Friday, 11 February 2011


Marika Sato sat at the table and watched the wall screen, a thirty foot high definition image of two women in a prison cell. She studied them both, one she knew intimately, how she screamed, how she bled, how she begged. The other was still a mystery.

The sebiestor was born into her estate, and had known the taste of her lash since she had come of age. Most days she inflicted pain on the girl.... Fazila... Fazila of the tears as she called her, for no reason other than she wanted to. Watching her guards use her had become boring now, but still let them use her. Beauty had not faded from her, it would over time, but for the moment she was the most popular slave whore she had.

The civire however, was an enigma. A pirate, a heretic and a wanted criminal. With all the beatings she had suffered, the abuse, the humiliation... and still she walked around her cell like a predator, and with more pride than she should have. Three guards had died at her hands, three! One while she was bound! The guards had taken to firing tranq darts into her before even venturing into the cell. But aaah, to break such spirit, and have it kneel before me and proclaim me Mistress as she should. That will be such a sweet day. The collar... hadn't even phased her, though she was now as good as mortal. She had worn it to save Fazila from a beating, and it had for a time. But even with it on.... she walks freer than most. She will endure the most savage of beatings to protect Fazila... if only I had her sister.

Angelina paced around the cell and flexed her arms. A pain lanced through her arm after the last beating, still pulsed days later. For the thousandth time she looked around the cell and still did not despair. From the original cell they had both been placed in this one, a dank and cold cell with a stream running through it from a crack in the wall. She was under no illusions that it was clean, she had tasted the guards urine in it, oh how they must have laughed at that one. Food was enough to live on, but not ehough to keep the hunger away. That atleast seemed to be clean... though drugged most likely. The single door leading into the room was at the top of a curving flight of stairs, no rails. No bricks to prize loose, it all looked to be carved from the bedrock again. The door, solid tempra-glass and always a guard on the other side. A single bed filled one corner and a small table bolted to the floor. Well she knew the table now, tied to it by the guards, or Marika and whipped or taken.. or both. The guards she knew now by size it had become that regular.

She watched Fazila sleep. True she did look like Carmilla, enough for her to belive that it had been her on the grainy film that she'd been shown. But after days of starvation, and the electo-shocks and the beatings, she had believed it was her and had cracked. Not broken, never broken. Not by her. Better had tried, the Admiral for one. Gallicia... Esna? No.... Esna at least had loved her. And she had betrayed him. Again she looked over at Fazila and sat on the bed and curled up with her keeping her as warm as she could. There would be a way out, they would slip up somehow. Or someone would come. But even as she thought it, she knew... time was running out.

Marika blew a plume of smoke into the air as she studied the screen. It was time to go back in, time to try and break her. She got up and stubbed out her cigarette on the palm of the slave beside her and headed to the cells, four of her guards falling in behind her. Oh Angelina, there will be screams tonight.... I promise you that.

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