The Flavour of Spite – Eleven

Image credit: Feng Yu

Image credit: Feng Yu

She responded so well, I am certain I am right. She dissociates so naturally it proves she is born for this. I struggled so much more than her, even given my relative youth, when Imogen began my trials. But she slipped away, on the river of pain and fear, over the rainbow, and I could tell, watching my monitors for her brain activity, and seeing the punctuated writhing of her sweet body, that she responded to my words and cues.

I shall test it, of course, in a day’s time, once she has had time to recover. If the sight of a brooch with blue feathers and petals triggers dissociation I will know the first point has taken extremely quickly. If it does not- if at best it causes alarm or disorientation or confusion, it is no matter. We are in the earlier days. It may make a few sessions for each trigger to hold.

When she finally awoke she was shaking and crying. I recalled being the same myself, and for moments my love for her and a deeper empathy made me want to turn from my course. But I will be resolute. It is hardest at first. The programming sessions never relent in terms of pain, but I found over time the fear lessened and the dissociation came earlier, and even beyond that I found myself almost happy to be in the twilight world of the soul.

If there is no escape in life then that world is a kind of escape in itself. Over time you come to be able to command part of what you experience there. It is true you do become a warrior. And if your guide and handler can always steer the narrative, and then steer you equally in waking life, you do become more adept at manipulating the reality yourself.

I am teaching her, and it is hard love and hard lessons, but it is all for the good. She will see, so soon, how she is mine and I am hers, and she will be my pearl. My Violet.

I tended to her, ministering to her tears and her pleas. I, of course, was deaf to her imploring, and I could explain so little to her yet without risking the hold of the programming. I told her she had been asleep, and in a bad dream, and when she tried to protest I hushed her and ordered her to rest and calm herself. She looked at me with fear, but also the required obedience, and stifled her emotion as best she could.

I knew what would follow, and of course I was right. As I brought her food to eat and loosened her ties sufficiently that she could sit up to enjoy it, but not so much that she could try to overwhelm me and escape, she started to try to bargain again. She noticed that I brought her pastries from her own shop, cooked by her own hand, and asked if she could be allowed to bake more in my kitchen. I simply said that may occur in time, when she was ready. Of course I would love her to cook in my kitchen, and one day she will, but I am no fool. To set her free to that extent would be to risk her escape. She needs to be handled and want to stay, rather than run, before we can enjoy such liberties and the fine flavours they could afford.

I did such bargaining and pleading with Imogen of course. Violet and I are so alike. Human beings have such capacity for hope and belief in themselves that they can somehow change the incoming tide. But you can’t. I couldn’t, and she can’t do so now.

Still, I felt generous with the success of our first session, so allowed her some time to try to bargain with me. And in the end I struck a deal that if she behaved as asked for the next two days I would allow her to be tied in a different way that let her get up and move around in a limited span in this room. She was instantly, pathetically grateful for that. She complained of pain in her body from lying too still for too long which I found inwardly absurd and amusing given how much she had thrashed in the session – enough to have run a marathon. My Violet will not grow fat and listless from lack of exertion! Still, I understood she could feel stiff and tired for a multitude of reasons, and I made the bargain.

It is important, you understand, that she and I have a different relationship to Imogen and I. For Imogen I was but a subject and she was pitiless. Her aim was not communion with me or love, but to create in her own image, as her parents had done with her, and so on and so on back through the bloodline. But for me, this was so much more with Violet. She would not just be a subject. She would be my partner. So limited and targeted concessions and kindnesses were not just allowed, they were probably required.

And I aim to be the most perfect of hosts for my love.

(c) Helen M Valentina 2015, All Rights Reserved

About helenvalentina

Like most people, I have a number of sides to me. The most interesting one probably emerges through my writing, hence this blog. I love to read, and also to write, and so this is a way to share both.
This entry was posted in Serial Horror Stories, The Flavour of Spite and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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