Immediately, she felt Lady Kestra's hand pull her up, while she stood in front of her, shielding her.
"Go your way." She said lowly to the crowd. That was the first time today, that Belladonna had heard that domineering tone she had always used on her when she had just gotten to the castle.
They all left, mumbling between themselves.
"They don't despise you," Lady Kestra said to her as they walked away from the stall. "Don't feel terrible, they don't hate you."
Well that wasn't what she was worried about. In fact, she didn't even know what she had been worried about and she couldn't be exactly sure of what she felt.
"They are not used to seeing scars. They are horrified that you have so many. It is a good thing though, don't feel somehow, now you have their pity."
But she didn't want their pity, neither did knowing that they were horrified of her do anything to make her feel any better.
It was only when Lady Kestra stopped that she realized that she had taken them to a Clothing Store.
They went in, and the people welcomed them warmly, too warmly.
Must be because of the high position Lady Kestra held in the Kingdom.
Shopping wasn't a usual experience for Belladonna. She was mostly the one to make her own dresses and all the materials she ever had to do that were old curtains. Any of her dress that weren't made by her were hand me downs.
The only dress that would have been different was her wedding gown.
She shook her head slightly, banishing the thought.
Now wasn't a good time.
So for the first time in her life, she would be getting a new dress.
This was a whole new experience.
As much as she would have enjoyed this core memory of her first ever shopping, the thoughts of her scars bothered her. She had never had to pay them so much attention in the past like she had done today, at least, not after the first few times she had gotten them.
For a long time now, she had seen her scars as a part of her that she couldn't shake nor fight. A part of her that defeated and now defined her.
Once again, today she felt like she was getting the scars for the first time, everything, for the very first time.
She couldn't get how the people had looked at her out of her mind.
Each moment of how her mother had beaten her flashed through her mind.
The voice of the Fashion Stylist's advice on the dresses that might suit her got faded into the distance, just like Lady Kestra's voice who was handing her different beautiful gowns she felt Belladonna might pick an interest in.
All she could hear was her Mother loud voice, the sound of the whips as they swept through the air and landed harshly across her skin... and her tears. She could hear her own loud throat ripping cries of pain.
Then suddenly, she felt like she was living the experience all over again. Back in her house, her mother stumping her low heels into her thighs, the whips against her skin, only that this time she wasn't crying from the depth of her throat for her life. Her teeth were pressed down against her lips to stop her from making any sound, her hands folded by either sides of her head to protect herself.
It was like it was happening all over again.
She could smell the blood, her blood.
Then she heard echoing of a voice, something that certainly didn't belong to this memory.
Then the voice got louder and louder, till she could hear it clearly, and the memory crashed away before her sight.
"Are you alright?"
It was Lady Kestra's.
Shs staggered on her feet, blinking as she looked around.
"I--I---" she croacked out.
It was hot, really hot all of a sudden. Her forehead was wet with sweat, her breath was raspy and it was then shep realized she had been holding the dresses in her hand in a death grip.
"A glass of water. Now." Lady Kestra said to the Stylist as she took the dresses from Belladonna and lead her to a seat in the dressing room.
The Stylist dashed right out and she back in a flash, a glass of water in her hand. She handed it to Lady who gave it Belladonna. She emptied the cup in three large gulps, then handed it back to Lady Kestra who handed it over to the Stylist.
"Leave us."
"I'll ensure that you are not disturbed, My Lady."
"Thank you."
So she left, pulling the curtains firmly close behind her.
Immediately they were alone, Lady Kestra asked her, "you remembered, didn't you?"
"How did you---" she nodded, her voice trailing off, unable to complete the words she had formed in her mind.
Lady Kestra pulled a part of red gown up her thigh, her gaze holding Belladonna's, "we are not so different, you and I. Every moment of our lives have been permanently marked with pain and blood right into our skin."
Belladonna looked down to see that her legs were filled with scars, all up to the upper part of her thigh.
But how had she never noticed that before
She let out a silent gasp, surprised.
She could never have never imagined that the mighty Right Hand Woman of the King had scars just like her.
"Who did this to you?"
"It doesn't matter, what matters is that they are dead."
Then she walked next to her, crouching so that they could see eye to eye.
"You should do the same to the people that did that to you. They should pay for every permanent mark they've carved into your skin, for the memories they have now created to torture you, for everything. They should pay."
There was tears in her eyes. Those same eyes that had always looked like they were staring right into her soul, seeing every secret of whoseover she laid her eyes upon, now felt like a mirror, reflecting her own soul, showing her just how much she had been broken and just how much she had fought to get here.
Like a broken piece of art, yet, an art still.
Indeed they were not so different.
They were both broken... broken survivors.
"You know, you shouldn't have let them live. The people who did this to you."
Her mind immediately flashed to the time she had seen them in the dungeon and she shook her head, looking away.
"They are family," she whispered, her voice frail, weak.
Lady Kestra smiled, a sad small smile.
"Family, uhn? I called mine family too once."
Belladonna frowned, her squinted gaze on the beautiful glassy green tiled floor.
Did she just imply that she killed her family?
"In this world," Lady Kestra's slender hands snaked underneath her chin, moving her head gently and slowly so that she was once again looking right at her, "people are like us, we are all we've got, pretty little thing."
Her stare intensified and she said again, lower and slower this time, more intentional, like as if she was burning the words right into her memory.
"We are all we've got."
And at that moment, she saw it, how so similar they were, like as if Lady Kestra was a reflection of her from some time in the future.
Sometime when she would be better.