Deviation Actions
Literature Text
When Theresa regained consciousness she had a pounding headache and she felt completely drained of energy. Her eyes focused and above her she saw a canopy she didn't recognize. Suddenly alert she sat up, looking left, then right, and then wincing in pain. She looked down and saw bandages wrapped over her torso and around some of the major wounds on her shoulders. Thankfully whoever had applied the bandages hadn't removed the bindings on her chest. Being more careful this time, Theresa lifted herself out of bed and walked towards a chair she had seen when she first observed her surroundings. Her lavender dress was draped over the back of the chair, and upon closer inspection it had been repaired almost flawlessly. She put the dress back on and left the room, curious as to where she was and who rescued her. Nothing looked familiar until she came upon a particular set of wooden double doors. They were the doors to Ciel Phantomhive's study. 'So,' she thought to herself, 'Ciel and the demon butler were my rescuers.' Theresa reached for the doorknob when she heard voices from the other side.
"The criminals have been handed over to Scotland Yard."
"Very good. And what about-"
"The corpses were properly disposed of, my lord." Theresa opened the door and saw Ciel sitting at his desk with Sebastian standing on the other side. The two of them turned and Sebastian flashed a smile at Theresa. "Ah Theresa, it's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"
Before she could respond Theresa felt a pair of arms wrap themselves tightly around her. "Theresa, I'm so glad you're okay!"
"Undertaker?" Sure enough, Undertaker had Theresa caught in a tight embrace. He quickly released his grip and regained his composure. Theresa turned back to Ciel. "I'm feeling fine, young master. Might I ask how long I was unconscious?"
"Two days. Some of your injuries were quite severe."
"Well, I don't want to be an inconvenience, so I'll be taking my leave now."
"Are you sure you don't want to rest some more Theresa?" Undertaker asked.
Theresa shook her head. "I can rest back at the funeral parlor. Let's go." She walked out of the room and Undertaker decided it was in his best interest to follow her. The two of them didn't bother with a carriage and just walked all the way back to the city together. When they reached the edge of town clouds started rolling in and a large breeze swept through the streets. Out of the corner of his eye Undertaker saw Theresa start to shiver. He undid the knot of the grey sash, lifted it off his shoulders and placed it around Theresa's. As she wrapped it further around her shoulders it slowly unfolded and formed a perfect shawl. "Thanks," she said.
"We can't have you catching a cold on top of your injuries, now can we?" The two of them continued their trek back to the funeral parlor. Once they arrived Theresa returned the grey sash to Undertaker. "Now how about some tea?" Theresa simply nodded her head and went upstairs to change out of her dress. When she came back downstairs Undertaker was in the process of brewing a pot of tea. "Ah, there you are. The tea's almost done, love." He took a step closer and placed an arm around her shoulders. Suddenly she drew back with a hiss, almost crouching into a fighting stance. Undertaker's eyes widened slightly at the reaction, and when Theresa saw his expression she softened her own stance.
"Sorry," she muttered.
"Quite alright," Undertaker said. An awkward silence followed, and he decided to change the subject. "So, something tells me you were really eager to leave that manor. Care to tell me why?"
Theresa shifted uncomfortably for a moment. "I didn't like the way Sebastian was looking at me. It was a look that was a mix of pity and... something else. I don't know, maybe I was just imagining it." Undertaker shrugged; he didn't see any such look from the butler, but then again he wasn't really looking at him, his focus was more on Theresa. The kettle began to boil and Undertaker stopped his thoughts so he could focus on the tea. Theresa watched in silence as he prepared two beakers of the steaming liquid. When they were finished they sat in the main room and drank while sitting atop coffins, talking about nothing in particular. As they talked Theresa tried to get the horror of the last mission out of her head, but it wasn't really working. Alfonso had no hesitation in his eyes as he "played" with her, only lust; it made Theresa shudder just thinking about it.
The talking continued until the sun disappeared below the rooftops. As the funeral parlor darkened Theresa decided it was time to get some sleep. She said goodnight to Undertaker and went upstairs to her own room. After changing into her nightshirt she carefully crawled into bed and drifted off to sleep with little effort. However the dream that came to her that night was nothing short of terrifying.
Theresa ran through pure darkness in the tattered lavender dress, her breathing short and every part of her body burning from the effort to run as fast as possible. The more she ran the more the skirt of her dress wrapped itself around her ankles. She tripped and fell into the darkness, tumbling blindly until out of nowhere arms grabbed her torso and pulled her into a vice-like embrace. As she tried to free herself her captor chuckled darkly. "Struggling makes it worse, my dear." Theresa gasped and her eyes widened in realization.
"Alfonso," she said in a raspy voice that almost didn't sound like her own. "Let me go right now." She was forcefully turned around and made to look into Alfonso's eyes.
"So now you decide to put up a fight, after your collogues have seen how weak you really are? That's pathetic." His mouth curled into a devilish smirk, revealing a set of gleaming white fangs. With a sudden lunge, he bit into her shoulder like an animal, pulling away fabric and flesh. Theresa screamed in pain, and Alfonso spit out the piece of her skin and leaned towards her face, close enough to kiss her. "See, you are a weakling. Do you think I'm wrong? Then let's play a game; each time you scream, I get to hurt you some more. Won't that be fun?" He reached a hand across her back, gently caressing it. The motion was actually quite soothing until his hand raced back downward and scratched deep gouges into her skin. Theresa arched her back and did her best to resist, but she still screamed. Alfonso clicked his tongue shamefully, reached down to her legs, just above the knee, and ripped away the left half of her skirt, gouging into her skin once again. Just like the first time Theresa cried out involuntarily. The so-called game continued like this for what seemed like forever. After each scream there would be a passionate embrace quickly interrupted by clawing hands which lead to more screaming. When it seemed like there was nothing left to rip apart Alfonso reached his hand toward Theresa's neck, his fingers gliding softly across the untouched skin. Theresa knew if his claws ripped that flesh away it would be all over.
"Please don't," she whimpered, her voice once again not sounding like her own.
"You really are worthless," Alfonso said, "You don't even deserve a death like this. His hand left her neck and in a flash his fangs latched on instead. As the flesh pulled away within Alfonso's jaw Theresa screamed again.
Suddenly Theresa jolted awake, panicked and trembling. As she tried to calm her breathing she heard a furious knock at her bedroom door. "Come in," she called out weekly. The door flew open and Undertaker entered quickly, dressed in loose black pants and a dark grey shirt. His hat was nowhere to be seen, but the bangs still covered his face, and his mouth was curved into a deeply concerned frown.
"Theresa, what's wrong?" He stepped closer to the bed.
"Nothing. It was just a nightmare," she said shakily. Undertaker tried to wrap his arms comfortingly around Theresa, but she recoiled swiftly. "Stay away from-ah!" Her sentence was cut short by a cry of pain. Undertaker looked closer and in the dim lighting saw blood seeping through her nightshirt; Theresa must have thrashed around in her sleep and reopened her wounds. Swiftly but quietly, Undertaker left the room and retrieved new bandages. When he returned Theresa had laid back down on the bed and wrapped her arms around her torso, whether it was out of pain or an attempt to stop the bleeding he didn't know. He sat on the bed next to her and tried to sit her up. "Don't touch me," she said weakly.
"I'm sorry, but we need to change your bandages," he said with a little force. Theresa gave a silent nod of understanding and sat up. There was so much blood Undertaker was forced to rip the shirt to get it off of Theresa's body. After the shirt was out of the way the bandages were next. As he slowly unraveled them he started to feel guilty, and when the bandages were all gone he felt even worse. Beneath the blood was a cruel piece of artwork; several cuts lashed their way in various directions across her back, crisscrossing every now and then. The bruises were large and frequent, their edges deceptively soft, as if someone had applied blue and purple paint and simply blended outward. As Undertaker continued to look at Theresa's back he thought he could feel the pain from the injuries himself, almost like he was being punished for witnessing such cruelty. He began to wrap the new bandages around Theresa, slowly covering the cuts and bruises. As he applied them he spoke to Theresa with a soft voice. "Tell me about the dream."
"It was one of the Italians who captured me. He was ripping me apart with...let's call it deadly passion...every time I screamed he would hold me tenderly and then claw away another piece of me. It was all a game to him, a sick and twisted game. The whole time he kept calling me weak...and pathetic..." After she choked out the details Theresa's body began to shake with sobs. Undertaker finished wrapping the bandages, and although instinct was telling him to try and comfort her again, he knew she didn't want to be touched. That no good, filthy Italian; this was low, even by human standards! Now he understood why Theresa had been so apprehensive toward being touched ever since she woke up. It was because of what that man had almost done to her.
He picked up Theresa's old nightshirt from beside her. "This won't do. It's not even worth repairing." He thought for a moment, and then said, "Wait here." Undertaker left the room and returned a few moments later with a long black dress shirt. He helped Theresa slowly put it on, guiding her arms into the sleeves. She didn't move after she had the shirt on.
"Thanks," she mumbled. There was another long pause before Undertaker spoke again.
"You're not weak, you know."
"How do you know that?"
"Because I've had three months to see you excel at your work for the young earl. No weak person could do what you do every day." Undertaker replied. He was sincere about what he said. Despite the compliment Theresa continued to weep until Undertaker gently took her shoulders and laid her back down on the bed.
"What are you-"
"Shhhh. You'll be of no use to anyone if you're tired and stressed. Now lie down." Once she was laying down he stood,walked to the other side of the bed, and slid under the covers next to Theresa. Part of him said this was out of line, but the other side told him that this was the right thing to do. Theresa needed to know there were men out there who wouldn't treat her the way Alfonso did. He gently wrapped his arms around Theresa and he felt her tense up. He brushed her bangs away from her face and looked her in the eye. "Theresa, I promise I'm not going to hurt you." Undertaker knew that she knew that, but he needed to promise her, not remind her.
Theresa relaxed and let herself be pulled into Undertaker's embrace. Experience told her this was wrong; no man should be this kind to her, could be this kind to her. Then why did it feel right? She pushed it out of her mind and tried to focus on sleep. As she rested her head against Undertaker's chest, an interesting scent reached her. The smell of lilies and oak wood emanated from the man laying next to her. Theresa expected him to smell like embalming chemicals or some other strange odor, but this was a pleasant surprise. It was like she was being shown the beauty of death through other senses, a beauty only a man like Undertaker could show to her. Thinking about beauty was enough to help Theresa relax. That night she was lulled to sleep with the relaxing aroma and the steady, comforting beat of Undertaker's heart.
