Phantom Pain

Her tired feet trudged on the dark streets. Every bone and sinew in her body protested with each step, her limit had really hit the bottom. She had been pretending to be fine this whole time when they left the Spas. Vivian was a kind person, but she could never know the kind of hell Maria went through. But even so, she was patient. The agony threatened to cause her to shatter in pieces with each dogged step, sharp hiss, and ragged breath she made. It was as if her very body was made of glass. She could feel the familiar sensation of something cutting to her skin...


A familiar Abigail stood before her in front of the gate. Despite the inky darkness of the night, the moonlight was able to reveal to Maria the soft smile face on the nun's features. It was almost as if she were reveling in the Cadet's apparent pain. She ignored the venomous message behind those curled lips. But she couldn't ignore her superior either.


Her voice, while as sweet as honey, had the smug bitterness of wormwood. Maria had no answer for her, intent to not give her any satisfaction of a conversation. It wasn't as if the Forgotten could, all of her effort was directed to keep herself together and to not start screaming and flailing from her condition. But the more she wasted time outside of the Church, the more tempting it was to drop everything. And it wasn't like it wasn't going to stop getting worse either.


The sound of footsteps betrayed the voice's owner. From the distance, it would normally be difficult to spot who was behind the pale-headed nun. Yet the soft moonlight revealed who it was. Abigail's soft expression soured upon seeing who it was as Maria, despite the discomfort and pain, started to smile gently.


"Good evening, Father Jorge. What brings you here?
Don't you have a homily to work on before returning to the Vatican?"  


The venom started to seem ever apparent in the small curl of her lips. "It seems the Subject has been drinking as of late. How about you explain yourself? I thought you were thinking of taking your vows in the future?"  

Maria was silent. Words couldn't spill through her lips. Her very nerves were in conflagration, all energy sapped, except from her strength of will to stay conscious. She had no defense for her actions. The Cadet only closed her eyes, accepting what punishment would come. "Drinking? Well, I can't say I blame her. The Princess has put in a good word for her just recently. I think that warrants a celebration for our Cause, Abigail. And after all, she hasn't taken her vows yet. Though I hope you will practice some prudence, Maria. You're a bit too young to be drinking now."

Jorge's face had a slight disapproving visage at her, but it had a rueful smile. A smile, that Maria returned back with pained gratitude.

"Sir, you're being overindulg--"  


The gentle rugged features of the cleric now began to shift to a firm one. While he had seem fairly whimsical at times, this was one moment where he wasn't taking no for an answer. Father Jorge was someone no person in this Church disobeyed so callously and certainly not so easily. Even the Mother Superior had to show a level of respect and acknowledgement to him. And clearly Abigail was no different as she bit her lip. She stoically turned and left, with a huff one would say. Jorge sighed at her retreating figure and looked back at Maria sympathetically. "Good work tonight. Do you need my help? You don't look alright."


The priest had the looks of someone who wished to protest, but he thought better. Maria trying to handle anything on her own wasn't anything new, she was just that stubborn. Instead, he relented and moved to the side to allow her some room.



There was agony and there was blood. All that time trying to suppress it all, it finally broke down.

Everything inside her began to crack even deeper. With each fissure, it was the widening of a fault that dug deeper into her core of being. All that nestled inside her body screeched and writhed in sheer agony as the tattoos on her body emanated a glow in the pitch blackness of her room. Maria tried all she could to keep herself together. But all she could remember and think about was the pain.

View At Your Own Discretion:

Not just a single source, but multiple. The body that made up Maria Woodsworth continued to remind itself what it experienced. The greedy bites of the demon that had devoured her family and the uncaring incisions from the scalpel from the procedures were both embedded memories. It threatened to drive her mad as it continued to remind her. It wasn't like the very pain was causing her damage, it was just memory. Yet, it was pain, nevertheless. Her nails started to dig into herself as she grit her teeth, ripping and tearing the fleshy surface. At the same time, it was recovering from the damage due to Andraste's influence.

It went on for hours, like a karmic cycle of pain and healing, except the latter was on the bare surface. It seemed like an eternity for her, reviewing these painful experiences. Perhaps in her own way, she was growing mad from the pain. There was a growing need to forget, to escape, and to release. Yet, this room had none of this. And it seemed as if the Cadets would lose another, but it wouldn't be that easy. There was the Queen's blood and her very rage, but also a small picture frame on her desk. It faced her as she went through this trial. With tear-stricken eyes, they were transfixed what lay behind the glass layer.


The sunlight spilling through the stained glass window caused her to finally awake. Her room was completely disheveled, as if a wild beast had made its wrath apparent. The faint odor of metal drafted in the air. Near her was a syringe, completely used.


It was another day and the pain was gone. But Maria knew better than to think it wouldn't come back. This was her reality and her path as a Cadet and a tool. She was alone and she had to pick herself up. No one else can do that for her, not even Father Jorge.