Twisted Cinders Ch. 01

This is the first chapter of my first story entry on Literotica. I warn you now, it starts slow paced to properly set the scene, but I hope this will make the next chapters even more powerful and pay off! I really appreciate feedback, and thanks for reading? GLR

1.

The arms wound around her, drawing her closer...closer to the soft skin, her face pressed into that warm hollow between shoulder and neck. She whimpered as his hands drifted softly down her back, his deep breaths stirring her hair...

Slowly, as the tell-tale warmth began to seep through her body in the wake of his hands, the equally familiar unease began. Something was wrong. Where was she? Why did this feel so...off?

Unwillingly she felt herself draw back, away from the comforting solid of his chest, to look at his features...

Only to find she could not focus. He was a faceless body, a figurement of her imagination that her desperate brain had not the knowledge to complete.

'Where are you? Who are you?' she cried out, but the dream was receding, his shape fading and reducing into mist, arms outdrawn, even as she spoke.

Elise awoke and opened her eyes as the usual sinking grief that always followed this dream set in. Her hand rose to her wet face, and angrily swiped at the tears as she extracted her limbs from the twisted sheets. Although at least this dream had been less....eventful than on some occasions, it had to stop. Just one more month, and she feared all her remaining sanity might evaporate...

She grasped the drapes that concealed her bed and drew them sharply aside, letting her eyes adjust to the dawn light that filtered through the window, illuminating the kitchen. The bay in which she slept was small, but comfortable enough, and the embers in the stove kept the room warm through to morning.

She stirred these embers back into life. Reaching for the pail of water she had brought in last night, she immersed her head in it and brusquely washed all over, scrubbing the heat of her disturbed and feverish sleep away. Her face flushed crimson as yet again she found her intimate folds swollen and moist, and she cursed herself inwardly. What was this wickedness that had risen in her? Was the devil himself trying to tempt her? Ah, but with whom? Even should she wish to act out these fantasies, there was not a male who would condescend to love this strange servant girl within 6 miles of the estate. She laughed wryly to herself, as she pulled on her worn dress and apron.

Soon, the routine took over...light the house fires, water from the well, eggs from the barn, and by quarter to eight and breakfast was sizzling on the stove. This she delivered to the dining room at three minutes to eight. When the Baronet Sir Edwin Grey and his son Lucan sat down to breakfast at eight, as they did every morning, she would be back in the comfort of the kitchen, eating her own meal.

As little contact with Sir Grey and Lucan was one goal Elise's day revolved around, and had served her suitably for the 10 years since her mother had died. A wealthy widow, her mother had married Sir Edwin -- also a widower, with two sons, when Elise was five years old. Elise had no recollection of her real father, who had died in battle when she was two. Her first real memories were of Sir Grey's house, and the arguments...

Her mother had told her later that Sir Grey had not always behaved so. When they met, he did not drink so much, he was gentle, and not a jealous man... but Elise could not fit the image her mother painted with the man she knew to be her step father, a man who called her mother a whore, dragged her behind closed doors by her hair and caused the muffled screams that would haunt Elise forever.

It did not take long for her mother's spirit to break. Sir and Lady Grey had few friends, their country manor was six miles from the nearest town, and isolation and abuse spanning years lead to illness and finally release in death. Elise was nine.

She had tried to blank all memories of that time from her mind. They brought only pain, save a few small glimmers of happiness; reading with her mother in front of the fire in the drawing room...weeks when Sir Grey was away on business and her mother would smile again. Also, Jem. Jem was Sir Grey's oldest child, four years older than Elise. She had some memories of playing with him on the haystacks in the barn, and darker ones -- of him comforting her in her room, his face white and lips tightly drawn, while her mother's cries echoed through the house.

Lucan, Sir Grey's youngest son, was different altogether. Two years Elise's senior, he had always been quiet, withdrawn, and strangely calculating and unemotional in his responses. He rarely acknowledged her. Odd, that you could inhabit the same house with someone for most of their life, and be none the wiser as to their thoughts.

Elise sighed as those thoughts she fought to block with routine bustle returned. She was lonely, she supposed.

After her mother's death, Sir Grey had become even worse. He drank himself into a stupor most nights, and dismissed the few staff they had. Elise was ordered from her small but pretty room to the kitchens, to replace the dismissed servants. She was too numb with grief to protest, and far too wary of Sir Grey and his violent moods. The space and practicality this role provided was almost a relief... any companionship with Jem was ended abruptly when he was sent away to train for the army aged 15.

So the routine that filled the last decade began. Elise was not happy, nor was she utterly miserable. But she was a strong, practical girl and had not considered her isolation before the dreams started.

She could not predict the nights they came, each time taking her by surprise yet again, but the longing and pain they brought was a harsh echo of the early days after her mother's death, and left her breathless.

She blinked, turning her face from the hearth and retreating from her thoughts. Try as she liked to distract herself, she had to admit, something was not right these days. Not just the dreams, but the atmosphere of the manor. She no longer felt protected by invisibility, she felt edgy, vulnerable. Something was changing.