Luna Konev's Backstory: Mistress of Orion

ON:
[Thirat - Tragar’s Den]
[11JAN2377 - 0830 Hours]

An explosion of pain erupted on Liira’s cheek as she lurched violently to her right. White spots erupted spastically in her vision as she attempted to keep standing. Orion women where no where as strong as their men folk, but to a thirteen year old girl, it was enough to make her almost lose her balance. She wobbled as she took a step back to right herself and regard her mother. Lostria of Thirat leveled an intense glare at her daughter.

“You were seen, you miserable little bug.” The Matriarch of Tragar’s Den growled softly, every word dripping with malice. “It is no wonder that the Karvol clan is now doubling their demands. Your sloppiness cost us… cost me my ability to bargain. I told you!”

Liira could not bring herself to evade the next blow; her pride was too great. Faster than vision could track it, a powerful kick slammed into her chest, lifting her feet off the Bolian-crafted carpet and her body into a beautiful Antedean crystal table. Shards of glass collapsed as the girl fell into its destruction, groaning in pain. Fighting the urge to scream, she found that she could not even draw breath. Shards bit into her ribs and her sternum was on fire with pain that promised the separation of bone. Gaping like a dying fish, the girl’s eyes tracked the now fuzzy shapes of her guardians, the mighty Naussican warriors come to her side.

“Take her to Ballack. Have him fix her, if she makes it there alive.” She heard her mother rumble imperiously. Rough hands with no expertise in rendering mercy to a dying girl lifted her off the shattered glass and carried her out of the chamber. Sucking in air and choking in her own blood, she swam in the threat of falling unconscious. She could no longer hear properly, only buzzing filled her ears as the Family Doctor, an unimpressed Antican barked orders to her guards.

She only felt waves of loathing and suffering as they drew the shards out of her, ripped apart her shredded clothes, and worked the medical instruments along her slim frame. Minutes drew out to hours and she cursed herself a hundred times that she was born to the household of Tragar and Lostria, the mightiest Caj in Thirat. The lady of the house had forbidden anything that would block out pain, it only detracted from the lesson. All Liira could do was wish to die a thousand times over, it would have been more humane.

Her thoughts were numb by the time she felt a warm hand squeeze her fingers. Weak and spent, she rolled her head to cast her dull gaze on the small green-skinned boy with watery eyes holding her hand and saying something. She could not make out the words, her body and mind had taken in too much, but it looked like he was singing a lullaby. The boy patted her face and helped adjust the sheets to cover her nudity. She could not even recall her brother’s name. Sleep would not come to steal away her pain and she could not draw the strength to speak. Breathing raggedly, she tried to cry, but even that had been taken from her. Her pride would not allow it.