Flash Fiction Friday (34)

Dottie over at Tink's Place have come up with the idea for a Monday Morning Flash Fiction challenge. Each Monday a new picture prompt will be posted and if you choose to participate you post your story on Friday - 350 words, give or take.

I have to thank Blodeuedd at Book Girl of Mur-y-Castell for introducing me to this fun meme. I don't know if I'll be able to keep up with every week, but I'll give it a try from time to time.

The Image This Week:

(artist of picture, unknown)

Story By:  Melissa

Sophia did the one thing she thought she would never do again, and came to accept it.  She opened her eyes. The world was fuzzy, but it was there.  Sophia blinked several times, and then held her eyes shut tight, to open them to a room draped with sheer material.  Sophia lay on a big bed looking through the view distorting material to see a man in a bright red robe.

"You wake."  He said in a calm, peace feeling voice.  "How do you feel?"

Sophia tried to speak, but only a croak whispered from her lips.  Her throat raw and dry, feeling like a dried date looked, from crying and screaming on that cliff they left her on.  Then, now, from sleeping.  She tried swallowing to bring the wetness to her tongue.  The man stood seeing her struggle, walked to a chest of drawers.  Sophia heard the splash of liquid in a cup, bringing urgent yearning to her body.

He handed her a clay cup with water throw the screen, as he watched her gulp the liquid down with a matching pitcher in his hand.  Sophia looked to him with the empty cup out toward him, she felt like one of the scavengers living in the pits of the city, almost ashamed of herself as she wiped her arm and hand across her mouth and chin but a starved body takes over its own mind and rational thinking to survive.  And she found she didn't care.  He filled her cup again, and again.

At last Sophia found her voice, with a nod of her head, "Thank you."  With a look around the brilliant room she went on, "Where am I?  Wha," she swallowed again, "What happened?"

The man's lips turned up, not really what she would call a smile but close. "You now belong to the Freya Order."

Sophia's head spun with wide eyes to the man, then she tried to slow and not show her shock or even fear.  "The, the goddess of beauty and love and, and magic?"

"The one," the man started with pride in his voice, "She is also of fertility and war."  Then he went on to the next subject standing and pointing to the body by the wall, "Your clothing was but rags from you prison on the cliff side, this is your new armor.  We will honor you once you are dressed properly.  Knock on the door three times when you are ready."  Then he walked from the room.

Sophia sat stunned for a moment.  She didn't know what to expect.  She had thought she was going to her death with the "sacrifice" she was left as, but never thought she would be cared for like a goddess.  That was the only explanation.  With ease Sophia unwrapped her legs from under her, sliding them through the silky curtains, standing on wobbly legs.

She walked to the "armor" by the wall, starring at it.  Sophia slowly donned the armor, careful to not cut herself on the sharp spikes on the shoulder and at the elbow and knee.  Once dressed, she looked down at herself, arms out to the side, her chest half exposed.  Bringing her hands together holding her new sword in front of her, she raised her head back resting it on the wall behind her starring at the ceiling.  This is no armor; it's ornamental, for these men to see a goddess with the combination of love, lust, and war.

Even though she's alive, what kind of live would she lead?