RPGWW

by **Kotoki** » Sat Apr 19, 2003 11:45 pm

It was snowing when he was born, of course. It always snowed in that town.

A bell rang as a middle aged woman with bad teeth entered the inn. She shook the snow off her boots and shawl, taking a chair near the fire and basking in the warmth. "Good evening, Mrs. Wilson," she said cheerily to the woman knitting next to her.

"Why if it isn't Mrs. Norwood," she exclaimed, peering over at her over half-moon glasses. "What brings you here tonight?"

Mrs. Norwood sighed and ran her hands through her damp hair. "I was over at the Atkins Manor," she replied wearily, "delivering a baby boy."

"What? Mr. Atkins? I didn't know he had a wife."

"Sure he does. You didn't know about Julia? Pretty little thing, green eyes, never leaves the Manor? She's the Hawking's girl. That poor family from over in..." Mrs. Norwood checked herself. "Well, not as if it matters now. She died during labour. Wasn't made for babies, the poor dear."

"Julia?" asked Mrs. Wilson, putting her needles down on her lap and listening with great interest. "I thought she moved down to Rivaran with her family. Married? That can't be right. Last time I saw her she was barely up to my knee..."

Mrs. Norwood nodded sadly. "And a darling child she was. But she was seventeen, and married these past four years."

"Four years?" asked the other woman, looking horrified. "Well, now I know to keep my niece away from Mr. Atkins. I never even suspected that he was some kind of-"

"Now, now. I won't have you saying anything against an Atkins. They've lived in the Manor for generations, and they've never been anything but good to us townsfolk. Of course I'm not saying what he did to poor Julia was right, but... He at least had the decency to marry her. Besides, it was life with more money than she would ever have seen otherwise. That Mr. Atkins is a shrewd trader, you know."

Mrs. Wilson, picking up her knitting needles again, stared into the depths of the fire. "I suppose that's true," she said slowly. "At least she was fed and clothed. Still, something like that is just... I feel sorry for the son. What's his name?"

"She wanted Raile, if it was a boy. Said she read it in a book."

"Raile, then. I feel sorry for him. Growing up without a mother in that huge Manor... And with a father who'd get a little girl with child herself."

"What a world," Mrs. Norwood said dissaprovingly before the subject changed to less distressing matters.

--

This is, indeed, a story about Raile. It's not going to be a very happy story. And it's not going to be about the current Raile, which means that although there's kind of going to be sex, it's not the happy kind. You've been warned.

It's all going to be in short chunks like this, because I said so. ^_^;; Please do comment.

Edited by: [url=http://p068.ezboard.com/brpgww60462.showUserPublicProfile?gid=pdrydia>pd] 

at: 6/12/05 15:03

by **Jak Snide** » Sat Apr 19, 2003 11:53 pm

Oooh, prelude! I heartily approve of this fic. And enjoy it, too!

by **Uncle Pervy** » Sun Apr 20, 2003 3:57 am

-They've lived in the Manor for generations, and they've never been anything but good to >use< townsfolk.

HAR HAR.

Also, I like. The setting it woven quite well, and the people feel properly folksy

It should be noted that 13 isn't quite so unusual a marrying or even child-bearing age in the Middle Ages and Renassaince. So, it might not be so socially unacceptable here. <div style="text-align:center">

</div>

by **pd Rydia** » Sun Apr 20, 2003 12:11 pm

Woo, good stuff. You're a good writer, and have been holding out on us. *shakes stick* Small segments are good, easier to read...dialogue and interesting charas like you have make it better, too. More. ^_^

C&C: You misspelt listening as listnening once.

-=- "Careful wit' that blade, th's innkeep's a cranky sort when folks start fightin' Ye dun wanna know how many rowdy drunks she's ate" -- Uncle Pervy
-=- "I'm sorry, but there are rules to uphold here. No nakedness is one of them. Along with no suicide and no fighting." -- Will Baseton
-=- "Maybe... or maybe you're just not drunk enough." -- Nakibe

by **Kotoki** » Sun Apr 20, 2003 1:17 pm

Typos fixed. :P And thanks for the shameless flattery.

by **pd Rydia** » Sun Apr 20, 2003 1:54 pm

Pff. Don't make me break out the shameless flattery. >:P That's just encouragement.

-=- "Careful wit' that blade, th's innkeep's a cranky sort when folks start fightin' Ye dun wanna know how many rowdy drunks she's ate" -- Uncle Pervy
-=- "I'm sorry, but there are rules to uphold here. No nakedness is one of them. Along with no suicide and no fighting." -- Will Baseton
-=- "Maybe... or maybe you're just not drunk enough." -- Nakibe

by **Kotoki** » Sun Apr 27, 2003 2:07 pm

The walls and bookshelves of the library stretch into what seems infinity, ladders and staircases dotted liberally among them. The thick green carpet is home to tables, chairs, and maybe a mouse or two. Open books are scattered around. Piles of them lie everywhere- history, geography, fiction, philosophy, religion, and every topic possible.

In one corner of the room lies a bunched up blanket with several pillows on top. The outline of a small head is still imprinted on the topmost pillow. Placed carefully beside the odd bundle is a pot of ink and several quill pens.

The room itself seems almost lived in, if not for a faint layer of dust covering everything.

If someone were to pick up a book and flip through it, they would notice the one thing that makes this library different from most others. The books are covered in writing. Words trail along the margins, the blank pages, sometimes the actual text.

Two separate hands, two separate people. The first is delicate, somewhat willowy, filled with loops and curves. Occasional spelling mistakes show that the writer was perhaps not as well educated as she would have liked.

The second set of writing changes every few books in a row. Sometimes it is tall, sometimes short and almost squished in. The spelling is flawless, and the writer is obviously somewhat learned, but the letters are often blocky and childish.

On the twenty third page of a book of fairy tales lying on one of the tables is an illustration for the story of Bluebeard. It is the scene where his new wife unlocks the door and finds the bloodied corpses of other women inside. Only her back is visible. The women are laid out on the carpet. However long they've been there, they look freshly butchered. Their blood stains the walls and their frilly dresses.

What unseen expression is on the face of the wife? Is it terror, anger, shame? Is she crying for the dead women no older than her? Is she laughing at herself for not having realized something was strange about her marriage?

She is circled in ink. In the margin is a delicate caption- 'This is me.'

Below it echoes the other hand- 'Me, too.'

---

If you've never read Bluebeard, go do so. It's the best gory fairy tale evar.

by **pd Rydia** » Sun Apr 27, 2003 3:01 pm

Iiinteresting. >.> Well set against this MP3 Pervy sent me from Valkyrie Profile...

-=- "Careful wit' that blade, th's innkeep's a cranky sort when folks start fightin' Ye dun wanna know how many rowdy drunks she's ate" -- Uncle Pervy
-=- "I'm sorry, but there are rules to uphold here. No nakedness is one of them. Along with no suicide and no fighting." -- Will Baseton
-=- "Maybe... or maybe you're just not drunk enough." -- Nakibe

by **Uncle Pervy** » Sun Apr 27, 2003 3:44 pm

^_^

Also, yes, this is funky.

And Gilles De Reis was no faerie tale, our Kotoki. He was a comtemporary of Joan of Arc; fought at her side, he did. <div style="text-align:center">

</div>

by **SALSAlys** » Sat May 03, 2003 8:20 pm

....I want to find more about this, yes I do. o.o

Both Raile AND Bluebeard... just 'cuz I read it once a long time ago, but it was REALLY long ago and I want to reacquaint myself with the story...

by **pd Rydia** » Sat May 31, 2003 12:55 am

This needs to be continued. :{

-=- "YOU SEE THE MIGHTY DAMARAMU'S BRAIN IS VERY COMPACT!" -- Damaramu
-=- "Don't worry Mink, I'll be good excess baggage!" -- Pia
-=- "But I'm a slime half!" -- Princess Vena
-=- "OH BY THE SEVEN GODS IT'S A MECHANICAL BIRD! But it's so...small..." -- announcer guy
-=- "Demons don't care about story continuity!" -- Doug Finn

by **Kotoki** » Sat May 31, 2003 2:23 am

It will be. :{{{{ But I've been slacking off. :{

by **pd Rydia** » Sat May 31, 2003 5:49 pm

Get to work young lady! :{ I expect this to be finished by midnight on the night of the Jade Moon.

...or preferably sooner.

-=- "YOU SEE THE MIGHTY DAMARAMU'S BRAIN IS VERY COMPACT!" -- Damaramu
-=- "Don't worry Mink, I'll be good excess baggage!" -- Pia
-=- "But I'm a slime half!" -- Princess Vena
-=- "OH BY THE SEVEN GODS IT'S A MECHANICAL BIRD! But it's so...small..." -- announcer guy
-=- "Demons don't care about story continuity!" -- Doug Finn

by **Kotoki** » Sun Jun 01, 2003 1:09 am

Raile Atkins opens his bright green eyes and blinks several times. He can see his breath in the air above him; the library is almost always freezing in the morning. They don't heat it at night because they don't know how often he sleeps here.

The library is his real home. His bedroom is in the other wing of the house. It has a large, fluffy bed, and is painted what would probably be a comforting shade of yellow to anyone else. When he stays the night there he has nightmares and often sicks up on the pillows. He has become used to creeping across the house to spend the night in the library instead.

He looks out the window. It's snowing, but that's nothing new. It was snowing yesterday as well. And the day before. The sun hasn't been out for weeks.

He forces himself out from under the covers and puts on his clothes as quickly as possible. He looks around for the sweater that he dumped somewhere here last week because it became too hot. It sits on one of the smaller tables, next to an open atlas. He grabs it and pulls it over his head. The wool itches on his arms.

Taking a quick longing look at the atlas but deciding that breakfast is more important for the moment, Raile pads across the carpet towards the door. It opens into the hallway leading to the long, winding staircase. Raile takes the stairs two at a time as he always does.

When he finally lands in the kitchen, he looks to the giant stove and sees a pot of oatmeal. This means that The Cook, who has no name, has gone to buy food in the village. When she does this she always leaves him breakfast and expects him to put everything together. Father would say that was what she was payed for, but father isn't home right now.

Raile grabs a rag and goes about preparing the porridge for himself. Very soon he is perched on one of the chairs at the small, shoddily made kitchen table, spooning it into his mouth. It burns the roof of his mouth, but he put sugar in so at least it's sweet. He takes a look around as he eats.

He likes having his food in the kitchen. The dining room, where he is made to eat when father is home, was formerly a banquet hall. It's huge, with a domed ceiling. The table is so long that you'd have to yell to the people at the other end.

The kitchen isn't small, but the huge shelves make it feel kind of cramped and the stove keeps it warm. Only the staff ever enter it to clean or have something to eat. It's one of the few rooms in the manor that don't scare him or contain bad memories.

When he finishes eating, he draws pictures of animals and snowflakes and simple patterns in the half eaten food before heading back upstairs to the library.

Many people would say that it's unhealthy for a young boy to spend so much time alone. Raile doesn't really mind it. It's better than having other people around, most of the time. He doesn't think it strange at all that he sometimes feels his hands glowing or the snow singing to him or the presence of his mother silent in the room with him.

He opens a book and begins to read.

by **pd Rydia** » Sun Jun 01, 2003 4:38 pm

Yay! ^_^

You have a good flow going here. I am interested in and concerned about Raile, which is quite a feat for an author.

More! :D More, I say!

-=- "YOU SEE THE MIGHTY DAMARAMU'S BRAIN IS VERY COMPACT!" -- Damaramu
-=- "Don't worry Mink, I'll be good excess baggage!" -- Pia
-=- "But I'm a slime half!" -- Princess Vena
-=- "OH BY THE SEVEN GODS IT'S A MECHANICAL BIRD! But it's so...small..." -- announcer guy
-=- "Demons don't care about story continuity!" -- Doug Finn

by **Jak Snide** » Sun Jun 01, 2003 4:42 pm

I demand the explenation for the change of reclusive, bookworm Raile to...er..."current" Raile be revelead. And in short order too!

Also, good stuff!

by **Uncle Pervy** » Sun Jun 01, 2003 6:28 pm

Something about the Tensing in this bothers me. I dunno...

It is definately a departure from the past tense that was in the first part... Something about the flow bothers me.

Aside from that, I am intrigued by young Raile. Keep going! <div style="text-align:center">

</div>

by **Kotoki** » Sun Jun 01, 2003 8:36 pm

Jak: That's an entirely different story, which has a lot more sex, is less serious, and features (albeit consentual) statuatory rape! In other words, probably not. ^_^;;

by **Jak Snide** » Sun Jun 01, 2003 8:42 pm

...oh. Uups. o_o

;;

by **Kotoki** » Tue Jun 10, 2003 1:07 am

Many of the books are geography. They detail travel plans for everywhere from Nekonia to Baron and in between. The people who write in the pages tell of plans they'll follow or places they'd like to eat. Often books are only marked with a simple 'Sounds nice' or 'I'd like to go there.'

'I've always wanted to go swimming someplace where it was hot.' It's the graceful handwriting. A sunnier section of the coast is circled. 'I barely even learned to swim at home, and over here it's far too cold to even try. Maybe during the summer? He probably won't let me out. I'm so cold lately.'

Again, the woman, on a detailed drawing of a Doman street. 'You'd want to go here too, wouldn't you, baby?'

'I don't know.' The child's writing, as if the other could somehow still see it. 'It looks kind of crowded. Maybe just because people make me nervous. But if I could ever have gone, I would have wanted to go with you.'

At this point the child's writing takes over. It covers the text of the pages in small, orderly lines, filled with unrelated comments and declarations of interest in a certain country or city. At one point a recipe for peach ice cream fills in a margin. At another, a portrait of a famous Baronian queen has been given freckles and a long mustache.

The blank pages at the end of the book are filled with doodles of a young woman with long inked-in hair eating oranges and suntanning on a beach towel while palm trees sway in the background. The very last page is a story written by the female hand.

'It is an unusually sunny day. I have left the library windows wide open to bring in the fresh breeze. As I sit here reading, a man bursts into the room and asks me to leave with him. He's a thief and he's exactly three inches taller than I am. His eyes are kind.

He says that he had come to steal the treasures of the mansion, but has decided he would rather have me. I go with him and we just stroll out the front door arm in arm. Maybe He tries to stop us. If so, the thief takes out a sword and chops His head off like so much cabbage.

He takes me to a big city (it never, ever snows there) and tells me that I can do whatever I want, but that he'd be very happy if I stayed with him. We get married. Well, maybe I have to divorce Him first somehow, but if so then I'll do it. We'll settle down and have'

The writing stops here. When it resumes halfway down the page, it is another coloured ink and looks slightly newer.

'Those are the kinds of dreams I used to have when I first got here. I think I thought that the whole arrangement was sort of temporary- that whatever He did to me, whatever happened in my life, soon it would take an entirely different course. I had at least twelve dreams like that, over and over, and I polished them like apples every single day in my mind.

I don't even have dreams like that anymore. I think my whole mind knows that no matter what I do, there's no leaving this place except in death.

Last night I dreamt that I entered the cellar. Instead of food, there were corpses hung there- hundreds of them. Dead children staring at me with milky white eyes and skin bloated with the damp. Their blood spilled over the floorstones to the corners of the room. In my dream, I wasn't even surprised. I don't think I would be surprised if I really did see that someday.'

by **pd Rydia** » Tue Jun 10, 2003 12:30 pm

Mew. o.o More.

-=- "YOU SEE THE MIGHTY DAMARAMU'S BRAIN IS VERY COMPACT!" -- Damaramu
-=- "Don't worry Mink, I'll be good excess baggage!" -- Pia
-=- "But I'm a slime half!" -- Princess Vena
-=- "OH BY THE SEVEN GODS IT'S A MECHANICAL BIRD! But it's so...small..." -- announcer guy
-=- "Demons don't care about story continuity!" -- Doug Finn

by **Jak Snide** » Tue Jun 10, 2003 1:00 pm

What Mappy said.

Also, the use of the notes in the books as a story telling method is good. Keep it up.

by **SALSAlys** » Wed Jun 11, 2003 10:34 pm

Not much more I can do except be one of your clamoring fans... GO 'TOKI!

by **Kotoki** » Fri Jun 20, 2003 7:33 pm

When father left last week, he sat at the window for several hours until the very last sign of him had disappeared into the snowfields. It's what he always does to reassure himself that it's really happening and that he'll be alone in the house for at least a few days. A few days is enough. Once he left for two months, and Raile could hardly get out of bed in the morning with the knowledge that his father might have come back in the night.

It was a relief, in a way, when he did return and everyday routine started up once again.

Raile, although somewhat quiet, usually is all right with the few people he knows. The one person in the world that he honestly hates is his father. Sometimes he feels slightly guilty for it. When that happens, he only thinks for a moment about his mother's situation then and his own now. His father deserves no more love than one could feel for hell itself.

He is completely absorbed in the book. Eventually, after a few hours, he looks up from it and checks out the window. The snow hasn't stopped, but it's not falling as hard and the sun is now out. Raile decides that today is a good day for a walk.

He has a coat hidden in between two of the bookshelves. It was given to him by a maid, who had four children and who was eventually fired for stealing silverware. He knew instinctively that father would take it from him if he found it. Raile is not allowed to go outside. He's told that it's because he's sickly, like his mother was. At a very young age he knew that was a lie. Father simply likes to have power over people.

The coat, which used to be red, is now a dull and threadbare pink. He pulls it over his shoulders and heads out of the library into the hall.

Raile has gotten lost in the mansion more times than he can count. There always seem to be new rooms that were never there before. He believes sincerely that they grow there during the night, something like trees would in fast motion. First they take root in the hallway, and then they spread through the wall and curl around themselves in cocoons. By morning they have grown doors and windows and tables and chairs.

He ducks into one of these new rooms as footsteps echo close by. Peeking through the keyhole, he can see that it's The Butler. He has been here since before Raile, which means that he knew his mother. He's never asked or been told anything about her.

Very honestly, Raile wants to like the servants. It's not as if they're cruel to him, or even unjustly harsh. The maid gave him a coat. Sometimes he's been given other things- new pens and such. They talk to him if he talks first, and always smile at him even if he doesn't.

But they ignore the screams they hear coming from his room at night. They ignore the evidence on the sheets. They ignore them, and they ignored them when his mother was alive. He can't like people who would do that.

Raile leaves the room and continues walking. Soon he is in front of the doors, which are imposing and rather heavy. He pushes them open with effort and walks out into the snow.

by **pd Rydia** » Fri Jun 20, 2003 8:08 pm

More. *nods*

-=- "Zoooooom...Zoooooom...CRASH! Enthusiasm counts. Never be afraid to try."
-=- "All cookies are good dum-dum" -- Binky
-=- "Kazootles!"

{RPGWW -- an RPing community} -- {Hogwarts RP} -- {RP Boot Camp}
{Rydia's Pocket Dragon Encyclopedia} -- {Star Dragon Oekaki}

by **Kotoki** » Mon Jun 23, 2003 12:22 am

Not all of the books carry pleasant messages, or even words of cold comfort. Some, obviously written quickly and sometimes with what seems great effort, are of a darker nature. Often they are spotted with tears. Occasionally it is blood, or sweat, or other things.

It is easy to picture the occupants of the room, hunched over in chairs, scribbling furiously by candlelight as if hoping to entrap their sanity in the pages. This is not only a library. The books are for more than doodles or odd comments. They are the salvation of two people who had nowhere else to turn in the darkest hours of their lives.

The woman's writing. 'I think I'm going mad. Sometimes I hear voices in the walls. They're my age, many of them younger, children who whisper their stories to me. Not all of them are dead. Some live, still, in the village or far far away where He can't get them. Tonight they wept for me. The fact that I am not the only one he has done this to is no comfort to me.'

The boy's writing. 'Was there ever a time when this did not happen to me? There must have been. I can't remember. There must have been. If I' The rest of the sentence is splattered in ink.

The woman's writing. 'I can't remember my dog's name at home. This is very very important. I need to remember. If I don't remember before tomorrow night, He's won.'

The boy's writing. 'I can't read tonight.'

The woman's writing. 'My God He came on my face on my face my God oh I want to die'

The boy's writing. 'He came back this afternoon. It was a trade deal. Something to do with carpets, and selling them for a better price than some other country but wanting to be secure. Why does he tell these things to me? Does he think I care? I hate his voice. I hate him.'

The woman's writing. 'He's like a pig. I've just figured that out and as soon as I did I knew it fit perfectly. I'd tell The Butler, but he would think I'm crazy. He'd know.'

The boy's writing. 'When I get out of here, yes I will, the very first thing I do will be to burn every part of me He's touched. I wonder what that'll leave me with? My eyeballs, maybe? Eardrums? The inside of my elbow?'

The woman's writing. 'I wonder if it would hurt if I jumped off the balcony?'

It is crossed out. Below it is written in large, triumphant letters: 'MY BABY'

by **pd Rydia** » Mon Jun 23, 2003 12:33 am

More.

-=- "Zoooooom...Zoooooom...CRASH! Enthusiasm counts. Never be afraid to try."
-=- "All cookies are good, dum-dum." -- Binky
-=- "Kazootles!"

{RPGWW -- an RPing community} -- {Hogwarts RP} -- {RP Boot Camp}
{Rydia's Pocket Dragon Encyclopedia} -- {StarDragon Oekaki}

by **Jak Snide** » Mon Jun 23, 2003 8:51 am

What she said.

by **Kotoki** » Mon Jun 23, 2003 2:15 pm

If that's the only comment I'm going to get, I'll be very sad.

by **Jak Snide** » Mon Jun 23, 2003 2:23 pm

Well then, you'll have to be very sad, since I don't have anything else to say.

Well, I suppose I could say how I really want Raile's dad to die at this point, but I already told you that yesterday.

by **Kotoki** » Sun Jun 29, 2003 8:40 pm

Raile first sees the other children as, ankle-deep in the snow, he turns to the left and walks towards the village. They see him before that. A large but loosely packed snowball hits his back, soaking partway through the coat and getting his shirt damp.

There are three of them, who are now all staring at him. They are completely wrapped with layers of coats and scarves. The youngest looking has a hat that hides her face completely.

"Hey!" shouts a boy. "Hey, you!" In moments, they're running towards him. Their breath makes white clouds in the air.

Taking a step backwards despite himself, Raile nods to them. "Yes?" he yells back, somewhat quieter.

The yelling boy, who seems to be the leader, frowns and stares at him for a moment. Finally he speaks. "Hey. You're the Atkins kid, aren't you? What're you doing out here?"

"Taking a walk," Raile says, averting his eyes in a gesture of submission but wondering inwardly why anyone would ask a question with such an obvious answer. "Does it look like I'm doing something else?"

Pulling her earmuffs away from her head, the second member of the trio tosses them to the ground. "Aren't you supposed to be dead or something?" she asks frankly.

Raile shakes his head. "I'm not. Probably."

"You look like a girl," the boy says thoughtfully. He turns to the others. "Hey, doesn't he look like a girl? He does, right?"

The girl takes a step forward and peers into his face. "Yeah, I guess," she says finally. "But not really. I mean, I look more like a girl than he does. Well, I guess that's cause I am, but..." She shrugs.

"Nah," says the boy, "I think he looks more like a girl than you do. And you look more like a boy that he does."

Silence reigns for a moment. Raile wonders whether all children his age are as dumb as these ones. It's not as if he's met many of them, and when he does they tend to ignore him. Maybe they're scared. He's never been sure.

"My mom," says the smallest, speaking up for the first time, "says that you're supposed to stay in bed. She says it's because your father picks on you." He looks up, and Raile sees that his face is full of confusion. "She says a lot more, too, but most of it's bad words. And she says that I shouldn't say that she said anything bad about Mr. Atkins."

The girl looks at him for a moment, then nods. "My mom says stuff like that all the time." She turns to Raile. "She says that you're all dirty or something, and that your dad's a horrible person."

"Yeah?" asks the boy, with a triumphant grin. "Well, *my* mom says that his mom was a slut who didn't know her place in the world!"

Raile's fist clenches into a ball under his coat sleeve. He walks away before they can say anything else. Maybe he shouldn't go into town today.

by **pd Rydia** » Sun Jun 29, 2003 8:49 pm

Lousy gossiping brats. >:[ Raile outta smack 'em a few.

Anyway. More.

-=- "Zoooooom...Zoooooom...CRASH! Enthusiasm counts. Never be afraid to try."
-=- "All cookies are good, dum-dum." -- Binky
-=- "Kazootles!"

{RPGWW -- an RPing community} -- {Hogwarts RP} -- {RP Boot Camp}
{Rydia's Pocket Dragon Encyclopedia} -- {StarDragon Oekaki}

by **Kotoki** » Fri Jul 04, 2003 2:08 pm

There is, hidden safely away on one of the bookshelves, an unused diary. The cover is pale pink and covered in pictures of teddy bears. The title proclaims itself 'Baby Diary for Raile Hawking.'

Every page but one is blank.

On the first page, sprinkled with old tearstains, is a letter.

'Dearest dearest darling sweetheart Raile,

I used to cry myself to sleep at night in this room. It was difficult to even stop and write at times. Had anyone told me I would be having a child, at my age, I would have cried even harder. I never thought I could be pregnant. I didn't want to bring a child into a world where cruelty like this runs unchecked by gods and men.

But now that you exist, darling, oh, now that you exist, I am happier than I would have thought possible. You are my son (somehow I know that you are a son and not a daughter). No matter what anyone says, you are my son and not His. You do not belong to Him, do you understand? You are not His toy.

I sometimes feel, looking at this bulge in my stomach, that you were an Immaculate Conception. Surely someone so terrible could not create someone who fills me with such love. He stopped touching me because he wants you to be born healthy, for which I am so grateful I can hardly believe it's real. The gratitude is not for me anymore. It's for you, darling.

I can't believe that even a few months ago I was thinking about killing myself. At that time, you were already slowly taking form. You saved my life, so I must save yours as well. My thoughts are all of you now.

Darling, if you read this someday, know that I love you more than anything else in the world. By that token, I will protect you in any way I can. I will protect you with my very life. He will never do to you what he has done to me.'

The rest of the page is illegible. Beneath the last sentence, in blocky letters that are visible on the other side of the paper, is one word.

'LIAR.'

by **SALSAlys** » Fri Jul 04, 2003 4:01 pm

*hugs* Hard to imagine that Raile came from THIS. Not much I can do in the way of critique... so continue pwease?

by **pd Rydia** » Mon Jul 07, 2003 11:20 pm

I see no mistakes to correct, the flow and grammar work well, there's not much to say, but "more."

-=- "Zoooooom...Zoooooom...CRASH! Enthusiasm counts. Never be afraid to try."
-=- "All cookies are good, dum-dum." -- Binky
-=- "Kazootles!"

{RPGWW -- an RPing community} -- {Hogwarts RP} -- {RP Boot Camp}
{Rydia's Pocket Dragon Encyclopedia} -- {StarDragon Oekaki}

by **Kotoki** » Thu Jul 10, 2003 2:28 pm

By the time Raile gets home, it is early afternoon and it has started to snow harder. His stomach rumbles slightly. He decides to have lunch after he hides his coat again.

"Good afternoon, sir," says the voice of the Butler as he enters the kitchen. The man is sitting down at the table, helping himself to a bowl of tomato soup. Raile doesn't particularly like it, but takes some anyway. "I see that you're up and about today. I called for you in the library, but you weren't there."

Raile shakes his head. "I was exploring," he says, taking a spoonful of the soup. It's gone lukewarm.

The Butler nods. "Ah, yes. Well, sir, that's just fine. It is important for a young man such as yourself to learn about the Manor and its history. I take it you found your explorations interesting?"

"Very," says the boy simply, thinking about the children earlier and the things that they said. "Why do..." he starts, then changes the question suddenly. "What do the people in the village think of Father?"

Halfway towards his mouth, the Butler's spoon makes a full stop in the air. He is obviously half shocked. "Why do you ask, sir?"

Raile shrugs and continues eating. "It was only a question."

Recovering somewhat, the Butler finishes his spoonful. "Well," he starts, "the Atkins family tradition goes back for centuries. Your ancestors, sir, have always been good to the people, thus earning their respect. Your father, of course, carries on the traditions, including a generous annual donation to the township... Where people respect and appreciate both him and his heir. Of course-"

As the Butler continues talking, Raile manages to tune him out and thinks instead about what he'll do this afternoon. He's been putting off reading most of the medical books because they looked rather dull, but maybe he should try them.

When the speech is finally finished, silence reigns over the kitchen. Raile chases the last few drops of soup around his plate.

"So, sir," says the Butler finally, as he puts away his bowl in the oversized kitchen sink, "I've recieved a letter from your father just this morning. It seems that the search is over. He'll be coming home with the girl as soon as possible, and you'll be introduced."

Raile's foot bangs against a table leg as he tries to stand up. He doesn't notice. "Girl?" he asks confusedly. "What girl?"

The Butler looks, if possible, even more surprised than he does. "Your father didn't tell you, sir?"

"Didn't tell me what?" Raile echoes.

"About your engagement," replies the man, looking down at him. "Your father has been searching for a sutible wife for the succesor of the Atkins family business. He has finally found a girl who he thinks will make an excellent match. She'll be staying here until the arrangements are finished, at which point you will be married."

Engagement. Wife. Family business. The words hit Raile like bullets, and he could only keep listening as the Butler continued to speak.

"Then comes your tutoring, of course- you must have a sharp mind for trades in order to continue where your father left off..." The man cleared his throat. "Anyway, sir, the point is that your fiancee will be arriving here shortly along with your father."

Raile stood up again. He could almost have laughed, the situation was so insane. "Excuse me," he said hoarsely, pushing in his chair and breaking into a run once he was out of sight.

(Fixed sentence per suggestion. Thanks. ^_^)

Edited by: [url=http://pub30.ezboard.com/brpgww60462.showUserPublicProfile?gid=kotoki@rpgww60462>Kotoki</A]

at: 7/10/03 5:18 pm

by **pd Rydia** » Thu Jul 10, 2003 2:47 pm

"He's been putting off reading most of the medical books because they looked rather dull, but maybe he should stop."

"Stop" seems a little out of place...maybe "he should give them a try" or something of that sort would read better.

Anyway, that was an interesting turn of events. Go on.

-=- "Zoooooom...Zoooooom...CRASH! Enthusiasm counts. Never be afraid to try."
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by **Jak Snide** » Thu Jul 10, 2003 4:22 pm

I am lurking, jes. And I am reading, jes.

And I am requesting more, jes.

by **SALSAlys** » Fri Jul 11, 2003 3:05 pm

Yes, we all request more. o.o

by **Kotoki** » Mon Jul 14, 2003 7:16 pm

Scribbled quickly on the back page of a book of fairy tales.

'He's Bluebeard. Of course he can have more than one wife.

I think I understand now what mother was talking about. It feels different now. It feels different when you know you have someone else to protect. Mother saved me by living. I can't save her that way, so I'll do what I can do.

That's a lie. I'm not even doing this for her, really. I guess it just never occured to me that I would be trapped here forever as His son. I would live and die in this Manor, with Him.

I'm going to do it outside. In the bath was my first thought- I take so many baths, these days, even if I never really feel clean- but I'm going to do it outside. That way I'll be leaving.

I'm very sorry for the things I never did. I'm very sorry for the things mother never did.

(Father, if you read this, I hate you more than anyone and I hope you die slowly and alone. Take the girl back. She doesn't belong to you.)

Goodbye.'

---

Raile walks out into the snow. He's not wearing his coat. He doesn't need it anymore.

Once he feels that he's far enough away from the Manor, he kneels down in the snow. He can feel his legs grow colder as the snow soaks through his pants.

He has read enough books to know exactly how do do this. He pulls his sleeves up to the elbow. Taking the steak knife from his pocket, he presses it against his wrist. Then he slices, once, and again lengthwise up his arm. When it is finished it resembles a lower-case T.

The other arm is more difficult. His arm is shaking, and blood is dripping down onto his hand and making it somewhat slippery. In several places the cut is not as clean as he would like it to be. Nevertheless, Raile is persistant.

When he finishes, he lays back on the snow and feels drops of it melt on his face. Soon he is asleep.

In several minutes, when the snow begins falling harder, an egg-like barrier forms around his body. The snow slides off of it to the ground.

Because, of course, it is snowing. It always snowed in that town.

---

Written almost illegibly in the snow, soon to be covered.

'see you soon mother'

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