Maybe The Dead
Warning: Contains talk of abuse, and heavily implied sexual assault/rape
“I just wish.” Tora Zollun said suddenly. “I wish she wanted me when I wasn’t scared.”
He was saying that more to himself than to her, but she couldn’t ignore it. The words ignited something ugly, something angry in her chest. Blueten’s fingers curled hard into the wood of the steps.
He got up then, and handed her back her mask. He still wouldn’t look at her – did he think he shouldn’t? She took the mask and watched him leave out the front door.
The next morning she found a glass of melon juice at her door. Tora Zollun didn’t speak to her after that. He just went back to his usual routine as if nothing happened.
She wondered if anyone else knew any of this was going on, but she knew they didn’t. What of Darach though? Did her husband really not know what was happening under his own roof? Blueten spent the next few days watching him carefully. He didn’t speak much, and he didn’t appear particularly bright but… she caught the glances between him and Baya when Tora Zollun was around.
Ah, of course. Blueten seethed. Of course he’s in on it. This whole guild is awful.
But she’d known that already, she’d already had her suspicions for awhile. Her time raiding with them hadn’t changed this, and everything to do with Tora Zollun had more than just cemented the problem. She’d never left the Nightmare Court camp, the Wychmire Daggers was just the Nightmare Court under a different name.
Realizing this didn’t really help anything though, it mostly made her feel powerless.
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