For the second time, she broke.

Five more times, they had stopped at an inn. Twelve more sessions of inconceivable torture. And that wasn’t even counting the bandits who had demanded a toll to pass, those three days ago. She had been the payment…for all fifty-three of them.

She had tried to remain strong for her master, to show him she was not weak, but after every instance, her body shook a little more, her heart quailed a little harder, her breath grew a little more haggard. She had tried, had done everything she could to cover her weakness but now, at some inn whose name she had not bothered to read in some empty corner of the coldest reaches of the empire, she could not cling any longer. The naked man, his dick throbbing and engorged, planted the orange-glowing poker into her cunt, searing her tender folds before slamming into her cervix. The world went white with pain, then fractured and fell in shards like broken glass.

Then she was back in the room, only she wasn’t. She floated behind and a little above her own body, which was bent over a table while the naked man shoved himself into her ass over and over. She couldn’t feel it or even hear it. All her senses had shut down, internal and ex. She watched the desecration of her body, watched the man strain and grunt and shudder before pulling out. He released her body and it slid to the floor, slumping in a heap as it landed, the poker still crammed inside. The man grunted and jabbed a toe into her back. His mouth moved. She couldn’t hear what he said, nor feel the prod, and could not have responded had she wanted to.

She didn’t want to. On the other hand, she didn’t NOT want to. Her cocoon didn’t feel peaceful because that would require her to feel something. She felt nothing – no pain, no joy, no peace, no despair. She observed because she had no choice – she did not have eyes to close – but could take no action, nor felt any compulsion to do so.

The man left the room. A moment later, Borkul entered. He said something as he dug a healing potion from his pack. He bent and grabbed the still-hot poker with his bare hand and tossed it without looking into the fireplace, then pulled her body up by her armpits. Her body responded as if by reflex, standing when he set her on her feet but betraying no other signs of life beyond shallow breathing and an occasional blink. Borkul said something as he held out the flask, then looked angry when she didn’t respond. He yelled at her blank face then struck her. Her body crumpled back to the floor and lay as it landed. She saw a momentary look of uncertainty on Borkul’s face. He picked her up and set her on her feet again and, as before, her body found its balance and stood. He held out the flask, speaking again. When there was no response, he tried setting the flask in her hand. It slipped through her numb fingers and fell to the floor. He picked it up, uncorked it, and tilted it into her mouth. Her body drank, reflexively swallowing the liquid that entered her mouth, though much of it spilled down her face since she made no effort to mold her lips to the lip of the flask.

She and Borkul both watched as the bruises on her body faded away and blood ceased flowing from her myriad cuts. He watched intently but she felt nothing and her cocoon remained. He spoke, then looked frustrated when she didn’t respond. He spoke again and started to walk toward the door, then turned around to find she had not moved. He turned a deep green that she had only seen a few times – he was beyond enraged. This knowledge did nothing to her – she felt no fear, no chagrin. His fist slammed into her face, breaking her nose. Blood trailed her body as it crashed to the floor. Her head bounced once, leaving a splotch of blood on the tile that was quickly covered by her hair. Her body lay as it had landed, her blank eyes pointed at the ceiling, her breathing unchanged.

He yanked her to her feet again, force fed her another potion. The bleeding stopped as her nose reformed. Still, she felt nothing. Borkul glared at her, said something, turned and stalked out of the room. Her body remained as he had placed it, moving not a hair in the indeterminate time he was away.

The door opened once again. Another customer. Borkul gestured, spoke, motioned around the room. The man nodded with enthusiasm as his eye drank in the scene. Then Borkul left, the door closed, and the man approached.

He spoke, then frowned after a moment when she did not respond. He spoke again, then slapped her. Her head turned with the blow, then stayed where it stopped, turned to the right, eyes staring blankly at the wall. The man frowned and spoke again, they reached out with a sudden move and gave her left nipple a sharp twist. She felt nothing and her body did not respond. The man looked shocked and backed up a few paces. He spoke, waited, spoke again, then moved to the door, opened it and stuck his head out for a few moments before pulling it back in and re-closing the door. He approached her body with a little more care, then reached out and jabbed a finger up her cunt. He shook his head as she remained still.

Some time later, with the poker this time crammed up her ass and several new knife cuts sending rivulets of blood down her skin, the frustrated man yanked his trousers up over his flaccid unused dick and stormed out of the room. Her body stood in place, her breath still even. It took more meaningless minutes for Borkul to re-enter the room, looking angrier than she had ever seen him, though his anger no longer held meaning for her. He yanked the poker from her and tossed it back into the fireplace but this time he didn’t take out a healing potion. He glowered at her, then picked up a bullwhip and slashed it across her back. Her lack of response only seemed to make him angrier, and the whip ripped into her flesh again and again, until it had left bleeding gouges in place of most of her skin. Eventually, he threw the whip to the floor with a shout she could not hear and stormed out the door.

Time had lost meaning just as much as feeling, so it could have been seconds, hours, or days before he returned. Enough time for the wounds on her body to stop bleeding and begin to scab over. Enough time for her body to release its waste, splashing over her legs and feet and the floor as it remained standing in the spot it had been placed. Borkul grimaced when he re-entered the room. He cast a look of disgust and dismay at her, then leaned out the door and shouted something. The innkeeper showed up, took one look at her and the room, and began shouting at Borkul, who responded in kind. After some time of this, money exchanged hands and the innkeeper left. Borkul said something and began to pack his things, then attached a lead to her body’s collar. When he tugged her forward, her body responded, again in reflex, by taking a step. He nodded and began walking. Every time the lead tightened and tugged, her body moved with it.

There were some trials with this system – when he went around corners, her body did not turn automatically to follow, so his tugs caused her to fall over. If he went faster than her automatic steps, she fell over, often getting dragged some distance before he realized what had happened.  He adjusted as they went, shortening her lead and pulling her arm to get her to turn when they reached corners.

Eventually they were outside, walking away from the town at her body’s slow pace. The sun passed overhead and dipped back below the horizon on the far side of the world, but Borkul did not stop except to occasionally put food in her mouth, which she reflexively chewed and swallowed. They continued as night fell, one slow but steady pace at a time. She felt neither fatigue nor pain, and he looked as if he could continue for days on end.

Dawn was just beginning to crack the eastern horizon when they came upon a group of wagons parked in a small block on the side of the road. Borkul made a beeline for them, tugging urgently enough that her body nearly fell over. A man with a sword stepped out as they approached and said something, then collapsed when Borkul’s fist connected with his head. The sound woke some of the others in the encampment and soon there was activity all about. Borkul ignored everything, including several more men who approached with weapons drawn. He stood in the center of the camp and yelled something. A moment later, he yelled it again. The rest of the camp turned as one toward the largest wagon, from which a man stepped down.

He was familiar – it was the man who had been with her when this unfeeling haze had come upon her. This knowledge did nothing to or for her – he may as well have been a stranger, for all her new self cared. Borkul, on the other hand, seemed to care a lot – he shouted at the man, who looked taken aback. Words were exchanged, the man grew angry, Borkul grew angrier, then suddenly there was motion – Borkul slammed a fist into the man’s face, and he and his flattened nose crumped to the ground as the rest of the camp reacted. Armed men raced at Borkul, only to be knocked away as quickly as they arrived.

Borkul looked around, chest heaving in anger and exertion. She saw the brief look of regret and fear that passed over his face before it was replaced by resignation and then implacable resolve. She saw these things but they washed over her bubble, leaving no stain behind. Borkul moved, passing behind her to a place she could not see. The sun had just lifted its bulk fully over the distant horizon when he returned. He prodded her to one of the wagons, then lifted her and shoved her in. She lay as she fell, on her side on the wooden floor of the wagon, until he climbed after her and set her on the bench, where her body reflexively sat and balanced.

It was from this vantage that she witnessed him gather the bodies of the camp into the back of a different wagon. He began with the men he had defeated, then added the bodies of four women and three children. Last, the man who had had her the night before. He struggled a little as Borkul dumped him on the pile, apparently still alive. Borkul did not seem to notice. He emptied oil from several lamp flasks over the pile of bodies and then casually tossed a smoldering brand from the fire onto the heap. It lit instantly, sending sheets of flame into the dawn sky. Borkul climbed onto her cart and, a moment later, they were moving. She watched the roiling black pillar of smoke rise into the sky as it grew further and further away, until they turned a corner around a steep hill and it was hidden from view.

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