Care in Cruelty

It is not an uncommon thing to lose one’s footing before such a man — a stranger in the street, after all, is an ordinary hazard in the most insubstantial of ways. For I am even one to myself; there are doubts enough in my conduct that I must question my due diligence. But the moon is high, and I am the one at fault. But his skin swells with the scent of a foreign port, a humbling overtaking of desire that fills my nose with thoughts and feelings unknown to me prior. I know I am a fool to be wandering the streets alone, for if I am discovered, it would be a most cruel revelation for my Mama and Papa, who so clearly believe I am but a fragile flower in a splintered vase. Though he does not perceive my presence as scandal, it seems as if I am the one discovering him in a less-than-ideal manner; his chin inclines ever so slightly, and his brow furrows with a gravity that deepens upon each advance I make toward him.

“Are you lost?” says he, a gentleman? A title of merit, I am unsure he deserves. My heart beat slows strangely, and my mouth becomes inexplicably moist. “Perhaps,” I whisper, though I am not lost in the way he may assume. The moon, brighter than the previous, allows me to trace his subtly plump lips with my gaze, pillows that possibly find their way between his teeth, or perhaps between those of another. His hand extends before me with an offer of assistance, a southern drawl resisting in his words. One that many may miss, but for a daughter of Louisiana, I know it, even in a whisper. Though I, too, hide it in confidence. I lift my fingers to graze his delicate palm, but footsteps echo in the distance. Footsteps that threaten to reveal my imprudence in wandering so late, alone, and unprotected. Am I to pretend this strange, alluring man is my own in hopes of avoiding scandal? Reasonable, it is not. Though reason does not have a seat in my attention, for wither he leads, is where I want to go. His palm, at first seeming a gentle cushion, proves but a feint, for he seizes my wrist with a vigour one might reserve for a most notorious offender. “Please, Sir, tell me what you want from me?” He pulls forward, dragging me behind him as though a creature tethered.

We move beyond the streets, beyond the familiar, my feet beginning to falter in his speed. “Where are we going?” I beseech him, but he stares onwards—still, a terrible beauty in the monstrous manner he presents. I cannot think clearly before him; these may be my last moments earth-bound, and yet I cannot help but focus on his overwhelming presence of memory as if he embodies centuries of tales, of love that is but a ruse for more, a lust that intoxicates you. My heart still slows when it should quicken, my mouth wetting further instead of puckering in dryness. “Sir, please, I will walk beside you if you tell me where we are going!” My dress dirties at the hem as I am dragged into the forest, and yet I still lack the fear I very much expect of myself. I don’t want to die; in fact, I am terrified of the very idea. “If you are going to kill me, I’d very much like to walk to my own death.” As the words leave my tongue, he slows to a halt. My surroundings remain unfamiliar, with the moonlight being the only guide amidst acres of land; I know I mustn’t run - there is no point in fleeing. Nor do I want to as much as I should. 

“I do not wish to kill you.”

“Then pray tell, what do you wish of me?” 

“Should I concede to you the truth… you shall find yourself away from the comforts of your home for a duration exceeding your expectations.”

“I have no expectations.”

“Are we talking about my intentions or your livelihood?”

“You know nothing of my livelihood.”

“You are more concerned with my speculation of your livelihood than that of a strange gentleman taking hold of you in the dead of night to the forest?”

“You think yourself a gentleman?” A laugh escapes from his shut lips. A strange gentleman, indeed. Though I am still entranced by his being, his scent, his structure, his gait; I believe this is what other eligible young ladies feel when they come of age. Excitement, danger, intrigue, lust…I never grasped such ideas until this moment, though I wish it were not true for the man who has kidnapped me. Perhaps to be wanted was enough for my thoughts to turn sinister. 

“Do you wish to know the truth?”

“May I guess it?”

“You may, but if you are to eventually guess correctly, perhaps we shall be at death’s door for the time it shall take.”

“Well, it certainly cannot be for reasons of love or lust, for you have had more than adequate time to act on such instincts. Money, it cannot be, for I am comfortable but not enough to raise awareness, especially to an unknown man from the southern states.”

“The southern states?”

“It cannot be for reasons of bargain, unless the reason of love or lust is from another, and you are a messenger. Am I close?”

“Not a bit. Now, I must do something. I just ask you to hold the truth that you will not scream or run.”

“Will it hurt?” We face one another, though my feet betray me in their reliance, as I stumble backwards and fall onto my back, my eyes shut for but a moment, but when I open them, it seems as if I must be dreaming. The warm glow of flame in lanterns surrounds me, illuminating buildings. But not the usual mundane brick rectangles, rather, masterpieces, exquisite arches and columns, statues, and pathways. No one traverses the cobblestone roads and well-kept gardens within the delicate interstice, and yet the lack of people does not feel unnerving. No…the air feels bright, as though one has intoxicated it with the joy of friendship. I stumble to my feet to find him behind me, his eyes widened with confusion, not the same darkened self-assurance from before. Perhaps I am unconscious, or was poisoned. I am much a dreamer but also a woman of reason when it comes to obscurities I cannot fathom. My wrist aches from the fall more than a dream could be capable, I cannot be asleep.

“Where are we? What did you do?” Fear creeps into my veins rather than the intrigue that was coursing through moments ago as his face turns bewildered, almost fearful.

“I believe I no longer know the answer to the question.” Is this a part of the trick? Am I hallucinating rather than sleeping?

“What do you mean? Please, if this is part of some elaborate drug-induced ruse to further confuse me, I must ask you to tell me the truth!” 

This was not the plan nor my intention. Acquire the girl, transfix and transport; the task was simple. 

“Please, tell me you know what you have done.” I inquire as she stands and stares ahead, her eyes quiver. Her bantering of fear and disgruntlement have shifted. “Seraphina. Please, speak to me.” Her head turns to meet me, “You do not smell that? Earl grey, a fresh pot.” She does not know what she has done, nor what she is. We cannot be trapped here, though an accidental enterance means an accidental exit could occur. Perhaps. 

“Where are we? Where is everyone?”

“Please forgive me for what I must do.” Within a moment, her neck meets my teeth, and the golden hues turn back to darkness. Her cry for help cuts in as I release her, “HELP! HELP! SOMEBODY!” Insolent woman, if only she understood what has happened means her coming with me all the more vital. 

“Seraphina, look at me.” Her mouth shuts as she turns to me, and so look at me, she does.