The woman blinked slowly.
Not out of shock or disbelief.
No...
It was more like she was checking if her eyelids still worked, as Adam’s explanation did not hit her as heavily as it should have.
"...I see."
She spoke softly, voice flat...like soone who understood the words but wasn’t sure they applied to her.
"I suppose that makes sense."
She continued.
"Weird... my reply, I know its wrong...yet it does not feel... wrong. Or strange. I just do not feel much of anything, really."
The naless woman said as she lifted her hand to chest, pale fingers curling like she expected to find sothing beating underneath. When there wasn’t... not even a flicker of panic or relief could be felt in that mont, rather...her gaze drifted back to Adam.
As if expecting him to reply, and he did.
"Mhm, cons of gaining a second life in the manner you did...but that aside, let us move on to the main topic at hand here shall we?"
"First off, what is your na?"
The woman hesitated.
Not because she didn’t rember. It was more like she had to dig through a foggy library in her head and pull the book off a dusty shelf. The books that were here, mories, were there, but the processing was just slow; being dead for so long and coming back to life didn’t help either, but the nostalgia helped her to cope and rember as she went along being alive again.
As such, her reply ca in, as responded to Adam saying as she introduced herself.
"Cla-raaa...
"...Clara du Moreau."
"Clara, huh?"
Adam repeated it, nodding his head in acceptance.
"Hmmm, your last na sounds fancy... Nobility, I presu?"
She nodded faintly.
Then replied.
"Yes... I was of noble blood... Once."
He tilted his head, still studying her like a particularly interesting bug in a jar.
"And what’s the last thing you rember? Before the whole... you know, dying part of your life?"
Clara’s face scrunched at the question, her eyes narrowing in concentration. Not in pain; there was none of that. Just a vague discomfort, if you were to ask her how she felt.
"There was... a fight."
Clara said slowly, her voice as calm as a still sea with no ripples.
As such, she began to explain herself very clearly.
"I rember a siege...also a kingdom... and the kingdom was under attack... no, invaded. I rember fire... Screaming. Blood on the banners. It was also raining, I think...
Said Carla as she paused her explanation at that mont, and her brow began to furrow.
But her vague remberance did not end there.
"They were looking for soone. I think it was the prince, but... I refused to give up his location, and that’s when they...
Carla paused once more, mories flooding into her mind, as flashbacks played their way like a recorded movie, she rember, screaming, praying to God that her life would end, she rember being in pain, horrible, and horrific pain.
No, that wasn’t it.
The re context of pain wasn’t just a mory...it was all she had left in those final monts of her life.
She could still feel those heated needles sliding slowly under her finger and toenails. Along with her back being torn open by whip lashes that dug deep to the point it peeled each layer of skin away from the flesh, and digged even deeper into them.
And the vines...thorned, barbed, and tight vines that place around her throat each day, forcing her to wear it like a collar as she and her fellow n in arms are force to walked the streets of Britania on all four before the public.
Humiliation, anger, pain, despair, hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, hate... Those were the strongest feelings she carried with her even in her last monts.
Every day of her life under enemy hands was a fate worse than death.
But the worst of it, from what she currently rembered, was the spoon.
At that mont, she placed her hand on her left eye as that mory hit her.
It was when one of the guardsn took a spoon.
Not a knife, which would have been more rciful.
No, they used a spoon, and a jagged one at that..
It wasn’t made for anything close to what they did with it, which was gouging out her left eye. And they didn’t gouge her eye out in one motion either; to those people, an act like that would’ve been seen as being too rciful.
Instead, her torntors scraped slowly, over and over. Like they were carving sothing. She rembered the sound it made when her eye finally gave way. It was like a boot sinking into deep and sticky mud, then pulling it out of said mud just as quick after you get it in there deep.
To say she rely scread from start to finish would be an understatent; her cries went on deaf ears. However, she was also being used as a live example before her fellow soldiers of war... And when they saw the fate that befell her, who was the commander at the ti, it broke their spirits badly, because not long after they converted over to the British rule as slave soldiers.
I an, she doesn’t even bla them. She still rembers how those cruel people would go as far as to shove a live centipede into her bleeding eye socket at night ti and forcing her to fall asleep with a creature squirming inside her.
At that point, even hell itself would be a heaven like no other.
"And then... I rember, I was beheaded months after my capture, before the ruling body of the kingdom and... before the King of England."
"C’était... horrible."
"Really, really horrible...
Clara said as she looked at the single hand she had placed over her eye monts ago, anwhile, Adam looked up at the undead girl; she looked like she wanted to be in pain but could not.
But that aside, he began question further saying.
"A Prince ha? So I could assum that you were really high up in the nobility status quo, eh?!"
Upon hearing this, Carla responded back to Adam, saying.
"Oui, I co from a family of countesses, and I served as a knight of the Crown."
She said, instinctively straightening her posture as she spoke.
"Clara du Moreau, second daughter of Countess Elizebeth du Moreau, though most knew at the ti as the Bloody Mary of Wintergold."
The source of this c𝓸ntent is fr(e)𝒆
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