the crossroads of horror and hurt/comfort

"Go on," Mistress said, and as usual, Duchess couldn't really read her emotions. She wasn't very good with those things — another thing to lower her worth. A good slave should be able to read her master or mistress' emotions well, to adjust their behaviour accordingly. Duchess couldn't do that.

Still, she expected… something. Some sort of sadness that they were parting ways? Mistress had been her trainer all throughout her time in the mother house, and Duchess had developed affection for her. Maybe more than was healthy. Was it that outrageous to hope that Mistress would've developed some affection for her in return?

Even anger she could've dealt with. Duchess had made Mistress mad many more times than she could've counted. But she wasn't mad now. She wasn't hissing her words like a venomous serpent, she certainly wasn't yelling. She was simply… practical. One last order from Mistress before someone would buy her and be her new owner.

So Duchess did what she was trained to do: she obeyed.

She stepped out onto the stage, immediately blinded by the harsh lights. She stepped on the hem of her floor-length dress, and managed to trip over herself, landing on all fours on the stage's wooden floor with a thump. She felt her face heat up with shame. She wasn't only bringing shame to herself, but to Mistress as well.

She didn't expect it from an audience of high-standing members of society, most of whom she imagined as stuck-up, but there were some giggles. Maybe this was good? Maybe she was endearing herself to them? Maybe they'd pay more for a clumsy, ditzy companion?

Duchess swallowed and quickly got back onto her feet, facing the crowd. She dusted off her dress and straightened her back, giving the audience her best smile despite the humiliation. Her pointy ears were constantly moving, picking up every little sound, and she heard some murmurs in the crowd.

"…cute…"

"…useless…"

"…pretty…"

She was all of those things, for sure. Mistress made sure she was all done-up and pretty for the auction. Duchess felt a little more at ease, knowing that at least some people in the audience were bound to bid.

"Our next slave to be sold is Duchess," the auctioneer said, his voice magically amplified. "The starting price is 3000 pieces of silver!"

Duchess turned to him, whispering sharply, lest she be blamed for the misunderstanding. "300," she said. "It's 300."

The auctioneer looked at her, then looked back at the paper in front of him. "Oh," he said. It was clear he judged Duchess very differently now. "My apologies. The starting price is 300 pieces of silver!"

More murmurs in the crowd. People wondering if she was defective.

"A pure-blooded female elf, only 42 years of age, with delicious blood and a basic understanding of magic as well!" the auctioneer went on, trying to make her sound better than she really was. Duchess wanted to believe it. That she was better. But the leather collar around her neck was a testament to her low value.

"300," someone shouted, and Duchess relaxed a little. It may not be a lot of money, but any money going to Mistress was better than nothing.

"320!"

"330!"

The price kept going up. Duchess was beginning to feel hopeful. Maybe she wouldn't be useless, maybe she would make Mistress proud, maybe, maybe—

"400!"

The room fell silent.

Duchess' smile fell a little.

Was that… it? Was that the end of the bidding? Was 400 pieces of silver for her really that outrageous that nobody even uttered a word in response? Even the auctioneer seemed a little shocked before he went on.

"400 once!"

Please.

"Twice!"

Just a little more.

"Sold! Please come backstage to collect your new slave, ma'am."

Duchess couldn't help it. She hung her head in defeat and embarrassment, knowing Mistress would at most get 200 pieces of silver from this bid. She had tried so, so hard to be good, to live up to her name, to be a good companion, a good slave, a good servant. And she had failed. She walked off the stage and found Mistress standing near the stairs.

"400 is not bad," Mistress said, and yet again, Duchess didn't know whether she was trying to console her, herself, or both. She clipped the leash back to her collar and led her to a small room, where her new owner was waiting.

"Good evening," Duchess said with a little curtsy. "My name— You already know my name."

"Duchess, was it?" The woman stood up. She looked strict. She walked over and hooked a finger under Duchess' chin, tilting her head up, then to the side, and the other side. "400… It's a steal. Just what makes you so undesirable?"

"I am not very good at most things," Duchess admitted. "I'm sorry."

There was no point in pretending anymore, or trying to play up her talents. She had already been bought.

"You two will have a lot of time to get acquainted," Mistress cut in, indirectly urging the woman to pay the price and get Duchess out of the room.

"Of course," she said easily. "Hollow, give her the money."

Hollow — a spirit, no doubt from the way they suddenly just materialised out of thin air behind the woman — grabbed a heavy looking bag and dragged it over to Mistress. Mistress counted the money, weighed each piece on her scale, and when she was satisfied, grabbed the bag like it weighed nothing and left the room without saying goodbye. Duchess really, really wanted to say goodbye.

"My name is Amelia," the woman introduced herself. She gently unclipped the leash from Duchess' collar and gave it to Hollow, who grabbed it and slunk back into the shadows, invisible. "Tell me, Duchess… What earned you the name?"

"I was taken in very early in life, miss. And as an elf, Mistress thought I would grow up to be a very good companion slave. Mistress isn't wrong about many things. I was unfortunately one of them."

Miss Amelia smiled. "You talk very poorly of yourself. Hollow was like that when I first took them in. But you'll learn soon enough that the auction house's definition of 'good' isn't always the standard at other places."

"I would love for you to be satisfied with your purchase, miss," Duchess said sincerely. "I'm just…"

Suddenly, the emotions of the auction caught up with her. The embarrassment of having tripped on stage, the shame of having to correct the auctioneer, the grief of having to part with Mistress… She just teared up. She tried to quickly wipe them away before Miss Amelia noticed, but of course, standing so close as they were, there was no way to hide it.

"There, there," Miss Amelia said. "Hollow, give me a handkerchief."

Hollow materialised again to hand it to her, and Duchess wondered just how many things Hollow had on hand. Miss Amelia gently dabbed her tears away, smiling warmly.

"How about we go home, and I'll see just how bad of a companion slave you are?"

"Miss doesn't believe me," Duchess concluded. Miss Amelia's smile didn't falter. She didn't even scold her for speaking her mind like that, or accusing her of things like this.

"I don't. Come, let's get you situated."

—

Duchess was walking through the enormous kitchen, snagging a muffin here, a cupcake there. Miss Amelia's good servants certainly understood their work, and they performed appropriately. Miss Amelia was expecting company today, and Duchess was already in her dress, feeling like a princess. Or, well, a duchess.

When she tried to take another cupcake, one of the servants smacked her hand away.

"Those are for Sir Dorian," she chided.

"I know, I just… Isn't it okay to taste-test?"

Duchess got along well with the servants, and this one eventually relented as well.

"Fine. Just don't get frosting all over your lips."

Duchess giddily took another cupcake and hurried out of the kitchen, into the parlour. Miss Amelia was sitting in her armchair, idly conversing with one of her friends on the phone. Duchess, not wanting to disturb her, approached Hollow instead. She had gotten really good at spotting them, even when they were hiding.

"Hollow, do you think Miss Amelia will allow me to speak with the guests?"

Hollow materialised, their cover having been blown anyway. They shrugged.

"I really want to. I've heard there are going to be elves coming! Well, maybe they won't appreciate me giving their entire species a bad name by being such a lousy companion… Maybe they wouldn't want to talk to me at all."

Hollow didn't reply. They never did. Sometimes, Duchess wondered whether they were even capable of speech. But they didn't really need words — their expression said it all.

"You're right. Miss Amelia never demeaned me, and she even gave me this beautiful collar. If they think I'm bad representation, they're simply wrong. Just because some elves are slaves, that doesn't mean the stuck-up royals get to be all…" She trailed off. Miss Amelia had put the phone down. "Miss Amelia!" she beamed, leaving Hollow and going to be with her mistress. "I taste-tested the cupcakes. I'm sure your guests will love them."

"Thank you, Duchess," she said with a smile. "I can always count on you."

Duchess giggled a little. Miss Amelia always knew what to say to lift her spirits. Just like Hollow. Just like the other servants. Life at Miss Amelia's house almost made her forget about Mistress.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, and Duchess realised she must've let her emotions show. She didn't like to feel nostalgic. It felt like a guilty pleasure. When life was so good here, why did her mind still wonder back to the mother house?

"Yes, miss. I'm sorry, miss."

"Nobody did anything to hurt you, did they?"

"Oh, no! Not at all! Everyone has been very kind, as always."

"Then is there a problem with your attire? You don't feel confident in it?"

"No, it's beautiful. I'm sure miss' friends will marvel at it."

"Then what is it, Duchess?"

There was no way she could lie to Miss Amelia. Not only because she could always tell, but because she couldn't handle it emotionally. Miss Amelia had been so good to her, it would've been severely unfair.

"I… I still… miss Mistress sometimes," she admitted quietly.

"Oh," Miss Amelia said softly. "I see."

"But not because miss hasn't been kind to me! I've gotten everything I could've ever dreamed of here! I would never dare be ungrateful, I don't know why my stupid, no-good mind wanders—"

"It's okay, Duchess," she said placatingly. "Duchess, do you mind stepping out for a brief moment? I have to make a call."

"Oh. No, of course, I'll be going, then."

Miss Amelia had never just sent her away after admitting to her feelings like that. It was a little strange, but she didn't have the right to question her owner. She went back to the kitchen, chatting with the staff a little until the guests arrived. Then, she walked back into the parlour.

She heard impressed murmurs from everywhere around her. Some were complimenting her complexion, some her hair, some her dress, and some the collar adorned with gems that Miss Amelia had given her right upon arriving home, in place of the leather one. Duchess felt like she was shining.

And although she could count the guests and make the conclusion that everyone had already arrived, there was a ring from the direction of the door.

"Duchess, could you get that for me?" Miss Amelia called. Duchess pointed a finger at her own chest in question. Miss Amelia nodded with a smile.

Duchess walked over to the front door and opened. And on the other side, there stood…

"Mistress!" Duchess squealed.

Mistress even gave her one of her rare smiles. "Hello, Duchess."

Duchess looked around, like she expected this to be a prank, an illusion, someone playing a cruel trick on her. "Mistress, it's really you?"

"Amelia called and asked if I wanted to drop by," she explained. "And I would never say no to such an invitation."

"Did you… Did you come for Miss Amelia, or because…" She didn't dare finish the sentence. She didn't dare be so presumptuous.

Mistress reached out, and Duchess flinched a little — but all she did was place a hand on the top of her head. Not ruffling her carefully arranged hair, but just petting a little. "Of course I came to see you."

Duchess lit up. "Have you ever been to Miss Amelia's house before?" she asked excitedly. "I could show you around! And Hollow could come as well! Mistress, I have so much to tell you!"

That was the beginning of a very fun afternoon, where Mistress was kind, all other guests might as well have disappeared to Duchess, and she just talked and talked and talked and Mistress listened.

And at the end of the afternoon, when it was time to say goodbye, Duchess didn't dare go in for a hug. In all her years spent at the mother house, she had never hugged Mistress. But to her surprise, Mistress embraced her by the door.

"You are doing very well, Duchess," she whispered. "I'm proud of you."

Tears immediately sprung to Duchess' eyes. "You… You are? Even though I was… so… cheap?"

"It is clear that we have all undervalued you." She pulled away and smiled at her. "Good girl, Duchess."

Duchess gave her a teary smile. "Thank you, Mistress. Thank you so much."

Duchess felt a hand on her shoulder, and when she looked, it was Miss Amelia. "Duchess, would you mind fetching me a glass of water? I'm parched. I'll see her out."

"Of course!" Duchess said, almost tripping over her pretty dress as she ran to complete the order.

And when she came back, clearly quicker than expected, she caught sight of Miss Amelia handing a bag of… money to Mistress. She froze. Had this all been… a play? Had this really all been a trick?

The glass almost slipped from her hand. Miss Amelia turned and realised she was there, and her face fell. "Oh," she breathed. "You were… very quick."

Tears slipped down Duchess' cheeks. She forced a smile anyway. "Your water, miss."

Mistress put the bag away, not really knowing what to say or how to react. That was rare. "Well, I don't suppose I have to keep up the act, then," she said awkwardly.

"No," Duchess said before Miss Amelia could've said a word. Bad servant, cutting off her mistress. "Thank you for coming, Mistress. I hope it was worth it."

With that, she shoved the glass of water into Miss Amelia's hand, and ran off.

Useless.

Useless.

Her memories were fuzzy, but she was pretty sure she remembered some of her last moments. The sexual assault, the choking, the way she'd clawed at the hands of her murderer as he squeezed the life out of her.

She shivered. Could a ghost shiver? Apparently so.

And so, here she was. Present but not really. Trapped. Forever, unless she found her murderer and where he'd dumped her body. And that was a far stretch; how could she ever find him? She didn't even remember his face. It had been dark.

So she floated aimlessly, passing through people on the streets, sometimes wandering into the homes of so-called psychics and trying to contact them. None of them were real psychics. None of them noticed her presence.

Until one day, someone did.

"You," came a purr of a voice from behind her, but by now, she was used to no one talking to her, so she didn't turn back. "You, in the tattered dress."

Whumpee stopped. She looked around, but there were no other people in tattered dresses. Just her. Someone saw her?

She turned around to see something she'd never seen before. A woman with blood red skin, in a black bralette and leather pants. Two horns adorned her head, and her jet black hair fell down to her waist. She was looking straight at her.

A... A demon?

The demon smirked. Whumpee immediately turned away, wanting to flee. Whatever this woman was, it was a bad omen; but before she could've fled, the woman teleported to be in front of her.

"I have a deal that might interest you," she said. Whumpee backed up.

"I'm not interested," she said emphatically.

"No, no, I think you are. After all, a victim of a traumatic murder, trapped here on earth when there's heaven waiting for you... You need to find your body, don't you? And the man who did this."

"What do you know about heaven?" she said, maybe a bit more hostile than she intended.

"I've helped a fair bit of souls," the demon replied, unbothered by the comment.

"I don't believe that."

The demon grinned. "Smart. Demanding proof. It's a shame that your smarts didn't save you from that wicked, wicked man."

"If you have proof, show me."

The demon snapped her fingers, and several rolled up pieces of parchment paper appeared. When Whumpee floated a little closer, she could see they were all contracts.

"Are these all souls you've helped?" she asked, skimming the writing. 'I hereby offer up my soul to Whumper in exchange for her services to find my murderer.' 'I hereby offer up my soul to Whumper in exchange for her to help me put my last affairs in order.' "You... You are serious."

The demon — Whumper, apparently — snapped her fingers, and the contracts disappeared. "I'm quite good at what I do, you'll find."

"If I sign a contract."

"Precisely."

Whumpee chewed on her bottom lip. To sign away her very soul? She was nothing but a soul. "Wouldn't signing away my soul kind of... make it impossible for me to move on? You mentioned heaven, but how would I get into heaven without a soul?"

"Oh, it's nothing but a formality. See, what I'm after is your essence." She reached out, her fingers gliding through Whumpee's chest. She grabbed onto something in there, and Whumpee felt like someone was fondling her heart. "That's your essence. That's what you're signing away. The rest of your soul goes to heaven." Whumper pulled her hand back, and Whumpee immediately floated back, away from her, hands on her chest. The sensation of someone grabbing her 'essence' had been not just uncomfortable, but strangely intimate.

"Never do that again."

The demon laughed. "A prude. Makes your death and its circumstances all the more tragic. Were you saving yourself for marriage?"

"I believe that is none of your business," Whumpee snapped. Whumper was making fun of her being raped? Just how distasteful did demons get? "I'm not interested in your contracts."

"Not only do I offer to track down your murderer, but I can also take him out," Whumper said just as Whumpee turned away to leave. It made her stop.

Did she want that?

She wanted him not to hurt another woman, sure, but...

"Is that all you have to sweeten the deal?" she asked, fists clenching and unclenching. Thinking.

"It's a pretty good offer as is," Whumper said from behind her. "And who wouldn't want to see their murderer dead?"

"I won't sign a contract with a demon. How could I ever expect to be let into heaven if I did that?"

"You'll find many kindred spirits there," she said, slowly circling her and coming to a stop in front of her. "You saw the contracts yourself. No more wandering the earth, no more misery. Being a ghost is miserable, isn't it? No one to see you. No one to touch you. No one to—"

"Stop. I will find that man myself."

"And you'll haunt him until he breaks down and leads you to your unmarked grave? Possibly the river he threw your body in? Oh, come on. You don't know the first thing about interacting with humans."

"Well, I'll figure it out!"

Whumper stepped closer. "Let me help. I might be a demon, but I find what he did to you despicable. Maybe it's selfish, but I want to help you. I want to take him out."

"So do so in your own free time."

"If I do, you'll never find him. You'll be stuck here forever."

"If you want to help me that bad, why force a contract on me?"

Whumper grinned. "Well, I'm not that selfless."

Whumpee didn't like being a ghost. She didn't like wandering the streets, looking for a mystery man and her own body. Whumper clearly knew something about his whereabouts. And if she really just wanted this 'essence' thing...

"Okay," she said quietly. "I'll sign."

"Wonderful!" Whumper said, summoning a piece of parchment with legal jargon on it. "Sign at the bottom."

Whumpee swallowed but took the leap. She signed. Whumper rolled the paper up, and with a snap of her fingers, it disappeared in a small flame.

"Very well," Whumper went on, like a cat that got the cream. "Let's look for your murderer."

How Whumper knew where to find him, Whumpee had no idea. But she led her to a back alley behind a pub, where the man was on top of a helplessly drunk woman.

He was going to do it again.

He was going to assault another woman, possibly murder her.

"Help!" Whumpee screamed, for a moment forgetting that no one but Whumper could hear her. But that was enough. Because Whumper took out a dagger and walked over to the man, then stabbed him in the back. Then did it again. And again. And again. Blood was coating the asphalt beneath their feet. The man rolled off the woman, gasping for air, getting none.

Whumpee covered her eyes, the violence too much for her to bear. Even if it was for a good cause.

"Well, half the contract is already fulfilled," Whumper said cheerily as she walked back to Whumpee. Whumpee peeked out from between her fingers, and she saw the corpse, then the innocent woman still lying on the ground, covered in the man's blood. She looked too out of it to comprehend what had just happened. Maybe she'd been drugged.

"Can you help her?" Whumpee asked. "Clearly, you can interact with the world. Can you—"

"Helping her isn't in the contract," Whumper said, and Whumpee had to remind herself that she was a demon at the end of the day, not a charity service.

"Fine," she said, still shaken by what she'd just witnessed. She paid for this. For him to be assassinated. With her very soul. "Then... Then just show me where my body is."

Whumper snapped her fingers, and the two of them were transported to the bank of a river. There was something on the shore. Whumpee slowly floated towards it.

It was a body.

It was her body.

Bloated and blue. Her hair floating in the water like weed. Face down. In one piece. She was naked from the waist down. It was so... humiliating. So tragic.

"That's where I've ended up?" she asked brokenly.

"I told you; he was a wicked man," Whumper said. For a moment, Whumpee didn't feel bad about getting Whumper to kill him.

"Can we somehow... draw attention to this? That I'm here? My body, I mean."

"We have to," she said with a sigh. "You won't find rest unless the body is laid to rest."

"What do we do, then?"

"Leave it to me. You just stay here for a bit." With that, Whumper disappeared.

Whumpee floated even closer, crouching down next to her body. She wished she could've at least arranged her dress a little more modestly. She didn't want others to find the body like this. But Whumper was right; she didn't know how to interact with the world. Unlike Whumper, who could will herself to touch others in the world, and could probably show herself to those still alive, Whumpee had no idea how to do any of that.

So she just waited there. Mourning herself.

Soon, a group of tourists showed up.

"Hey, there's something washed up on shore," one of them said.

"Yeah, that looks like..."

"Oh my goodness."

"Somebody call the police! Right now!"

Whumpee waited by the body as the police and ambulance arrived. She watched her body be loaded into a car, and floated with them to the morgue. She listened in on conversations between police officers who wondered who could've done such a thing. She smiled to herself sadly.

"All that's left to do is wait for them to identify you," Whumper said, suddenly appearing behind her. Whumpee startled.

"Don't just sneak up on me!"

"I teleported. I thought you'd be used to it by now."

"How are they going to identify me?" she asked instead, changing the subject.

"They'll send out a photo. Your family will recognise you."

"My family has to see my dead body?"

"That's the only way. Killer man didn't throw your body into the river along with your purse and ID."

Whumpee nodded. This was a nightmare.

"Hey," Whumper said, gentler. "Do you want me to wait here until they arrive?"

"It's not in the contract," Whumpee said.

"I'm not that legalistic."

"You certainly seemed to be with the woman in the alleyway."

"I didn't know her."

"And you know me? We met an hour ago."

"We have a contract. I'd say that's more than just acquaintances."

"What, we're friends because I sold my soul to you?"

"Just tell me if you want me to stay."

Whumpee looked away. She stared at her own lifeless body. "I'd like you to stay."

Being a ghost was lonely. Maybe that was why she allowed herself to get attached to the first person who saw her.

Whumper stayed.

When Whumpee's family finally walked through the door, they were in hysterics. Her mother broke down, her father comforting her. They confirmed the body was Whumpee's, and they left to make funeral arrangements.

Whumpee floated out of the morgue, with Whumper walking behind her.

"I can't believe they had to see that," Whumpee muttered.

"That's just how it goes," Whumper said. "But look on the bright side — a few more days and you'll be free."

"I suppose."

The funeral came sooner than expected. It was a small one, and Whumpee expected it to be more... impactful than it ended up being. Whumper accompanied her, but stayed back while she hovered around her family.

When the body was lowered into the grave, Whumpee expected to finally see the light. When the first shovelfuls of dirt were thrown onto the coffin, she really expected to see the light. But the funeral was over, her parents left, and she was still stuck. Stuck on earth.

"What's going on?" she demanded from Whumper. "You promised me heaven!"

"Oh, that?" Whumper said nonchalantly. "You signed over your soul. You're never seeing heaven."

"But you said—"

"I'm a demon, Whumpee. I lie, cheat, murder. You're bound to me now."

"I'm... stuck?"

"But hey, at least the gross fucker who did this to you is dead."

Whumpee collapsed onto her knees. She'd made a mistake. She'd made a terrible mistake.

"Oh, come on, Whumpee," Whumper said, grinning ear to ear. "You're in a better position than before you signed. You would've never found your murderer or your body, had it not been for me."

"I'm stuck," she repeated, broken. "I'm truly stuck. Forever."

Wait. That's it. As Freddie envelopes you in a gentle hug, the idea pops into your head. You don't hug back. You're too preoccupied with this thought you just had.

"You never asked how I got out," you say.

"Huh?"

"You never asked. You locked me inside, and now I'm outside. You never asked how."

Freddie pulls away. "I guess... It didn't cross my mind to ask. Why, how did you get out?"

That... does sound like the reaction of someone who hasn't been to the house since morning. Maybe you're way off base. Maybe she really does just work at the café, maybe her finding you was a coincidence, maybe this is all... in your head.

But then again, she did find you, and didn't even seem fazed by it.

"#064?"

You wipe your cheek with the back of your hand. Stupid tears. "Yeah."

"My shift is about to end. Do you want to come back home with me?"

After you've broken her door?

If you were still with your handler, you'd know what to expect for something that outrageous. A beating, a severe one, one that'd leave you crying on the floor like a baby.

You don't know what to expect from Freddie.

"You... you need to find that thing, right? That your coworker threw away by accident?"

"Ah, right!" Freddie goes back to the dumpster and... glances over the top layer of trash, barely looking. There she is, being weird again. Being suspicious. "Looks like it's not here."

"You barely tried! You— You keep giving me mixed signals!" you blurt out.

"What do you mean?"

"Go into the café, right now. I'm gonna watch from out here. You go up and do whatever it is that a café employee does. Work. Then I'll believe you really work here."

"Oh."

Yes. You got her. She didn't expect—

"Okay," she says with a smile.

"O... Okay?"

"Yeah. You can watch. Then we'll go home together afterwards. Uh, if it's not a big favour to ask, try to get rid of the trash stuck to you... We can take the bus I usually take back home, but they won't let you on it like this."

"Okay," you say, too dumbfounded to even protest. You watch as Freddie goes back into the coffee shop and takes her place behind the counter. She... looks like she's working. She's handing out coffee and baked goods to customers.

You tear your eyes away from her. So she does work there. But then why the pointless lies? And the suspicious conduct? You think on that as you systematically pick off all the trash that stuck to you while you were in the dumpster.

Soon, Freddie exits the coffee shop again and comes to join you.

~