A Blasphemous Whore

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“Whore!”

“You dare claim you carry the child of the All-Father?”

“Whore!”

“If this is true, why won’t our Supreme Lord appear to validate your proclamation?”

“Whore!”

“Because you are a whore that speaks not but blasphemy!”

“Whore!”

“You succumb to your lustful needs, laid with a man or several men, and spread allegations you were impregnated by the All-Father?!”

“Whore!”

“You disgrace us! You disgrace the Supreme Lord Atriarch!”

“Whore!”

Their fists were remorseless as they struck me.

My fingernails were ripped off one-by-one.

They tied me to a rack and set fire to the soles of my feet.

They flogged me until the bones of my back were exposed through ribbons of flesh.

They rubbed salt and lemon juice into my wounds.

They kicked and stomped on me for hours when their fists tired.

They demanded to know who the father was.

They wanted to the name of the man who I broke my vow of celibacy for.

I kept telling them it was your child.

I kept telling them it was you who I laid with.

Yet they kept calling me a whore.

They tied me to the rack once more and whipped me, only this time it was across my swollen belly.

Not once did I cry out or scream, but I did when knowing the life of our child was in danger

I called out to you. I begged you to save me.

I pleaded for you to make them stop and declare that the babe growing inside of me was yours.

You listened not.

They grew tired of waiting for me to speak.

They grabbed me by the hair, dragged me from their torture chambers and tied me behind a horse.

The beast charged into the woods.

My body bounced violently across rocks, stones and the dirt floor.

The rope binding me to the horse snapped, and I tumbled down a steep hill.

And now here I lie, comforted by the shadows within this deep, dank cavern having survived an unjust tribulation.

It hurts to move.

It hurts to breath.

My limbs are numb.

My mind is exhausted.

Whore…

That word pierced me deeper than any sharp blade ever could.

That word hurt me more than any other torture.

Is that what I was to you?

A whore, just like all of those other women you claimed as your wives?

When you left you said you would watch over me from the Realm of Light.

Did you watch as those I once called family violated me with their heinous tools?

Did you not hear my pleas to save me and save your child over the insults they shouted?

Whore…

Whore!

Is that all I was to you?!

Was this punishment for not allowing you to remain inside of me for eternity?!

Do you only see me as a prize?!

Do you not see me as the mother of your child?!

Despite the pain, despite the suffering, I am still with your child.

I can feel its tiny heart beating inside of me.

He is strong.

He is a survivor.

Just like his mother.

Yes, a boy.

That is what you wanted, is it not? A son?

I will give birth to your, no, my son, and he shall never know who his father is. You will never get to know him.

Perhaps then you will regret not coming to the aid of your family.

Perhaps then you will regret not defending me from their accusations.

Perhaps then you will regret not stopping them from calling a word that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Whore…

— “The Elysia Monologues: A Blasphemous Whore”, Bruce Boward, 216 AO

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