Dear Journal;




I feel as if these words describe not only my heart but my soul as well. Can a soul be shattered? I feel as if there is nothing left to wake up for in the morning, nothing left to care about, nothing left to live for. It has all passed me by and I was looking the other way.




My mind is wandering, aimless, unsure. Lost in a morass of fear, doubt, pain. My focus is gone, my thoughts scattered to the four winds, hidden from myself. Before I had hearts, hands, souls to help me find my way back. Now, now I am alone.

I know who I am, who I am supposed to be, what my purpose is. I have found though that I do not care. It began several months ago. I am only now free of that place, that man, the drugs, and the fear. Well perhaps not the fear. If I were free of the fear I would not be constantly glancing over my shoulder, would I? I would not have a need to have every light in the house turned on, only turning them off in the light of day. When my sisters see my electric bill they will not be pleased with me. Oh dear god, my sisters. I’m going to have to tell my sisters. Of course, it would have been nice if even one had noticed that I was not attending our usual Sunday dinners. Noticed and then come to see if they could locate me. I know I have missed a dinner or two in the past but I have never missed without letting someone know. Normally I would have contacted someone. My other sisters have missed previously, without a call, or a text. I’ve always made a point of swinging by to see if everything was alright….

No, this is his fault. His alone. Not theirs. They would not have known where to look for me, and had one come along perhaps he would have kept her as well. Or killed her. No I can’t think about that. I must remember that everyone else is alright. I could not bring myself to speak with any of them tonight, I needed to come home, shower. Did you know that showering in an empty house can be terrifying? The silence is oppressive. However do not turn on the radio or television before you shower. The silence is preferable to the sounds that cover up footsteps, breathing, doors opening….

Stop! I went by our family home before I came here. I silently peered through the living room window, and in doing so determined it was Sunday. The wine was open, popcorn made, they were watching a movie. It’s one we’ve all watched several times in the past. I was surprised to see my brothers as well. They seldom join us and I will admit that I wanted to go inside, crawl into the lap of one of our boys, and stay there. Of course I could not let them see me like that. Stolen clothes, covered in blood (not all of it mine, he felt pain before he died), my hair full of dirt, my skin covered in cuts, bruises, needle tracks…. Thank God I have seven days until Sunday.

My family is a little… unusual. We are none of us family by blood, simply by choice. We found each other gradually over the years. We know that we will most likely find more as time passes, it is the nature of our bond. We have had siblings leave, their paths veering away from ours. We have also suggested, rather firmly I might add, that a sibling or two is no longer welcome in the family home. I cannot help but wonder if my recent actions will cause my departure to be desired.

We each have a virtue that we identify with strongly. My gift has been eloquence, the capability to speak and be heard, to bring the truth to light without causing offense. I have been told that although I was not born with a silver spoon, I was blessed with a silver tongue. My family knows that a portion of my gift is the ability to broadcast my desired outcome, the positive emotions that I wish to be felt by the others involved. I have recently found out that I am also capable of permitting my fear, my anger, and my hate to be felt by others as well. How I wish I had never been taught that lesson.

I don’t actually know how it began, one moment I was home, the next I was not. The day had begun like most any other. My phone ringing. It was, of course, one of my sisters. Raven needed my help. Her primary talent is Justice but she sometimes let it over take her. She’d gotten herself into a little bit of a pickle and needed me to talk to the group and smooth things over. Not a huge issue. So I told her I would have a quick shower, then head on to meet up with her. I never made it. I was in the shower, I heard a thump and I called out. I thought one of my sisters was over. I saw a shadow on the curtain. And then nothingness.

When I awoke all I could feel was heat, surrounding me, entrapping me. No escape. I couldn’t move, my eyes opened in panic to see nothing, darkness. I couldn’t help myself and I began to twist, whimper, cry. Suddenly I was able to move, the heat dissipating, and I felt a light touch on my arm. “Shhhhh…relax my sweet. Everything is fine, you’re safe.” A soft, masculine voice, unfortunately not a familiar voice.

“Where am I? Why can’t I see?” I wanted to shout with every fiber of my being, but that never gets anyone anywhere. I felt myself broadcast a little of my fear, just a small amount. I didn’t know if it would work, I’d never tried fear before. Concern but never fear. But then again, what had I ever truly been afraid of?

“No my sweet, none of that.” I felt a sharp prick in my arm and that was the end of that. Every time I woke he was there. If I tried to broadcast my emotions, another needle. If I screamed, another needle. If I cried, or carried on in any fashion, again the needle. As time passed I began to wake more quietly. I felt around my space using what senses I had available. As touch and sight were out of the equation I had to listen, keep myself calm and pay attention when he entered the room.

Damn it, Jes just pulled into the drive. I’ll be back. She can’t see this.


Dear Journal;

Jes saw a light on and decided to stop. She said she thought I was out of town. Wanted to know where I went for six months without telling anyone. Six months. She also gave me shit for disappearing on our sister. She had to go help Raven, though she said there was a bad taste left behind that nothing could fix. I told her to stop ranting at me that I’d explain on Sunday what happened so I only have to do so once. The light was behind me so she couldn’t see the bruises.

Anyway, after a time (I’m not sure how long) I realized that when it was really quiet, I could hear other voices. The only one that seemed able to tell when I was broadcasting was the man in charge of me, so to speak. I began to send out gentle waves of concern. I could sense a woman in the room to my left, and a man in the one to my right. I knew without trying though that he wasn’t going to be around much longer. I could feel he was letting go. I tried to send him courage, strength, hope. All I received in return was despair. The next time I woke, I sensed nothing. He was gone.

The next day I made contact, of a sort, with the woman. I could tell when she was medicated, when she was simply sleeping, and when she was awake. Sleeping meant nightmares. Fear. Awake meant terror. I could only help for short periods of time. Her fear, her terror, increased my own. So I had to keep my contact with her to a minimum. I believed that instead of becoming despondent like that man had, that she was losing her mind. There were times I heard her screaming, but the laughing was the worst. Neither lasted long though, and then I could sense she’d been drugged again.

My captor was away more. I had more time between his visits. More time awake. I’d begun to notice that my body was in pain. The only times I knew anyone was in the room was when he would come in and the world would disappear with the prick in my arm. I started to wonder what was happening when I was unaware.

I’m not certain how long it took but I must have built up a resistance to the drug. He didn’t know as I tried to be silent when I woke. I could hear him in the room sometimes, writing on occasion, sounds I didn’t recognize other times. I would stay silent, contained, hidden. I would wait, sometimes half an hour, sometimes longer before I’d try to send out calm, hope, to the lady in the next room. If I didn’t wait long enough he would come back and I’d get another needle. I finally woke very early one day. I could feel his hands on my body. He was touching me, everywhere. Pinching, squeezing, slapping. No wonder I hurt every day. After that nearly every time I woke he was touching me in some manner. I did my best to remain calm, quiet, let him think I was still out. I didn’t always succeed.

Then one day I felt the needle when he came in, but I didn’t go completely under. I could hear him talking to another man. I couldn’t track the words though, the drug made that nearly impossible. I couldn’t move either but I was aware. And then I wished I wasn’t. They took turns using my body. Not just the two, but several men. Different touches, different voices, different men all using my body for their enjoyment. Now I knew why I was bound, blindfolded, why I was being held against my will. My terror overwhelmed me, and that was all I knew for a while.

Next time I woke I awoke screaming. He spoke to me and I did not stop, I think it was a few days before I woke again. He changed my drug, I was solidly out again. This time when I woke I planned. I needed to get out. I’d been waiting, hoping that one of my sisters would arrive, tell me that I was in the hospital, tell me what had happened. They would never have left me in a place like this though. So now I knew, I had to get out on my own. But how? My hands and feet were firmly strapped to the bed. I wondered about the lady in the other room. Was she trapped as I was? Were they doing to her what they were doing to me?

Then a couple of days ago, while it was still quiet all around me, I woke suddenly. In the silence I could hear her tears. Her fears filled the room with screaming, though there was no sound to be heard. Her pain, her sense of loss, her anguish surrounded me, drowning me in her.

I began to speak. Softly, gently, low. If there was anyone walking past none but she could hear. And she heard. If only she had not heard. My words fueled her, commanded her. My words drove her. Her actions were my thoughts. My pain, my sorrow, my hatred. Her body was free, mine was not. My mind, my voice were all I had. She became my avatar. My puppet. My saviour. Their death.

She had been unresponsive for days. They no longer bothered to bind her to the bed. When her controller entered the room, she used my anger, my hatred, my out and out uncontrollable rage as her fuel. I whispered thoughts of death, mayhem, blood and she made them real. When he was dead I still did not release her from me. She killed the man in the hall, tore him limb from limb. After she released me from my bindings I stumbled to the door, leaning against it I looked out and watched his life merge with the water he had been washing the floor with. I did not mourn him though. If he was not one of the men that raped us, then he left us to them.

God damn it, who’s here now? I need to finish this. I need to get it out. But the doorbell is ringing. I’ll be back.


Dear Journal;

I need to be more careful. Devine stopped in, noticed all the lights on, and started to walk around turning them off. I had to lie, I told her I was looking for a mouse. That I thought I’d seen one and didn’t want to turn off the lights until I found it. She turned to look at me, she looked concerned and I thought I hadn’t done a good enough job with the cover-up but then she shivered and said she hoped I was wrong but maybe I could borrow a cat. I’m going to have to stop leaving the lights on all the time. It’s attracting too much attention. Tomorrow I’m going to get a lock for my bedroom door. Maybe I’ll be able to sleep. With my room at the back of the house my sisters shouldn’t notice these lights on all night.

I still don’t know her name. I guess I never will now. They killed her, they killed her as if they had plunged the knife into her body themselves. But he wasn’t there yet. They’d called him so he was on his way. But he wasn’t there yet and none of the others seemed to feel my broadcast as an outside thing.

We’d gotten part way down the hall. We were opening doors, trying to release anyone else we found. We only found two others that could walk. There were others but they weren’t going anywhere. One man had his legs broken, and they didn’t set them properly. He told me he’d tried to escape and that was his punishment. He asked me to kill him. I told him I couldn’t. I should have then, I did later but not by choice. She’d picked up the mop, and broken off the handle. As I was untying another lady she turned and put it through some guy’s throat. He came running into the room, yelling at us. She didn’t like the yelling. I tried to rein in my emotions a little, the other lady was becoming violent as well and I realized I was still affecting them. I should have let it be though.

We found a man near the end of the hall, he could walk but there was something about him that made me nervous. We let him free anyway and he joined us. We went around a corner and into a large open space, there was a kitchen area on the other side of the room and I could see knives from where I was standing. I thought it was odd that there was no one around but I took it as a blessing and we went across the room. We each collected a couple of knives. The new lady didn’t want to but I told her to grab a couple anyway. I said she didn’t have to use them but it would keep her from looking like easy prey.

As we slipped into the next hallway, I noticed all the doors were open, no one to rescue, nowhere for anyone to be hiding. I started to calm down. I could see the doors leading to the outside world just a few meters away. As I calmed down so too did my companions, but I didn’t see it. I was walking in front with the first woman. I really wish I’d asked her name. As my emotions settled, my broadcast ebbed. I thought we were all there for the same thing. I thought we were all being used in the same manner. I have to admit I was confused when behind me I heard a gurgle. As we turned around we saw that the man we had rescued had cut the other woman’s throat. He was smiling. He was covered in her blood, and he was smiling as he moved towards us.

I froze. And because I froze so did the lady I started all of this with. Because she froze, he plunged a knife into her stomach. He did it almost as an afterthought. He was walking towards us, his eyes holding my own, he was nearly past her, she had stopped sooner than I did. Then his hand moved almost lazily to the side and I heard the sound of the knife plunging into her. His smile grew as he pulled it back out, his hand covered in gore as he sliced to the side. He made it two more steps towards me, a couple more and he would be close enough to kill me too, and still I stood. My fear had paralyzed me, he was nearly to me when he stopped with a look of confusion on his face. He should have made certain she was dead, or at least down for the count. Her pain woke her from my fear. Her kitchen knives were in his back. One in the middle, one looked to be in his kidney. As he fell her eyes locked on mine. I caught her before she hit the ground, I held her as she bled out, I cried as the light left her eyes, and I could no longer feel her presence.

I’m not certain how long I sat on the floor with her in my arms. Her blood pooled around me on the floor, his blood mingled with hers but I could not make myself move further away. I hear the doorbell but I need to finish this now. Whoever it is can come back later. It’s taken me two days to get this far, and I have yet to sleep. Maybe when I finish I will.

I heard voices coming towards me. One man was talking on a cell phone, telling someone that we were free, that the others were dead, I was the only one remaining. I waited until he was off the phone, until he and the other men were closer, and then I sent them my rage. Their targets? Each other. I sent my rage, my hatred, and my fear to all of them. The one with the phone suddenly turned to the man beside him and the phone went through his mouth. That was the only one to die quickly. As he turned to another, he turned his back to one and he suddenly lost a part of his spine. He collapsed and I watched him die. It took a while. The one holding the spine suddenly had a chair smash over his head. I lost track of what was happening for a little while as the remaining 5 men made each other bleed. When it was down to one, I put her gently on the floor, took up my knives and walked towards him. I sent him wave upon wave of trust, love, desire. By the time I was close to him he was rather randy. I let him watch as I cut it off. Then one of my knives went through his eye into his brain, he was dead before his scream fully materialized. I went and sat back with the lady, pulled her back onto my lap, and told her that they had paid for what they did to us and that I was going to take a short rest before I went home. I believe I passed out for a while.


The next thing I remember is looking up and seeing the man that was my controller. I’d never seen him before but I recognized his voice when he spoke. He tried to take her away from me. I screamed, loud. He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a needle. I know it was to calm me down but after everything I had just been through I was not going back into that room. No one would touch me again. This man would not get near enough ever again. As he came closer I gathered my strength, and flung her at him. It knocked him over, the needle went flying. By the time he got out from under her, the needle was in my hand, and then in his arm. He was out in moments.

Had I left then I could have told my family what happened. They would have helped me deal with the repercussions, with the stress, and the fear. I would have spent the last two days with my sisters helping me to pack while my brothers went looking for a new place for me, something with enough security to please them. But I didn’t. I should have but I stayed.

I took him to one of the empty rooms that we had passed, I didn’t think there would be enough time to put him through even half of what we went through but I wanted him to feel fear. So I put the cuffs on him, and a blindfold. The door closed, locked, just in case. In another drawer I found a gag, I didn’t want him to be able to distract me, to make me change my mind. I didn’t want to hear him beg. And then I waited for him to wake.

It must have been a low dosage as he woke no more than an hour later, I think. I’m afraid my sense of time has escaped me somewhat. He jerked awake, his screams muffled by the gag, his muscles straining against the cuffs. I spoke quietly to him. He had to stop screaming if he was to hear my words. He did for a moment, and then he realized what I was saying. The screams began again. As he thrashed, and pulled I slid a knife under his pants leg. He felt the cool metal and stopped moving. I think he was afraid that I might cut him. Up one leg at a time, at the top I allowed the blade to touch his manhood, gently but enough to make him scream in fear. As I cut his shirt off I turned the blade over and left a thin slice along his pectoral muscles, very lightly, it was barely there. But it made him shriek and I was beginning to enjoy his muffled sounds. That should have told me it was time to leave but I didn’t want to.

After I disrobed him I began to broadcast my fear to him. He was already afraid and I made him terrified. I whispered softly to him, telling him what I wanted him to do, what I wanted him to feel. I told him what she had felt, what she had done, and I whispered that he would do so much more. I took control of his feelings, subtlety playing no role. I told him a story about what had been done to she and I from our perspectives. I told him a tale about how he was going to make it up to us. I could feel his resistance, his desire to break free from my control, and I laughed. And then I amplified it all twice again as much. I shattered him, and then…. then I released him from the bonds.

I instructed him to harm himself. And he did as he was bid. He cut himself, so deeply that I could see bone, and sinew. He sliced his own legs so deeply that the muscles we no longer attached, he could not have stood, walked, run…nothing, and I was pleased. But still it wasn’t enough, and I was lost to my own madness. I took the knife back, and tied him back to the bed. I’d been preventing him from feeling the pain so far. The pain would have given him strength to break my control and I could not allow that. As soon as he was bound tightly, I released my control including the pain suppression. He roared and then passed out.

Bloody Hand

Somehow some sanity broke through. I could not leave him as he was, but I no longer desired to torture him. I picked up the knife and I slit his throat. Within moments I was bathed in his blood, and yet I stood there. I watched until there was no chance of life remaining. And still I felt unsafe. I lost what control I had regained and the next thing I recall his head was no longer attached to his body. His legs weren’t even in the same room. I left his hands bound as I pulled on a lab coat I found in a closet at the back of the room.

I didn’t even try to wash up. Suddenly the fear was overwhelming me again. Any moment someone was going to walk through the door and I was never going to leave this place. I tried to school myself, control it. I couldn’t leave things as they were. Eventually someone would show up even if it wasn’t right now. If they didn’t call the cops, and I was fairly certain they wouldn’t, this would continue. They’d do this to someone else. Some part of me knew that there were others still tied to their beds but they were dead already, even if they were still breathing. I couldn’t rescue them, and by the time I could get help I was positive that the people running this place would have killed them rather than move them. This was my rationalization. And so I went back to the kitchen, I went through the cupboards and I found alcohol. I poured some out down the hallway I had been in. I poured the rest down the hallway I would leave by, and over that man’s body. Then I went back and lit all the candles I could find. I put them by the trails of booze, by the oven. I sure hoped this was going to work, it did in the movies. I kept one candle with me and I went back to the kitchen to turn on the gas stove. I wasn’t sure candles would set it off but I was fairly sure that a fire would. As I got to the doorway leading to freedom I lit my candle, left the flame up on the lighter I’d found, and tossed them both down the hall towards the booze. I peered out the door carefully. It was dark enough outside that I felt I could slip into the shadows unobserved. When I was a little a couple of blocks away I heard an explosion, I could see flames in the distance. What do you know, it worked.

I still don’t know how I made it to the family home. Or even why I went that way at all. My place would have been closer, there would have been no risk of a family member spotting me had I just gone home. And well, here I am. Somehow I made it home from there.

I am dreading Sunday. For the first time ever I am afraid to go to my family. I could lie to them. I could make up a story, something easy, light. Something with no blood, no pain, no death. I could. But I love them. I made a promise long ago, no lies. Not within the family. They all know what I can do, although they don’t know what I am capable of. They will though. It won’t be long and I will be alone, adrift, shunned.

There’s the doorbell again. It’s being held down, that means it’s Jes and she won’t leave until she gets her way. I’ll go talk to her and then I’m going to try to sleep.

Goodnight, dear Journal.

I close the book, check my makeup to be certain she won’t be able to tell anything, and go answer the door. It’s not just Jes, it’s Raven as well. She’s hoping I can help her out and this time she’s taking me with her. It doesn’t matter that I’m exhausted, I’ll go and do my thing for my sister. I only hope I can control my emotions. I can’t exactly be broadcasting fear every time someone comes near me, touches me, invades my space…. crap. Jes comes back down the hall from the washroom and I tease her about falling in. She laughs and tells me it’s time I changed the lock on that door, that it tries to keep her in every single time. I tell her not to worry about that door, that I’m going to start looking for a new place tomorrow. That this place is too big for just me. My sisters, the loves that they are, offer to help and as we head out we discuss what I’m looking for in a new place. Raven insists that this time I get a place with a pool. As we get into the car we’re laughing, it very nearly drowns out the screaming in my head.

I’m going to try to enjoy their company. It might be the last time.


Silver Tongued Duchess



2 thoughts on “Broken

  1. Symon says:

    Dear Duchess,

    It is too bad the dear Journal is broken – I would subscribe immediately – that strongly reminds me of The Twisted Path Group I adore. Please continue to emphasize your intense color writing!

    Best wishes,

    • *smiles* I now post primarily on The Twisted Path Group. Please feel free to come walk the Path with us. I am listed there as Siara Tyr or, as my sisters have named me, the Silver Tongued Duchess 🙂 Thank you ♡

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