"Any more?" he asks when she's finished.

She sighs. "No, I don't think so."

"In that case, I'd like you to take off your clothes, please."

Jiath makes an exasperated noise. One of the other two shushes him.

--Now she looks a little scared.

She disrobes silently.

"Thank you," says Tarro. He collects her clothes and stacks them neatly out of the way.

The scarred man walks in. He looks tired, but his face brightens a little when he sees Elodea standing naked in the middle of the room. He goes up to her and holds her face gently but firmly in his hands, staring into her eyes with an odd intensity.

She looks back into his eyes. Her breathing is shallow but her expression is neutral. Her hands clench briefly into fists, nails digging into her palms, before she forces them to relax.

Fuck, she does not want to be here. But there's nothing she can do about it--yet--and she'll survive this and then it will be over.

There is a brief flare of pain behind her right eye, and it goes dark. An instant later, the same thing happens to the left.

"--Ow!" she yelps, startled into emotional honesty. "What the hell was that for?"

"I think we should be a little careful with this one," says Tarro from behind her.

"Oh? All right," says the scarred man. And, returning his attention to Elodea: "Since Tarro likes you, I won't do anything permanent. The eyes don't count, I can heal that when we're done with you."

She closes her eyes--less unsettling to be unable to see, that way--and grits her teeth and bows her head.

The scarred man steers her over to his sex furniture and chains her to it, bent over facedown with her legs spread. Someone, probably Tarro, adjusts the chains to be more comfortable.

There is a pause, and then the cold bite of a knife, slicing shallowly down the back of her thigh. Someone makes an appreciative noise.

Uuugh.

If she's facedown then there's no particular reason to restrain her facial expressions so she doesn't. Ugh.

At least Serik will be enjoying this.

They cut her some more, never very deeply. Down her thighs, across her buttocks, up her back, once very lightly along her spine. And they touch her, too, running their hands over clean skin or smearing the trails of blood.

Someone is apparently good enough with magic to apply a candleflame to any part of her he likes; it spirals over her back. A gentle hand sweeps her hair out of the way, further obscuring her face. It's not always clear who is touching her, but it seems a good bet that the nice one is Tarro.

Yeah that seems like a good bet. Ow. The cuts aren't that bad but the burns are definitely unpleasant.

Someone stands behind her and rakes his nails down her back, over all the cuts and burns.

She hisses sharply.

He grabs her hips and starts fucking her, hard and fast. He's no minotaur but he's uncomfortably large.

Well, soonest started soonest done.

When he finishes, the next one takes a turn, and then the next, and then the next, and the next, and then - either they've invited extra participants or that's the first man back for more.

Yeah she's guessing the latter.

He takes longer this time, and hurts her more, ripping open her back with his fingernails again and bruising her hips and thighs with the strength of his grip.

A few of the others take second turns after him, and then there is a pause in the rape while someone whips her. Whoever it is has a strong arm and a lot of enthusiasm, but is holding back enough to keep the promise of not doing permanent damage.

Well, she knew what the consequences would be when she spent weeks in the lovely rape-free castle.

The first man fucks her again when he's done whipping her, and then all his friends take turns, and then he fucks her a fourth time, and one of his friends takes another turn, and then the enthusiastic one grabs her by the hair and pulls her head back and draws a knife very shallowly across her throat, only barely breaking skin - and then he fucks her again and then he is, finally, done.

Tarro starts unchaining her, and murmurs in her ear, "We're done, we're going to heal you now."

"I appreciate the thought, but that won't be necessary," she says, and the stone floor surges up around all of them, dragging them away from her and pinning them to various walls, except for Scarface who is lying on a couch which gets pinned to the ceiling. She sits up, blinking her long-healed eyes. "You're very perceptive," she tells Tarro.

"Thank you," he says, with remarkable although not perfect calm.

The scarred man barely flinches, and doesn't say anything. It's debatable whether he's conscious.

The other three, caught in various stages of getting dressed again, curse and yell in some combination of shock and fear and anger.