September 1 MS

As Flash flailed uselessly, air unable to make it to his diaphram. Marion keenly reminded him of how dire his situation was, to his dismay. It had been a regular walk, merely a way to get away from the noise and crowd. He hadn't told anyone where he had gone. In fact, he had wanted to be alone. The professors had warned about hags in the forest directly, told everyone to stick to groups, but Flash always made his own rules. What were the chances anyone else was wandering around the grounds on the first day of school-- any at all? The desperation was starting to sink in, though he didn't want to make it obvious, if possible.

She was too close. Too happy. It was revolting, giving him painful goosebumps down his neck and shoulders. It was the same feeling he had moments before Selim plunged a knife in his hand, the body recognizing that it needed to brace itself for pain. He wouldn't cease to struggle, though the inability to get her off of him reminded him of Selim's ironicly helpful advice: that he would only exhaust himself if he struggled. The alternative-- simply sitting there and taking whatever was coming to him-- was not an option Flash accepted. He couldn't, he'd rather die being a nuisance than purely a victim.

Incapable of getting to his wrists, or even managing the bare minimum of escape efforts, Marion had plenty of opportunity to unbutton his shirt, which would lead to the moment his abdomen had already clenched for. Unexpectedly, it burned. Never having been the type able to simply grit his teeth and bear it, Flash would cry out like a dying animal, until his voice went hoarse. Maybe someone would hear. Maybe not. The end of whatever she had done left the sensation of warm wetness on his chest that cooled in the autumn breeze. His head felt dazed momentarily, his first instinct when reality was far too much was to remove himself and disassociate completely, but as Marion had so kindly reminded him, there was no one coming to save him. He had to be be present, at least as long as possible.

It would sting, then it would throb, this terrible pain at the autumn breeze blew over his raw flesh. The pain from the mark was not the point, that was merely amusement to the sadist. The point was a link, a link to the boy's comings and goings, to drain a bit of his vitality each and every day. A terrifying prospect, this weight that would sit on his chest and draw from him a bit of his life, take from him his dreams, leaving him tired after a full night's sleep. Yet this meant one thing in particular -- Flash was going to live, even if he did not want to. Even if he should not.

Flash was not the sort to just lay there and take it. Not a fatalist by nature. By no means a masochist. This was a do or quite possibly die scenario. He was not going to fade gently into the night, he needed to fight... to fight against the dying light.

Flash attempts to buck Marion off.
Strength (Flash) (+7) (-2) 6
Strength (Marion) (+5) 15

This was not Flash Holmwood's day as he mustered the strength to try. She held him in place, her weight, her uncanny, seemingly inhuman strength kept him pinned to the ground. Her palm would plant itself on his head, her palm unpleasantly moist from Holmwood's blood. Sticky, the scent of his blood pervaded the air, he did not require the nose of a bloodhound to learn or recognize that scent.

"I am not done with you dear," she announced to the screaming teen. Her hand which was holding his head firmly against the ground would shift. (Graphic Content Warning) Her long, piano-player fingers would attempt to pull the skin about his eye upward, forcing his left open. Her other hand, her palm would roughly pull the skin about his cheek downward. A pointed finger pointed at his eye. The pointed finger would plunge and attempt to skewer that lovely bauble and attempt to pluck the decorative organ from his skull. Thankfully she had one to replace the one she had taken from him, a fine brown one. Perhaps not quite as pretty as the one she had taken.

Dichromacy
Flash as one brown eye and one blue (color taken from your bio). the brown replacement eye occasionally glances at things that Flash does not intend to look at. He would on occasion see things in his periphery, dark shadows or movement but when he focuses there he would see nothing. That not being the worst part, the worst part being that the hag can see what Flash sees through this eye. As for his real eye, the one Marion plucked out. It will be used to create an item that will likely end up in someone else's possession at a later time. You will not want them to damage it.

"There-there, one out and another in... so much better, you look so very lovely," she had an almost motherly tone when she said that.

It was no use. He tried, he really tried. He hadn't hesitated to resist, had made every effort to do anything at all, but it had been in vain. Perhaps it wasn't the effort that had been wasted, but the panic inside him he could never seem to overcome when it mattered the most. Shortness of breath, frantic instability. It was demoralizing, to say the least. He'd try to wrestle out from under her in spite of the searing pain, the brisk air illuminating wetness from his eyes, possibly the last tears at least one of them would shed.

Like putting putting one's hands up to stop a typhoon, Flash would try to jerk his head away, kick his legs, grab at her dress with his fingers as his wrists still sat in unflinching bonds. He wouldn't manage coherent speech, besides what could be interpreted as something like 'stop' and 'no'. The meaning would be drowned out in the high-pitched whining of fearful anticipation. Her hand just inched closer, pried away his futile resistances, until the deed was done. There would be a lot more shameless screaming and bawling, but he could be forgiven for making a scene this time. It wasn't as though anyone was there to ridicule him, or call him weak. Just a heartless beast, whose opinion of him was more absent of substance than ash.

At some point in the process, his mind would blank. Intense pain had that effect some times, his remaining eye would dilate, his heart would beat rapidly, his skin would start to take on a cold pallor as compared to his usual suntanned complexion. He was disoriented. Nauseous. The smell of blood and the sounds of anguish would feel separate and distant. He recalled the foxes his brother had strung up over summer, freshly skinned fur and the smell of death.

It wouldn't last, being on his back and having the warmth of Marion's body on him would prevent him from going into complete shock, for better or for worse. A foreign element now in his body, he had the urge to touch his face, to placate the throbbing pain. Failure to do so would only remind him of his helplessness. He barely had enough energy to continue screaming, as it would gently quiet into involuntary sobbing.

"Shut up!" He would choke out in feeble retaliation.

Woefully conscious, Flash would continue his work. He didn't want to see how much more mangled Marion wanted to make him. Until he lost consciousness, he would push.

@Flash Holmwood

"You don't really understand any of this do you," Marion cooed. His replacement eye was rather striking; an improvement really in her opinion. "Poor soul," she announced with a matronly tone. Her hand clasped at his jaw as she forced his head side to side as if she was assessing her handiwork. Somehow satisfied, she was not going to explain what he did not understand. Perhaps she was simply cruel, a monstrous hag that took pleasure in the boy's suffering.

Well, that was not entirely wrong.

Flash would try to buck Marion off again, another desperate bid for freedom. To escape her grip, to escape his suffering. His fresh eye burned and the flesh of his breast throbbed. The creature upon him wa unyielding, durable and far from a feather-weight.

The rule of three would rule here as well, a terrible cosmic law that a hag would abide. First, his heart upon which she seared her miserable memory. Second, his eye, now hers. His replaced with another that would grant his monstrous matron vision of the places he goes, the company he keeps... Yet the final curse oddly enough would be the most cruel.

She would lean down, her lips would graze his ear as she whispered a final curse into his ear. "Poisoned be your little tongue, let it end your small life's song" The heat of her breath could be felt as the dark curse was laid upon him and then sealed with a single kiss.

To look at Marion, one might covet such a physical act. Her vanity had served her well, granted her a lovely face and a comely form. There might be some freaks who even like having their back planted on the ground as passionate liberties are taken. However, this was not a carnal act. It was a deal being sealed. A union of orifices' would give the sense of being tugged from deep inside. As if his breath was being stolen, His lungs being gripped by an unseen hand. A sense of being suffocated over the protracted duration of the kiss. His freedom would be granted at the cost of a kiss, for when it broke and left the poor boy breathless, she would pull herself off of him. Their tryst complete. Jurgen too far to be pursued, Flash too fatigued to fight and Marion walking away with everything that she wanted.

She never wanted to kill Flash Holmwood, his meat was far too aged, no longer tender or sweet. Yet his scent was appealing, appetizing in fact. A boy who did not see himself as a hero or a villain, who resided in a house of ambition. His potential was often denied as he tarried on, playing the white knight. Attempted to save, to solve and to service. No, she had better uses for her newest plaything.

Flash -- there are some roleplay challenges ahead for you.

When your character communicates with another player or NPC roll a d20 plus your wisdom and compare this to the people that our character is talking to (wisdom + 1d20). If the result equals or if your result is less, the person you were speaking to takes extreme offense to whatever the PC says, no matter the topic. The person may then refuse to help you, serve you, talk to you and may even try to fight you, depending on the character.

Does the Curse take hold?
Wisdom (Marion) (+15)
Wisdom (Flash) (+15)

Only, this of all the spells and bondage that affected him would not take hold. Flash would still possess the power to make allies. To form some sort of defense. However, the advantage remained still with the hag who had been planning, plotting and prepared for this eventuality. In fact, she basically proclaimed on this day exactly what she was. There had to be a terrible purpose, an intention that unfortunately Flash would come to soon learn.

For the purposes of you knowing your injuries and changes, she ends here. There is a three compulson and she has no way of knowing the last would not work. She gets off of you and walks away. Gather yourself, flee and plot your revenge. You ended this scenario with full memory of the encounter. There was no attempt to prevent you from remembering.

The last bit of his effort was no different than the many efforts before, he was not going to escape. Again. Despite what he was certain had just happened, he could still see. Pain signals, a loudly beating heart, sorrow. He could hardly recall the fire he had started the conflict with, as it had burned away all the fuel left inside of him and gone silent. Now, all he felt was weak. His only desire was release, his thoughts now fixated on escape. He read in one of Valerius' books that in the moment before death, there are signs of one final dream, an explosion of neurons firing off before being silenced. In this dream, would he imagine he got away?

Instead of that dream, he heard Marion talk about poison, right before latching onto his mouth. There's no need to go into further gory detail about the horror he felt, nor the intense pain still wracking across his body. It would simply happen, and by sheer will alone, Flash would barely be able to keep his mind. Arguably, forgetting could be seen as merciful. Ignorance had always seemed enviable while in the grips of despair. Still, he would save whatever vestige he could.

After that, the weight lifted off of him, his lungs filled back up with sputtering coughs, and he rolled over finally, well enough to see her whimsically walking away in that dress of hers. Light, carefree. He was alone again, the lack of struggle making him aware of the sound of the water's edge nearby and the birds off in the distant forest. Even further away, his peers in the castle were going about their day as normal. Was it dinner time yet? He didn't know.

It would take time, but eventually the tape would be ripped at the cuffs. Once his hands were free, a 'diffindo' would free his legs as if it were nothing. Neither of them had taken his wand away, which was good. Maybe it was good. Maybe nothing would ever be good again. Gravity felt heavier, the ground unstable. He'd touch his face first, blood was smeared all over it, some of it dried, caked. His clothes were disheveled, further blood staining it from the heart. He would have to clean up, before he started a panic.

One would think this scenario might indeed be a justifiable cause for panic, but Flash couldn't handle that. People asking him what happened, yelling and running around. He just wanted a shower. He would look in the mirror after that. Before that, he just had to get up and move. 'Scourgify' and move on. He could cry about it after he was under the blankets.