Page 9 of Degradation

The others chuckle, their eyes roving over the girls like hungry wolves. I don’t react, but I can’t help the wry amusement that twists my gut. Men are such predictable creatures, aren’t we? All us see something delicate and our first instinct is to break it.

The red-headed girl is particularly captivating, her hair is like a flame that licks at the air as she spins. She moves with a wildness the others seem to lack, and that in my opinion, sets her apart from the others.

“Founders, all of them,” adds Mace, another guard. He’s older than me, part of the lot that have been watching Gunther for years. The stories he tells makes me question how much the wider Brethren are aware of his antics, or if they just turn a blind eye to our dear Chapter Lord’s misdemeanours in favour of a simpler life. “This whole thing’s a sham. Chapter Lord can’t marry a founder, yet here we are.”

I blink, surprised at his words. Founders? We’re not even meant to know who the Founders are. That’s forbidden knowledge, not for the likes of us.

I look at the still dancing girls with new eyes, with more suspicion, and then I glance over to where their families are stood on a nice little platform so they can have a good view of all of this. They are all complicit in this charade, their families are clearly willing to break the rules for a chance at more power.

But what does that mean for us? What does any of this mean for our Chapter if our leader is willing to ignore this sacred rule, what others will he disregard when it suits his fancy?

A noise in the corner gets my attention, I look to see two of the girls squabbling now that they’re back from the toilets. Shaking my head I cross over to where they are and pull them apart. One has a chunk full of hair from the other girl. As she snarls at me, I can’t help but smirk. These bitches are all livewires, aren’t they?

I send them on their way, shooing them back onto the dancefloor.

The second girl batters her eyelids giving me her thanks like I’m some sort of hero.

“God, they’re pathetic.” Lyndon remarks as I resist the urge to tell her what for.

She saunters off, swaying her hips as if inviting me to come and fuck her right here and now, as if her arse is the finest thing in all of Christendom. But I’ve seen better meat in Oblivion, and at least there, I can devour it the way I want to, without any concerns about consequences.

Suddenly, there’s a gasp. One of the other girls, a blonde with eyes that are impossibly blue, stumbles and falls. She hastily picks herself up, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment and over at the gallery there’s an eruption of whispers.

My gaze lingers on her for a moment, before I look away. The Chapter Lord is there, scooping her up, acting like he gives a shit, and I resist the overwhelming urge to roll my eyes.

I want this charade over with. I want this thing done.

I’m bored shitless and, in my mind, Gunther should have just picked out a wife based on whose tits he liked best. The rest is white noise. The rest is bullshit.

Pailtyn

Ican feel their eyes on me. It’s like a physical touch, cold and unwanted, as I twirl under the colossal chandelier of the great hall. The semi-sheer fabric of my dress, a supposed symbol of my purity, billows around me, revealing more than it conceals. I try to focus on the music, the sweet melody played by the finest musicians our Chapter has to offer, but it can’t drown out the reality of this grotesque spectacle.

Mother and Pearce are up there, in the gallery, their silhouettes casting long, disapproving shadows. I can almost hear my mother’s heels grinding against the floor as she shifts,her lips pursed in that way she does when she’s displeased. I just can’t tell if it’s me that’s pissing her off, or something else.

Pearce stands rigid beside her, his hands clenched behind his back. I know he’s watching my every move, his eyes as critical as the scores being tallied at the end of the hall.

Gunther struts between us, his grin a lecherous slash across his face. He reaches out, his fat fingers grasping at waists, brushing against cheeks, lingering too long on the small of a back.

I want to recoil, to scream, to claw at his face, but I bite my tongue and dance away, narrowly avoiding his touch as he moves closer. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me squirm, not after the other day.

The other girls are radiant, smiling, their cheeks flushed with excitement or fear, I can’t tell. They spin and dip, their dresses like gossamer wings, as they vie for our dear Chapter Lord’s attention. I try to mimic their grace, their eagerness, but my heart isn’t in it because I can’t forget why we’re here, what we’re dancing for.

Let them have him. Let one of them win this contest. Better I fail now than succeed and spend the rest of my life regretting this.

I wince, chastising myself for those sinful thoughts. I’d woken up this morning determined to be good, to be obedient. Only, all that went out the window the moment I laid eyes on him. I think I’d forgotten how grotesque he was. I think I’d somehow fooled myself that the person in my head wasn’t that bad.

But the reality can’t be denied.

Being married Gunther would be a living nightmare.

At the end of the hall, the evaluators sit, their quills scratching against parchment, tallying our worth like we’re livestock at a market. They scrutinize our every move, our everysmile, reducing us to numbers on a scoreboard. I don’t even understand how they are marking us, what things we have to do and not do to get a good score. I just hope the other girls are better.

I wait for my moment, for the perfect opportunity to seal my fate. The music crescendos, and I spin, faster and faster, the room…blurring into a whirl of colours and sounds.

I see Gunther approaching from the corner of my eye, his hand outstretched, ready to ‘sample the merchandise’ as I’ve heard him joke already to his guards. Revulsion surges through me, and I know it’s now or never.

I falter mid-spin, my foot catching on itself. It’s a clumsy, graceless move that makes me tumble to the ground. My limbs flail, the sheer fabric of my skirt tears slightly as I make impact with the floor. I hear gasps from the other girls, a sharp intake of breath from the evaluators, and the music practically stutters to a halt in such a dramatic fashion.