We are each our own devil,
and we make this world our hell.
~Oscar Wilde
***
Ravenna's mind flashed back to the days when she was truly Ravenna Vale, a girl of standing and virtue. Lord Dagbert, the man she was once betrothed to in an arranged marriage, until House Vale's fortunes dwindled, ending whatever they had. At a young age, she never truly harbored any affection for the young lord. Her duty kept her in the brick of a union without affection and each time she tried to glimpse the beauty of his kind words, it had its way of always reminding her that it was a kind designed as a 'must' where both parties rarely harbored any feelings toward each other. All she saw was a man who ogled her body, desperate for a taste or two only to be dumped at the end. However, as years passed, Ravenna did, but it was short-lived when she caught him fucking Lady Catherine Blackwell the day she visited with Valentine's gift, one which her mother coerced her into.
"It's a season of love, Ravenna. You'll soon see Lord Hectorherm's son is truly deserving. Now, go. Fetch some finest ornaments and present them," Her mother's words replayed in her mind, the type that requires no 'buts' or even 'nos', and young her left, going after her mother's instruction without any thinking, only to arrive at the mansion, surprised by his.
Who knew the present the so-called 'deserving' man had for her, was something she'd have never guessed? Truly, Ravenna had expected something in return after displaying hers, like how girls her age gossiped about. Flowers, letters, gifts... There were so many more, buried in the words of utter anticipation and happiness. However, the present she was presented with left her in shock, bitterly battered and irritated—the exact opposite of the actual reactions— when the tightly wrapped gift fell against gravity, interrupting the people lost in their world of "Oh!" and "Ah," as both paused mid-way, their heads whipping to her direction in utter stupefaction.
Ravenna got home in tears, truly hurt by his actions. Although she wasn't really into the Lord, cheating was something unacceptable for her. When Lady Isolde heard of it, and as expected of any mother, would've called off the wedding and paid a visit to the cheater's family. However, her mother wasn't someone to be considered a 'mother' especially when she grabbed her hands, firmly locking her gaze and said,
"Things like that are normal in a relationship and normal things take a while to adapt. Do you think your father and I married out of love?" Her voice always had its way of sending shivers down her spine and her heart raced at its intensity. "Do you think everyone is perfect, like the ones narrated as folklores or bedtime stories? Do you think your father is committed to this relationship as I am?" She questioned, taking her silence as a response.
"Don't be silly, Ravenna. Let me tell you a secret—happiness is designed the way you shape and adapt to it, so put yourself together, because I won't watch you ruin and soil our family's name your father and I worked so hard to build." She declared, the words sending tremors of unaffection as tears welled up in her eyes, but she sniffed, preventing a spill before Madame Lorraine noticed.
The lady was still stunned, but it was already too late when she realized her mistake. It was obvious to Ravenna that there was no way to take back her words. If she did, it would still look suspicious, so she chose to remain silent.
"Get to work then. I'll leave you to it," She said, walking away and Ravenna took in a shuddered breath. Right when she was about to take a step as Hannah Maere, "Oh, and Hannah," Madame Lorraine called, grabbing her attention. "Make it count," She said, this time, walking away truly.
Ravenna dragged another breath, forcing her gaze away from the retreating figure toward the people surrounding the tavern where little light seeped in through the grimy windows drowned by smoke, by laughter too sharp to be merry, and by the rough clang of mugs striking wood.
The air was heavy with sweat, spilled ale, and the cloying perfumes of women who flaunted their bare skin like wares on a merchant's stall. Clients sprawled across benches and couches, loud with drink, loud with desire, their greedy eyes roving over the whores who laughed, teased, and danced across their laps. It was chaos, yet it thrummed with a rhythm Ravenna had long grown used to—the rhythm of survival.
Drawing a steadying breath, Ravenna took her first step, her gaze falling on her first client of the day. He was half-hidden amid the tangle of painted women pressing against him, their laughter ringing as they circled his body like moths to a flame. The protrusion of his belly strained his tunic, and his voice—slurred, sloppy—threaded through the noise. Something about it dug beneath her skin, setting her teeth on edge, resembling something... familiar. Not his face at first, but the cadence of his voice, the way it wove through the noise, strangely familiar and unsettling, almost slipping her facade.
Madame Lorraine had mentioned his name, but she hadn't listened. Names rarely mattered. Men came and went, faceless except for their hands, their groans, and the coins they left behind.
Ravenna felt the weight of a stare pierce beside her, causing goosebumps on her skin and heat crawling all sides of her face. The feeling was nostalgic, and a sense of adrenaline coursed through her veins and for a fleeting moment, her gaze flickered to a corner shrouded in shadows.
She moved her hips toward him, weaving past drunken men and perfumed women, when suddenly the tavern's bell chimed. The creak of wood and a sudden gust of light slashed across the gloom, lasting for a moment as three men entered, silhouettes framed in the doorway before it slammed shut again, plunging the room back into its murk.
But before the illumination sank back, Ravenna's pace slowed as she reached her client and when he looked up, the whores parted with mocking laughter. His lips moved clumsily, words stammering out as his eyes lit with a greedy gleam at the sight of her approaching. "Y-you must b-bi H-haynahh... BELCH!" The stench of his breath struck her and in that instant, recognition struck her harder like a knife.
Ser Johnathan.
The sight of his brown, rotting teeth curled into a grin made her stumble, as well as the well-rehearsed smile faltering on her lips. Her heart lurched violently against her ribs, but before she could recover, another flicker of light broke across the room as a lamp was shifted. Her gaze unconsciously snapped to the far corner, to a couch half-lost in shadow, and a gasp tore from her throat, raw and sharp before she could stop it.
Far at the corner sat faces dropping her heart into her stomach, curling retch to her mouth she could barely prevent from spewing, as her blood drained out of her face. She stared at the faces marked and ruined with scars that no shadow could hide. Faces she knew. Faces she had prayed never to see again, dragging those horrendous memories five years ago.
"Kill her." No... Ravenna found herself trembling behind.
Scars. Fangs... Monsters. As if the heavens were against her luck, a pair of bright red eyes flickered in her direction, pinning her raw, and she struggled to keep her stance until her body bumped into someone, shattering the illusion once considered to be real.
***