Natalia
Natalia leafed tiredly through one of the books Mouse had brought her. She was pretty sure the empath hadn't actually looked at what they were. A cramp rippled across her stomach, and she cringed. She'd lost the baby, and she didn't want to know what Blakesley would do to her when he caught her. She knew he would. Mouse could wallow in her ignorance, and Taylor in his memory loss but she knew better then anyone what Blakesley was capable of, and what lengths he would go to when he thought himself thwarted or humilated. She hunched her shoulders and curled her knees to her chest. She knew very well.
She put the book down, and picked up another one. She read the title with surprise. Shakespeare. 'Titus Andronicus'. She hadn't read this one before...she started to read, and then in about Act II, scene 3, she found something she identified with. Lavinia. Raped, her hands and tongue cut out so she couldn't talk, her beloved killed...
"Stay, madam; here is more belongs to her;
First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw:
This minion stood upon her chastity,
Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty,
And with that painted hope braves your mightiness:
And shall she carry this unto her grave?" She spoke Demetrius's lines
aloud, before turning the page.
"An if she do, I would I were an eunuch.
Drag hence her husband to some secret hole,
And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust..." Chiron.
And then Tamora. There had been women scientists and soldiers down there too, and not one of them had lifted a finger.
"But when ye have the honey ye desire,
Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting..."
A tear slipped from Natalia's eyes as she acted the play to herself, identifying with Lavinia's pain.
"O Tamora! thou bear'st a woman's face,--" Lavinia's pleas.
"I will not hear her speak; away with her!" Tamora's answer.
"Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word." Lavinia tries again. Oh, she'd tried to beg, to plead, anything to get them to leave her alone. Or to leave Tom alone. Taylor had no idea how lucky he was.
"Listen, fair madam: let it be your glory
To see her tears; but be your heart to them
As unrelenting flint to drops of rain," Demetrius entreated his
mother to harden her heart to Lavinia's tears, and take them as
something good instead. Natalia read on, occasional deops of dew
clouding her violet eyes.
DEMETRIUS So, now go tell, an if thy tongue can speak,
Who 'twas that cut thy tongue and ravish'd thee.
CHIRON Write down thy mind, bewray thy meaning so,
An if thy stumps will let thee play the scribe.
DEMETRIUS See, how with signs and tokens she can scrowl.
CHIRON Go home, call for sweet water, wash thy hands.
DEMETRIUS She hath no tongue to call, nor hands to wash;
And so let's leave her to her silent walks.
CHIRON An 'twere my case, I should go hang myself.
DEMETRIUS If thou hadst hands to help thee knit the cord.
Natalia put the book down and sobbed into her hands. They should be stumps. She could not write. She should have no tongue, to tell of what had happened. They had no ears to hear her anyway. She couldn't talk, she couldn't find her way out of this, and she was sick of them telling her that she could be healed. Ewan. She wanted her knight.
Gentle and quiet, with a voice like velvet. He didn't grab, didn't yell, didn't do anything. And he called her 'bonny'. Firehaired and quick tempered to rise to her defence. He didn't know why she was this way, and to him it didn't matter. She just was who she was, and she was beautiful that way.
Natalia turned the page and an illustrated picture of the ravished Lavinia, her mouth open as blood spilled out and handless arms raised towards the uncaring heavens. Yes, this was her. Natalia wiped her eyes and read on.