hurt them. You protected them. You removed the monsters from their lives and became their monster.
For Arabella, I would do anything.
I was her monster.
