#visiart

This involves exactly what the picture implies, so please do not read any further if you aren't a fan of graphic depictions of torture and violence. Needless to say, MDNI

The room was cold when you finally came to, the sweat beading up on your skin now freezing. Your head hurt, a throbbing ache still pounding behind your eyes. Your body was upright, arms raised above your head but you found you couldn't move. Panic began its course as you realized you were completely devoid of clothing, vulnerable to the draft of this makeshift dungeon. You couldn't remember how you got here, only that the Cardinal had requested your presence urgently before-

The Cardinal…

Shakily you craned your head to look around the room. There were no windows and the walls and floor were stone, suggesting you were underground. The only light came from a few wall sconces and the fireplace crackling away in the corner with what looked like a rack of fire pokers next to it. In front of you was a table filled with surgical instruments and knives. You struggled with your binds, the metal around your wrists and ankles groaning against the frame you were attached to. 

"Ah, it seems the puttana has awoken." A chill ran up your spine, freezing at the sound of the Cardinal's voice from behind you. "Did you get your beauty sleep, cara?" 

"Why did you take me?" Your voice is hoarse. "I didn't do anything to you, Cardinal." You hear him stand from wherever he was sitting, slowly and methodically making his way towards you. 

"Our Dark Lord may be the father of all lies, Sorella, but that doesn't mean you are allowed to lie to me." He tuts, finally coming into view. He wore his red cassock, his usual biretta nowhere to be seen. 

You try to wrack your brain for any clue as to what he's talking about, but you can think of nothing. "Your Eminence, I don't know-"

You felt his hand around your face, the soft leather of his gloves digging into your cheeks and stopping you from speaking. His heterochromatic eyes pierced yours, as if trying to discern something behind them. After a moment he released you, your jaw aching. 

"I guess you really don't understand." He mused to himself, making his way towards the fireplace. You watched him warily. Rumors around the ministry warned of the Cardinal having a foul temper and unpredictable nature. And it seemed you were inadvertently on the receiving end of his ire. "Tell me, how do you feel about Brother Sebastian?" 

A pang of fear shot through you at the name. "He's a friend. We have a class together and we talk sometimes." You tried to keep your voice from shaking. "Please don't hurt him, he hasn't done anything." 

"He touched what is mine," the Cardinal snapped, voice firm and cold. He then bent to pick up something from the fire; another poker you must have missed. But as he turned around you could see it wasn't just an implement for stoking the fire. The end was flat and red hot, two backwards C's glowing in curling metal script. 

"As a boy, I had a habit of coveting things that were mine, or what I wanted to be mine." You felt yourself pale, eyes widening as he stepped closer. He inspected its fiery glow, ensuring the temperature was even throughout. "I learned that the only way to keep the other children away from my things was to mark it as such. Pen was much too easy to rub or scratch off, so I began to carve instead." You couldn't help but eye the table of knives and scalpels. He looked thoughtful as he reminisced. "But in the end, I found that branding was the quickest and most effective method. Even to this day." His eyes flicked to yours and your heart stopped under his gaze. 

He came closer still and your brain finally put the pieces together, your head shaking and your breath quickening. “Please, please no, please no…” Your pleas trailed off as he held the brand close to you. You could feel the heat emanating off of it even though it was still inches away. He reveled in the look of absolute terror on your face. “You’re insane,” you spat, your fear reducing your ability to speak rationally. 

“Tell you what, cara,” he ignores your words, “I’ll let you pick the next one, hm?”

“The next?” You felt lightheaded. 

“Si,” he nodded. “I have quite the collection. You didn’t expect just one, did you?” You wanted to throw up as he brought the red hot metal lower, hovering below your waist. “But the first choice is mine, as are you.”

A scream echoed within the walls of the nearly barren room, your throat beginning to burn but not as much as your skin. The Cardinal pressed the brand firmly to your thigh, holding it in place with a gloved hand to ensure the mark was as perfect as possible. It felt like forever before the iron was removed, the smell of burning flesh churning your stomach. Even at the awkward angle you could see you were branded as his, the letters “CC” marking your thigh forever in a blistering burn. 

The Cardinal eyed his handiwork, seeming satisfied with how it turned out. You shrieked as the leather of his gloves brushed your tender skin, his fingers caressing what he had done. Hot tears ran down your face with a sob, the pain already beginning to break you. With a smile he patted your face. 

“We are not done yet, dolcezza,” he said, walking back towards the rack of branding irons. 

“Please.” Your whisper still echoed in the room. “Please have mercy, Your Eminence.”