Holding her palm against her aching head, Immalaine headed off to find a place to sleep for the night. The kitchen had been uncomfortably hot that day, and she could feel the throbbing behind her eyes from to long day of cooking. It was worth it, she thought, for she had made enough coin to perhaps get a nice room at the Pony and sleep in a real bed. She didn't think she could stand sleeping in a haystack that night.
Entering the tavern, she barely noticed the patrons hanging around as she went up to the counter. Motioning for Barliman, she spoke with him and was happy to find out there were still rooms available. Paying for a room and a cider, she accepted both with a grateful nod and headed to the back to get some rest.
Entering the room, she looked around with a wry grin. Though it seemed to have been recently cleaned, it showed the signs of age and use. Still, it was better than the alternative this night, and slipping off her shoes she went to close and lock the door.
She took a long drink from the mug, setting it aside as she dug through her bag for an old brush. Unbraiding her long auburn hair, she made quick work of brushing it out as she hummed merrily to herself. Once she was satisfied, she set the brush aside, rebraiding it for the night and, slipping out of her dress before donning an old over-sized shirt, climbed into the bed.
Staring at the wall, she mentally made a list of the supplies she needed for the next days baking; after a time her eyes grew heave and she slowly dozed off ...
1 Year, 3 Months Earlier -
The days seemed to blend into each other for Immalaine, as the long winter wore on. They remained at the tavern, using the coin her guardian made off of her to buy a room and simple meals that seemed better suited for dogs in a kennel than humans. The regulars at the tavern, though, were frequently too drunk to care about the quality of the food and seemed to enjoy it.
Immalaine became increasingly withdrawn and numb, as night after night men came to her bed. She learned to block them out after a time, staring at the walls as they lay on top of her; her dreams, when she slept, were dark and tormented. Her guardian didn't seem to notice, for he had taken to drinking heavily and was frequently too drunk to even get up from his table at the tavern without stumbling and falling down.
As winter faded into spring and then to summer, she began hoping that they would leave this place. Her guardian, however, seemed disinclined to depart as he continued to grow more drunk and haggard with each passing day. He no longer seemed to care about anything, or anyone, save a keg of ale; when he spoke to her at all, it was in short abrasive bursts that left her fleeing to her room.
Sitting at the bar one evening, eating her meal, a man entered the bar. He was one she'd not seen before and she paused to take a look at him. The man was tall, with dark black hair, and well dressed. The other patrons,too,took note of him and eyed him warily as he strode up to the bar, demanding an ale. He turned, looking around the room with a sneer of contempt, before settling his eyes on Immalaine.
"Well now," he spoke, his voice smooth and silky as he looked her over, "what have we here? A tasty little tart, and I've got an appetite for something sweet." He reached over, taking a strand of her hair in his fingers, running them down her silky locks as a couple of the men standing near laughed nervously.
Immalaine stared up into the man's eyes, a stunning shade of pale gray and cold as steel. A mixture of fear and disgust played across her face, as she tried to slide from her stool. The man, seemingly anticipating the move, reached behind her holding her in place.
"Where do you think you're going?" he said, his voice filled with amusement, as he roughly caressed her. "A little whore like yourself should be grateful for my attentions."
Yelping in pain, Immalaine struggled to back away from the man as he squeezed her harder. Roused from his drunken slumber, her guardian. Shambling over to the bar, he took a look at the scene, protesting loudly. "She's mine," he slurred, "ye got t'pay for her first."
The man turned his cold gaze away from her, looking at her guardian with barely veiled disgust. "I don't have to pay for anything," he spat out. "Go back to your cups, old man, and learn your place." Dismissing the other man, he turned his attentions back to Immalaine as he shoved her against the bar, pinning her to the rough wood.
Months of anger an misery overflowed in her, as he reached down and tore her dress. She shoved at the man, screaming in fury as she pushed him away. Blindly, she kicked out, her foot connecting with the man's groin. He grunted, swearing at her as he reached out and backhanded her, the blow knocking her to the floor.
She heard a man yell, and a loud crashing sound through the ringing of her ears, as she struggled to get to her feet. She turned, just before the infuriated man shoved her against a post, his hand wrapped around her slender neck. "Little girl," he growled furiously, squeezing her throat. "No one kicks me!"
Fighting back against him, as he slowly choked her, she barely registered the chaos erupting in the tavern as she looked him in the eye.
"I did," she whispered defiantly, before passing out ...
