The Reaper's Wicked Obsession-Chapter 200: My Darkest Memories

(Trigger Warning: Abuse)

Isadora slowly ascended the stairs, her expression clouded. Her long braid swayed gently behind her, and her stern gaze lifted toward the top.

Before her eyes, a ghost of memory flickered—her younger self, aided by Serena by her side, descended the same steps, dolled up in uncomfortable clothing, heavy jewelry donned every inch of her, from big earrings, necklace, bangles, and ankle chains.

The star price of Desire’s Haven.

Her eyes remained fixed on this scene until they passed her to the enclave.

Isadora turned back to the stairs, her nerves working her to the bone. But she kept going until she reached the corridor.

Judging from the dust blanketing the ceiling and walls told her that Thornfoot never used this place.

She had silently prayed he did, in hopes that coming here would not unlock a core memory, but she was far too hopeful.

It was exactly the same.

Standing in this very space opened skeletons she thought she destroyed.

Her pulse sped when her eyes were pinned on the door at the end of the corridor. Her breathing was ragged as she tried to measure the air filling her lungs quickly.

Taking a hard gulp, she walked closer, pressing her hand against the wood, and gave a light push.

It didn’t open as it should, but collapsed against the floor with a loud slam.

But that was the least of Isadora’s concerns, for the moment she set her eyes on the very room she had spent fourteen winters of her life... the mask she had put up the entire time crumbled.

Her lips trembled uncontrollably as the tears glided down her face nonstop.

The bed was covered in dust, as well as the dresser and mirror.

Her teary eyes darted to the window. The memory towed her in until all she could think of was a terrifying reality.

There she stood, watching the view from the window. A girl who yearned for freedom, praying to the gods at the first rise of the sun, every single day.

And the times she would wander, drawing stick figures on the walls to kill time. It was so lonely.

But then Serena came into her life, just like her; she was sold to the brothel. They became quick friends, and she was the only one she talked with and told her many times that the gods would one day have mercy on them.

Isadora smiled at the memory, but suddenly it faded away when her darkest ones came to life.

The door burst open as Dashwell walked in. Sometimes he was in a good mood, and when he wasn’t, he would grab the whip to take out his anger on her.

He claimed she would heal after his punishment, and that he needed her to take all negative emotions.

And she took them all. Hit by hit until there was no strength in him to keep going.

He would leave her behind on the cold floor in tears, she would heal herself, erasing how he tainted her skin.

Isadora felt a presence behind her, but she didn’t turn to it, recognizing who it belonged to.

"Thornfoot said Serena was never seen after Aric came here," she said between sobs. "Aric must’ve taken her."

"That’s not why you’re crying, is it, love?"

She shook her head as she broke more in tears. The darkest part of her that she had never uttered to anyone flew from her lips. "I can still feel the crack of his whip against my back."

The moment she said those words. A hot, twisted feeling found Kraven’s lower abdomen.

"The echoing sound of each impact haunts me." She used the back of her hand to wipe her tears, but they just kept coming. "Of course you never saw it... because after each hell I could erase it."

She turned to him. "Unfortunately I don’t have any scars to show like yours," she said with a smile on her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

"Dashwell told me for winters that I could take all his negative emotions through the harsh strike of a whip." A scornful laugh broke from her. "I was thirteen winters old when I realized it had nothing to do with my abilities. He lied. I was just a doll who vomited money for him and his play doll when he was bored. The man had his pleasures."

Slowly, Kraven closed the distance between them, clutching her chin so that her eyes were on his.

"I never should have given Dashwell a swift death," he said through clenched teeth as the rage curled through his skin. "I should have taken my time." He leaned closer. "I would have taken his fingers first, and made him understand what real pain feels like."

"You killed my demons. That is enough." She attempted to pull away, but his hand grasped her chin tightly.

"Yet here you are, tormented, not by me but by the dead. When you walk into this room, all you see are forgotten nightmares."

"I never want to remember. I never want to come here and be reminded of what fourteen winters of my life were." The tears streamed down her delicate cheeks.

"I’ll take it away," he declared. "Every. Single. Darkness... I’ll eat it up and replace it with mine."

Their noses touched, and Isadora closed her eyes.

"Do you want that, darling? Tell me."

She opened her eyes. "Yes."

He exhaled sharply, backing her against the wall. "Then when you hear the doors open..." His hand glided down her thigh. "When you hear his footsteps stomping against the floor, reminding you of what is to come."

Isadora flinched as the fresh horror bled into her.

Dashwell was coming... and he wasn’t in a good mood.

Fear spiked her body, but it was taken away when she heard the sound of her zipper opening, followed by the warm hand clasping her core.

Her eyes she hadn’t realized were closed again, flew open and met with Kraven’s heated gaze.

"Picture this." He thrust a finger into her.

Isadora’s lips came apart upon the penetration, but that was short-lived when he added another digit, then another, until three were buried deep within her insides.

Kraven’s teeth clenched at the feel of her inner walls clamping around his fingers, but he found the power to speak. "When you set your eyes on Dashwell... you’ll never see him... You see me." He picked a pace, impatient and lethal.

Her hands snatched his shoulder, grasping the leather tightly, her hips rolling into his thrust more, a needy moan fleeing from her lips.

"That’s my girl." He rasped as the heat seeped into him. "The echoes of whips are no more. Just the sound of my voice and your divine tunes. Let me replace your darkest memories."