A character crafted for a friend's world. Isley is complicated and not a good person. I chose to tell his story, at least at first, from the perspective of his family.
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Thibeault Lamia walked confidently down the assembly halls. Another debate, another rousing victory for the Lamia family and the Empire as a whole. The Grand Duchess consistently reviled stooping to what she called: “too kindly trade agreements with the colonists”. It was quite a feat, between Thibeault and some other level headed voices he had managed to broker a rather excellent agreement between Kiva and the Meliorans, despite all odds. He was excited to head home with the news.
Isaac would be proud, he had been so curious about the details this morning. Thibeault smiled despite himself as he strutted down the crowded halls. Isaac was turning twelve this year, and he was one of the most astute children Thibeault had ever had the pleasure of knowing.
It wasn’t just that he was his father, he was more than confident in his impartiality. Isaac was truly something special. He was smarter, stronger, and more fit to lead than most of the doddering old codgers that shared these council halls. He had three children, but it was moments like these that Isaac came most strongly to his thoughts.
He traveled home, just as the sun was settling into its auburn colors. His eldest was watching the road and greeted him as he entered their not modest domicile.
“How did it go dad? Did they agree to shift the trade schedules to follow a more perennial pattern like you suggested?” Isaac bubbled out, before Thibeault could even set his satchel down.
“They did! It went very very well.” Thibeault responded, a wide grin stretched cheerfully across his face.
The grin didn’t last too much longer, his wife, the ever lovely Mrs. Lamia, appeared in the doorway to the study. She was wearing a strikingly resplendent gown, sequined and showing the appropriate amount of class and wealth for a woman of her position. Thibeault shuddered, but managed to maintain his composure as he did every evening. Her attire was sensual, she sought to torment him further tonight then…
“Did you ensure that our holdings will be given preferential timeslots in the routes?” Zadore asked flatly. “Isaac. Go wash for dinner, and find Isabelle and Isley, tell them we shall be dining within the hour.” She continued, mirthlessly serious, as was her usual tone.
“Yes ma’am.” Isaac responding, dropping his smile and moving hastily, as he knew he must when his mother demanded action.
Thibeault's smile dropped as well. He slid into his usual personality for engaging with his… wife… “Yes dear. The holdings will be treated preferentially.” He said as emotionlessly as he could bring to bear. “I expect our relative control of the grain supply for next season to rise by at least three percent…”
Thibeault trailed off as his other two children gently tested poking their heads down the stairs.
“Dinner. Wash.” Zadora stated, noting their presence but not turning her head. Her voice was cold and flat, the same bitterness creeping in that always came to a point around the youngest.
Isabelle and Isley scurried up the stairs with the fearful tentativeness of children who knew their place.
Thibeault went to wash up himself, and found himself taking as much time as he could, as he often did, in the relative peace and solitude before dinner.
Before long, the family gathered in the dining room. Servants brought forth the evening’s meal, as chosen by his wife. Plain and flavorless, she delighted in denying him the flavorful dishes he loved so much. Once he had been a vibrant vivacious individual. From time to time he pondered the man he was before his marriage, and how she had degraded him to whom he was today. He was known in his youth for his appetites. Food, fights, sports, debates, sex, he couldn’t get enough of life and all it had to offer. Now he could barely bring himself to eat more than half of his unappetizing dinner under the judgemental gaze of the woman he once thought he loved.
Dinner went peacefully at least. Isabelle spoke of her lessons in dance and decorum. She was only ten, but already she showed so many traits of her mother. It pained Thibeault's heart to see the babe he had once held and kissed when she was hurt to be turning so cold and standoffish. Already she commanded the servants with cruelty, and Zadore encouraged her in her ruthless rise to stand above her peers.
Isaac was lively as always, speaking about his friends and adventures and the fun of the day. Despite the unhappy aura that permeated the home, somehow the boy managed to keep such a positive and happy outlook. He was always peppy and positive. Thibeault couldn’t imagine where he would be without his eldest son’s smile every day.
Isley knew better than to speak at the table of course. Thibeault felt terrible for his youngest boy. It wasn’t his fault that Zadore looked at him with such revulsion. It was Thibeault’s…
The dinner passed and the children were sent to their rooms. Zadore had imbibed a bottle and a half of wine, and Thibeault cursed under his breath. He had no excuses to avoid her this night.
Thibeault retired wordlessly to his study, hoping beyond hope that his wife would not be haunting him this evening as he knew she would. Before he had managed to even put pen to paper however, the door swung open and lady Lamia admitted herself.
“Have you thought about what I said?” She asked as she swept in, full of the regal class that was her calling card. “I can’t stand him here… if you have one iota of respect for me you will send him away.”
“Zadore… You know we can’t, he is our son and I won’t have any more talk of this.” Thibeault responded, rubbing his temples habitually. “You mustn’t treat him like you do, it isn’t his fault, he is just a child.”
“Just a child? Your child perhaps, but no child of mine.” She retorted with a verbal slap.
“He is your child Zadore, and you must learn to love him as you would any child…” Thibeault responded, his voice cracking against his wife’s wrath.
“Any child? You’ll do it again then? Force yourself upon me? Make me carry an unwanted bastard?” She said snidely, knowing how much the one-time mistake pained him. “Must I continue to carry the little miscreant? All of our lives? You know what I heard from the gardener today? He found another squirrel buried in the yard, cut to shreds.”
“It’s not his fault!” Thibeault retorted, louder than he intended. “By the fucking Light Zadore… You treat him like a pariah. If you are going to hate anyone, please, continue hating me. He is just a boy, but I guarantee he knows full well how you feel.” He sighed, controlling the emotions that drove him towards tears. Regaining his composure, he continued: “Please, listen, Zadore, I cannot stop apologizing for that night. I know the drink was no excuse, but please, if you hate me this much just let us divorce and be done with this.”
Zadore smiled. It caused Thibeault to shirk back, her smile was terrifying. Others considered her smile charming and comely; Thibeault knew better.
“No… No. No. No. Dearest, dearest husband.” She said as she floated closer, sliding into his lap. His knuckles began to turn white from his grip on the chair. “No you are mine, for as long as I want you, you arrogant ass. And that little bastard is just my punishment from the Light I suppose, for making the mistake of trusting a piece of filth like you.”
She slid her fingers down his chest, undoing and opening his breeches. He tried to push her away, but she forced him down. “Remember, lay a finger on me and the rumors of your abuses will spread like wildfire.” She stared with hatred into his eyes, her fingers scratching down his exposed thigh until blood blossomed and dripped. “And what would they think of you, a monster who so cruelly torments his wife? Divorce you? Why would I possibly want that? No you fucking piece of shit, I own you. Say another fucking word about divorce and I will ruin you utterly.”
He tried to resist her touch. Drunkenly and with full knowledge of how much he hated her for it, she forced herself upon him. Grasping his manhood, with no regard for his pain, but despite his best wishes, her touch and physicality overwhelmed his terror and repugnance. He manhood responded in opposition to his will, as she knew it would, and she showed him once more how much control over him she really had. He tried to turn his head away, but she scratched him again, demanding his full attention.
The door behind him creaked, and thankfully she paused her show of dominance momentarily. He didn’t turn, couldn’t turn, as she wouldn’t allow him to cover himself as he sat in his overstuffed plush office chair.
“What do you want?” Zadore spat, venom and hate in her voice.
“I… I just wanted to say goodnight to father…” The small voice of the young Isley Lamia whispered into the room.
“Well, say it then and be off with you… monster…” She hissed at the boy.
“Good… good night father…” Isley whimpered out. “Are you and mother fighting? I heard shouts.”
“No...” Thibeault’s voice nearly cracked. “No son, we aren’t fighting. Now go to sleep.” He desperately wanted to tell his son he loved him, but knew his wife would punish him for treating him kindly in her presence.
Isley responded with a practiced: “Yes father...” Disappearing and pulling the door closed.
Zadore resumed her puissance. Smearing the evidence off of her hand and across Thibeault’s shirt when she was through. She slapped him playfully, rubbing the last of it across his face. “Now you think about what I said… He is your fucking kid, and he is a vile little shit, no matter what you say.” She stood, and went towards the door. “What do you expect, from a monstrous rape like you subjected me to; bringing anything other than a wretch into this world?”
After she had left him, Thibeault sat stunned, struggling to find something at hand to clean himself up. He couldn’t be seen in this state, and he recoiled at the thought of a servant stumbling across him. He wallowed, and cried. For himself, and for Isley… It wasn’t his fault dammit… It wasn’t his fault…
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Thibeault Lamia walked confidently down the assembly halls. Another debate, another rousing victory for the Lamia family and the Empire as a whole. The Grand Duchess consistently reviled stooping to what she called: “too kindly trade agreements with the colonists”. It was quite a feat, between Thibeault and some other level headed voices he had managed to broker a rather excellent agreement between Kiva and the Meliorans, despite all odds. He was excited to head home with the news.
Isaac would be proud, he had been so curious about the details this morning. Thibeault smiled despite himself as he strutted down the crowded halls. Isaac was turning twelve this year, and he was one of the most astute children Thibeault had ever had the pleasure of knowing.
It wasn’t just that he was his father, he was more than confident in his impartiality. Isaac was truly something special. He was smarter, stronger, and more fit to lead than most of the doddering old codgers that shared these council halls. He had three children, but it was moments like these that Isaac came most strongly to his thoughts.
He traveled home, just as the sun was settling into its auburn colors. His eldest was watching the road and greeted him as he entered their not modest domicile.
“How did it go dad? Did they agree to shift the trade schedules to follow a more perennial pattern like you suggested?” Isaac bubbled out, before Thibeault could even set his satchel down.
“They did! It went very very well.” Thibeault responded, a wide grin stretched cheerfully across his face.
The grin didn’t last too much longer, his wife, the ever lovely Mrs. Lamia, appeared in the doorway to the study. She was wearing a strikingly resplendent gown, sequined and showing the appropriate amount of class and wealth for a woman of her position. Thibeault shuddered, but managed to maintain his composure as he did every evening. Her attire was sensual, she sought to torment him further tonight then…
“Did you ensure that our holdings will be given preferential timeslots in the routes?” Zadore asked flatly. “Isaac. Go wash for dinner, and find Isabelle and Isley, tell them we shall be dining within the hour.” She continued, mirthlessly serious, as was her usual tone.
“Yes ma’am.” Isaac responding, dropping his smile and moving hastily, as he knew he must when his mother demanded action.
Thibeault's smile dropped as well. He slid into his usual personality for engaging with his… wife… “Yes dear. The holdings will be treated preferentially.” He said as emotionlessly as he could bring to bear. “I expect our relative control of the grain supply for next season to rise by at least three percent…”
Thibeault trailed off as his other two children gently tested poking their heads down the stairs.
“Dinner. Wash.” Zadora stated, noting their presence but not turning her head. Her voice was cold and flat, the same bitterness creeping in that always came to a point around the youngest.
Isabelle and Isley scurried up the stairs with the fearful tentativeness of children who knew their place.
Thibeault went to wash up himself, and found himself taking as much time as he could, as he often did, in the relative peace and solitude before dinner.
Before long, the family gathered in the dining room. Servants brought forth the evening’s meal, as chosen by his wife. Plain and flavorless, she delighted in denying him the flavorful dishes he loved so much. Once he had been a vibrant vivacious individual. From time to time he pondered the man he was before his marriage, and how she had degraded him to whom he was today. He was known in his youth for his appetites. Food, fights, sports, debates, sex, he couldn’t get enough of life and all it had to offer. Now he could barely bring himself to eat more than half of his unappetizing dinner under the judgemental gaze of the woman he once thought he loved.
Dinner went peacefully at least. Isabelle spoke of her lessons in dance and decorum. She was only ten, but already she showed so many traits of her mother. It pained Thibeault's heart to see the babe he had once held and kissed when she was hurt to be turning so cold and standoffish. Already she commanded the servants with cruelty, and Zadore encouraged her in her ruthless rise to stand above her peers.
Isaac was lively as always, speaking about his friends and adventures and the fun of the day. Despite the unhappy aura that permeated the home, somehow the boy managed to keep such a positive and happy outlook. He was always peppy and positive. Thibeault couldn’t imagine where he would be without his eldest son’s smile every day.
Isley knew better than to speak at the table of course. Thibeault felt terrible for his youngest boy. It wasn’t his fault that Zadore looked at him with such revulsion. It was Thibeault’s…
The dinner passed and the children were sent to their rooms. Zadore had imbibed a bottle and a half of wine, and Thibeault cursed under his breath. He had no excuses to avoid her this night.
Thibeault retired wordlessly to his study, hoping beyond hope that his wife would not be haunting him this evening as he knew she would. Before he had managed to even put pen to paper however, the door swung open and lady Lamia admitted herself.
“Have you thought about what I said?” She asked as she swept in, full of the regal class that was her calling card. “I can’t stand him here… if you have one iota of respect for me you will send him away.”
“Zadore… You know we can’t, he is our son and I won’t have any more talk of this.” Thibeault responded, rubbing his temples habitually. “You mustn’t treat him like you do, it isn’t his fault, he is just a child.”
“Just a child? Your child perhaps, but no child of mine.” She retorted with a verbal slap.
“He is your child Zadore, and you must learn to love him as you would any child…” Thibeault responded, his voice cracking against his wife’s wrath.
“Any child? You’ll do it again then? Force yourself upon me? Make me carry an unwanted bastard?” She said snidely, knowing how much the one-time mistake pained him. “Must I continue to carry the little miscreant? All of our lives? You know what I heard from the gardener today? He found another squirrel buried in the yard, cut to shreds.”
“It’s not his fault!” Thibeault retorted, louder than he intended. “By the fucking Light Zadore… You treat him like a pariah. If you are going to hate anyone, please, continue hating me. He is just a boy, but I guarantee he knows full well how you feel.” He sighed, controlling the emotions that drove him towards tears. Regaining his composure, he continued: “Please, listen, Zadore, I cannot stop apologizing for that night. I know the drink was no excuse, but please, if you hate me this much just let us divorce and be done with this.”
Zadore smiled. It caused Thibeault to shirk back, her smile was terrifying. Others considered her smile charming and comely; Thibeault knew better.
“No… No. No. No. Dearest, dearest husband.” She said as she floated closer, sliding into his lap. His knuckles began to turn white from his grip on the chair. “No you are mine, for as long as I want you, you arrogant ass. And that little bastard is just my punishment from the Light I suppose, for making the mistake of trusting a piece of filth like you.”
She slid her fingers down his chest, undoing and opening his breeches. He tried to push her away, but she forced him down. “Remember, lay a finger on me and the rumors of your abuses will spread like wildfire.” She stared with hatred into his eyes, her fingers scratching down his exposed thigh until blood blossomed and dripped. “And what would they think of you, a monster who so cruelly torments his wife? Divorce you? Why would I possibly want that? No you fucking piece of shit, I own you. Say another fucking word about divorce and I will ruin you utterly.”
He tried to resist her touch. Drunkenly and with full knowledge of how much he hated her for it, she forced herself upon him. Grasping his manhood, with no regard for his pain, but despite his best wishes, her touch and physicality overwhelmed his terror and repugnance. He manhood responded in opposition to his will, as she knew it would, and she showed him once more how much control over him she really had. He tried to turn his head away, but she scratched him again, demanding his full attention.
The door behind him creaked, and thankfully she paused her show of dominance momentarily. He didn’t turn, couldn’t turn, as she wouldn’t allow him to cover himself as he sat in his overstuffed plush office chair.
“What do you want?” Zadore spat, venom and hate in her voice.
“I… I just wanted to say goodnight to father…” The small voice of the young Isley Lamia whispered into the room.
“Well, say it then and be off with you… monster…” She hissed at the boy.
“Good… good night father…” Isley whimpered out. “Are you and mother fighting? I heard shouts.”
“No...” Thibeault’s voice nearly cracked. “No son, we aren’t fighting. Now go to sleep.” He desperately wanted to tell his son he loved him, but knew his wife would punish him for treating him kindly in her presence.
Isley responded with a practiced: “Yes father...” Disappearing and pulling the door closed.
Zadore resumed her puissance. Smearing the evidence off of her hand and across Thibeault’s shirt when she was through. She slapped him playfully, rubbing the last of it across his face. “Now you think about what I said… He is your fucking kid, and he is a vile little shit, no matter what you say.” She stood, and went towards the door. “What do you expect, from a monstrous rape like you subjected me to; bringing anything other than a wretch into this world?”
After she had left him, Thibeault sat stunned, struggling to find something at hand to clean himself up. He couldn’t be seen in this state, and he recoiled at the thought of a servant stumbling across him. He wallowed, and cried. For himself, and for Isley… It wasn’t his fault dammit… It wasn’t his fault…
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