Snapped

Warning: Dark themes and violence ahead.

Oh, and those of you who browse the Attic might notice a story in the current quiz with the same title. It is in fact the same story, just from a different POV. I wrote this one first, and then tried the other for fun. And then I couldn't decide which one to post, until a friend suggested posting one here and one there. So there ya go.
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Lady Moira Delryn sat in her garden in the cool of evening. She wiped her sweaty face with a thin, dirty sleeve, hoping for a breeze. While other ladies of her station were laughing with friends or primping for one of the endless rounds of glittering parties, she toiled in the kitchens. Thankfully, the roast had to rest for a few minutes, and therefore, so could she.

She stared dully at the tangle of weeds and thorns that covered the flowerbeds. It seemed as if it were only yesterday that she had watched Mother bend over the earth, coaxing seeds into the rocky soil. The garden had soon grown into a place of beauty, and a refuge for all three of them. And now it was gone, withered away into nothing. Just like Mother.

?Moira! Where is my dinner!?

Instinctively, she flinched, flattening herself against the wall. Her mind raced feverishly. Father sounds angry, but nothing out of the ordinary. And the words are fairly clear?he hasn?t had too much to drink. Yet.

?Moira! ANSWER me, you worthless little wench!?

?It?s almost ready, Father,? she called before he could lose his temper. She brushed off her skirts and hurried into the kitchen, snatching a serving platter from the shelf.

?Why can?t you have it waiting on the table? Nerissa always managed it!?

Because I?m not Nerissa, Father. I?m doing the best I can. ?I?m sorry, Father.? A thin trickle of sweat ran down her back as she struggled through the door, laden down with heavy plates and bowls. She set them on the scarred table, each in its proper place. Father had slapped her last month when she set the bread too far from his place. The bruise lasted for nearly a week, driving home its lesson every time she looked in the mirror.

Moira stood beside her chair, waiting for Lord Cor?s nod before she slipped into her chair. She watched him as he ate, alert to every flicker of emotion that passed across his face. One couldn?t survive long in this house without careful anticipation of Lord Cor?s whims. Anomen had never understood that. Anomen. She bowed her head over her plate, trying not to look at the empty place across from her own.

?Bah!? Lord Cor threw down his fork and scowled at his plate. ?This food is barely fit for a pig to eat, let alone a man! And my tankard is empty! Are you so incompetent that you cannot even manage the simple task of caring for your father??

She picked up his tankard and stumbled to the kitchen, trying to force back the tears that clogged her vision. He had not always been this way, she thought, as she refilled the tankard from the large keg in the pantry. Sometimes she could see a better man struggling to take control of his life, the man her mother had married. A week ago, he had cast his tankard aside and vowed never to touch alcohol again. He had held her with a surprisingly gentle touch and apologized for all the pain he had caused. But the next morning, he was back at the kitchen table, swilling ale.

She returned to the table and carefully set the full tankard at his place. He grabbed it without a word, draining half of it in one gulp. The rest of the meal passed in sullen silence. Moira choked down her food between trips to the kitchen. Cor continued to scowl, but he finished every morsel on his plate. She cleared the table and fled to the kitchen as soon as possible. Lord Cor remained at the table, continuing to drink.

While waiting for the dishwater to heat on the fire, Moira leaned against the wall and took a crumpled scrap of parchment from her pocket. She smoothed it with trembling hands and read it, although she already knew its words by heart.


My dearest Moira,

I hope this letter finds you well. Belyn is a most inspiring leader, and our company has achieved honor and adventure beyond my wildest dreams. Perhaps news has reached Athkatla of our glorious exploits in the Umar Hills, in which we defeated a foul creature of shadow and his evil coterie.

But I digress. Moira, I urge you to reconsider. You are truly a patient and gentle soul, but even you cannot turn Father from the path he has chosen. Please, say that you?ll pack your things and leave that house. With my share of the party funds, I can find you another place to stay. I just cannot bear to think of you caring for that drunken bastard for the rest of your life.

Send word to me at the Five Flagons, we should be back in the city within the week. I miss you.

Your loving brother,

Anomen


Moira closed her eyes and let the tears fall. Anomen was right, of course, she couldn?t stay here. But deep down, she didn?t want to leave. This was her home, the house she grew up in, the place where Mother died. Even though it had become a place of suffering, the bonds of memory held her fast.

?MOIRA! Wheresh my??

She jumped, crumpling the letter into a tiny ball. Lord Cor swayed in the doorway, his hooded blue eyes gradually focusing on her hands. She hastily hid her hands behind her back, but it was too late.

?Whatsh that ya got there?? He stumbled towards her, a large rough hand held out expectantly.

?N-nothing?? she quavered, but the chill in his dark blue eyes froze the lie on her lips. Shaking, she extended her hand and gave him the letter. He held it up to the lamplight, his lips moving as he read. His dark brows knit threateningly, and his face reddened. Moira felt the blood drain from her face as she realized that he was between her and the door.

?Sho,? he slurred, his voice frighteningly calm and emotionless. ?Your brother thinksh you should run off, doesh he?? He shoved his face close to hers, and she almost gagged at the raw stench of alcohol on his breath. ?Thinksh you have better thingsh to do than?what doesh he shay?care for that drunken bastard for the resht of your??

?N-no, Father??

?QUIET!? he roared, flecks of spit spraying across her face. She whimpered and hastily bowed her head. Instead of pleasing him, as her submission usually did, the gesture only seemed to infuriate him. ?He took everything from me, and now he?sh gonna take you too!?

Moira shook her head frantically. ?No, Father, Anomen didn?t??

?But you wouldn? leave yer old man, wouldja, Moira?? Lord Cor reached out and stroked her hair with a trembling hand, and it broke her heart to see the pain in his eyes. ?You won? leave me all alone in thish housh??

?No, Father,? she whispered. ?I?ll always be here for you.?

His hand paused, and then tightened around the back of her neck. ?That?sh right,? he whispered. ?You will.? And he flung her to the floor.

Moira screamed as she fell, her head thudding painfully against the wall. From long habit, she flung her arm up to shield her face and lay absolutely still, passively accepting the abuse raining down from above. He would stop when she had learned her lesson. But the blows did not stop this time.

?BITCH!? he screamed, his eyes wild and unfocused. ?You?ll shtay right here!? He reached back and grabbed a chair, lifting it as if it weighed nothing. ?Yer mine, MINE! Saerk took everyshing elsh, but he won? take YOU!?

The room was whirling, and his voice seemed to whirl as well. She cried out as her arm shattered, the white agony pulling everything into focus. Father would not stop, she knew in that one awful moment of clarity. But it would be all right. At least she would escape. She licked her lips, slick with the tang of blood. ?Mother,? she whispered, ?I?m coming.?

Lord Cor raged and frothed, his face unrecognizable in its bestial fury. But the screams grew dim in her ears, and the blessed darkness was approaching, where there was no pain. And as the chair came down for the final time, Moira smiled.