The Broken Rose: Chapter 1 – Desecration

The Broken Rose Page

<–Warnings and Foreword                                                                       Chapter 2–>

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII, its characters, and settings are all property of Square Enix so I can take no credit nor claim any ownership of that. I do take some credit for the story’s plot.
Banner Artwork Disclaimer:  The featured artwork for the banner is entitled White rose I and was created by the very talented Deviant Artist RemusSirion who was gracious enough to grant me permission to use it here.  The picture has been slightly altered from the original. All rights belong to the artist, and links are included for both the artist page and the work.
Chapter Artwork Disclaimer: The featured artwork for this chapter is entitled Rose in Blood and was created by yet another very talented Deviant Artist Kawaielli.  The picture has been slightly altered in appearance and to include the chapter number and title.  All rights belong to the artist, and the image is used here with their permission.  Links are included for both the artist’s page and the work.


Consistent and sustained graphic descriptions and mentions of rape/ sexual assault, sexual slavery/bondage, slavery, human trafficking, physical abuse, graphic descriptions of violence, mental abuse, emotional abuse, psychological abuse, body shaming, starvation, torture, forced pregnancy, forced childbirth, miscarriage, forced miscarriage, abortion, and other potential disturbing and triggering topics.

The arrival of her murderer to what was once her church casts a deeper shadow over the horror of Aeris’s life.

“I’ll bind your wounds and comfort you,
‘Cause I know who you are.”
-Mary Fahl “Gravity”
“You have not lived today
until you have done something
for someone who can never repay you.”
-John Bunyan

A white rose lays on its side in the middle of the picture with the stem going off to the right. The inner petals are covered in blood and some of this blood has speckled the white background. “Chapter 1 Desecration” in black is to the left of the rose. A good portion of the upper left hand corner is faded to black, and a lesser portion of the lower left hand corner is, too.

The instant he saw her he wanted her.  The Cetra was going to be his.  She was naked of course, as all the slaves were, huddled against a broken pew.  They were chained together, but she was alone, fragile limbs bound in thick shackles.  Around her raw throat was an iron collar, and huge chains held her to the floor.  Her bangs, though disheveled, were still high on her head, and a coil of braid pooled at her side.

“Has she been used?” the Great General asked, looking down at the greasy slaver.  Emerald light spilled on his silver forelocks, cut through pupils so thin.  He wore his flowing black leather coat with the armor brighter than dawn.

“Yes, sir.”  The man darted his gaze to the slave.  “Well used, but still just as tight.”  He chuckled and didn’t quite lick his lips.  “She’s got a miracle cunt that one.  I’ve had her meself loads of times, and that’s what all the other lads say.”  The slaver winked.  “She’s a screamer.”  He scoffed. “You’d think after a thousand romps she’d be used to it.  You go deep enough and she’ll struggle ‘round you.  She’s weak as a kitten, but loves to fight.”  He laughed deep in his belly to cold Mako stare.  “I’ve got ‘er back full covered in bruises, but they heal just the same as her cunt.  The whip marks though, well, she should have a reminder of what happens to willful slaves.” Chortling again, he gave a glance to the others who whimpered and cringed away.  “She’ll tear around you, no worries for that.  Her cunt’s always tight, general sir.  I rent her out usually by the day.  Most keep ‘er about a week.”  Laughing loudly at that, he grinned with teeth slanted by white.  “You’d think all torn up, she’d struggle more, but I think the pain steals ‘er fight.  She won’t even scream, though you’ll see her sobbin’ without sound or even a tear.  Funny really.”  The stout slaver spat and cast lustful eyes back towards his prize possession.

That entire speech the tiny girl had made neither twitch nor cry.  She remained slumped and chained to her pew, when her owner hauled himself before. “Here you can see ‘er,” he said to the general whose gaze pierced the little slave.  Cast in the man’s shadow, she remained still as stone ‘til he asked, “You want the whip?  We have a guest, the Great General.  Get up and show some respect.”

The girl lifted her head before struggling to rise against thick, heavy chains.  Yanking the link closest to her chafed throat, the slaver jerked her to a stand.  She tried not to whimper, but it still escaped and his scowl promised later pain.  Delicate limbs were weighed down by the bounds, and she withered, clothed only in irons.   With fetters far bigger than her tiny wrists, the shackles stretched half up her arms.  Unwound, her braid bumped trembling, gaunt calves, but the Cetra had other “assets.”  Her breasts were full round with nipples bright pink and high upon creamy flesh.  They pointed to stars that she’d never seen and her waist could’ve fit in one hand.  Before the Great General could fully see all, the slaver then turned her around.

Knocking apart those quivering thighs, he bent the tiny girl over. A sharp tug to her braid jerked back her head, and she barely managed to swallow her scream.  The cacophony of chains gave her quaking away, while she awaited the tearing thrust.  In speech he was showing off the Cetra’s “skills,” using it to preempt penetration. The girl dug her teeth into her lower lip, where the blood pulsed so close to the edge.  Shiny, black boots blurred through her vision as her master stabbed at ragged flesh. Within his pants, but she still shut her eyes while those boots took a step fully forward.

“I can’t decide what’s more lovely, general.  These teats.”  He squeezed one.  “Or this ass.”  Pushing firmer against her bottom, the slaver half-hoped he’d say no.  Even though he’d fucked her bloody several times that morning, it was his favorite way to end the day.  Scowled resignation shuffled him to the side to show the general her dewy folds.  Lifting two fingers, he wound dull braid tight.  Might as well give his customer a show.

“I’ll see for myself.”  The low voice called his pause.

“Oh, yes, sir, by all means, yes!”  Opening his hand in rapt invitation, the slaver quaked beneath looming and light.

“I meant if I make this purchase.”

“W-Well…”  He scrambled to catch the lost thread of patter in a fluster that nearly failed.  “You can see though she’s always wet.  Doesn’t matter the time.  Doesn’t matter the hour.  Her cunt just gushes with heat.”  He tittered a bit like a manic jackal.  “Not really rape then, is it, general?  If the little wench wants it so.”  His body reacted again at the thought, but this was the time for restraint.  A well-deserved profit could be made today, and he’d eventually get the girl back.  When he yanked her back up, the whimper was clipped, cutting off as he spun her around.  Merciless Mako spilled on her stomach, but the cold didn’t freeze ravaged flesh.

“She’s been bred,” the general observed, slits slithering on pink morass.  “Often.”  The grooves scored her belly to match her back scars, the skin before stretched and flaccid.  It was worse by her navel, which mournfully frowned to the low slung bulge like a striped melon.

“Aye…yes, that,” the man sputtered, his cheeks wobbling a guilty red.  “Well rather, she’s been breedin’.  Never to term though, general, sir.  She’s defective and expels ‘em before, but she’s fertile as the green grass above.  She’s been seeded…oh gods, loads of times.”  He winked at that blank, marble mask.  “Some’ll pay more to fuck a pregnant wench.  The longest she’s carried has been seven or eight months from my estimation that is.”  He huffed peevishly. “Course I had to have her when that nonsense come about, screamin’ and wailin’ the entire time.”  The slaver’s glare hunched the Cetra in cower, but emerald ice stayed his hand.  “It’s not like I could make a profit since she can’t bring ‘em to term.  She screams a lot less the sooner it is, not that most of the lads mind her fuss.  Some downright enjoy it, and those that don’t, well, easy enough to make it worth your while.”    The mere thought made him brighten, and he cough out a laugh.  “It’s so much better when it just happens in the midst of a little fun.”

“She’s miscarried while being used?” the general flatly asked.

“Too often to count, general!  Usually after one or two months of seein’ her belly blown.  If I’m lucky it’s when she’s out for rent.  Then I just hear the complaints.  Like I said though, nothin’ ruins her.  The wench has a magic cunt.”

“How many?” the Great General asked, his eyes fixed on the little slave.  Her tremors were violent to match quivering lip, but haunting eyes shed not one tear.  Sharp knees fought the buckle that bid them to bend beneath the weight of so many bonds.  If the Cetra passed out, she’d wake to the whip or tearing penetration.

The slaver scratched his chin at the question.  “Er, how many men do you mean, general, sir?”

A silver brow raised, and the greasy man babbled.  “W-Well, er, I’ve honestly lost count of both.  Since she’s been mine about twenty years, I’ve rented her out thousands of times.”

“Twenty years?” his customer snapped, and those frigid eyes just slightly widened.

Thin slits cut through Mako turned the man’s tongue to lead, and for a moment he mimicked his chattel.  “Y-Yes, sir, a-and that’s another thing, th-the little wench d-doesn’t age.  I meant to tell you. I’ve had her for years and my father had her for more.  Even before that, my grandfather found her, right ‘ere in this church.”  He forced a stiff laugh, slapping the pew, which shed dust as it dully creaked.  “She was prayin’ or something, that’s what he said.  I guess she didn’t pray hard enough.”  Humor returned in the form of a chortle low in his bouncing gut.  “S-So, general sir.”  He shuffled to face the towering man in black.  “Do you want to try ‘er out?  I’ll give you a bargain.  The week for you?  A thousand gil.  Consider it my treat.”

“I intend to buy her from you outright.  There’ll be none of this renting nonsense.  She’ll be mine and mine alone.  I am a possessive man.”

“B-But sir,” the slaver whined like a kicked cur, “she’s my best bit o’ property!”

“Then I will pay you very well.”  Slivered dark cut him over, nor could cold emerald’s gleam be denied.  “A million gil.  Will that suffice?”

The seedy man’s knees nearly crumpled, as the Great General retrieved his phone.  He managed to decipher the slaver’s babble to transfer the funds between.  The price was paid.  The girl was his.

“Do you want me to keep her in chains?”

“Remove them all,” came curt command.

“Even the one at her neck, general?  She’s tried to run quite a few times.  Well,” the man tittered, “she did in the past.  Just needed a firm hand and a thicker whip to put her back in line.”

“All of them.”  In repeat it was darker, and the man fell to the little slave’s feet.  She neither moved nor dared to react when he reached up to paw her thighs.  Thinking to pierce flesh one final time before a massive hand captured his wrist.  That angel mask neither blinked nor wavered, and the pallid slaver grew paler.  To the Great General he was weaker than the little slave he’d just sold.  The moment stretched long, and the man nearly begged, but the release came before his word’s breath.  Gulping more air, the stout slaver swallowed and completed his task in haste.

The tiny Cetra stood fully bare in the shadow of her new, larger master.  Only his eyes were alive to dance in the winter of that perfect visage.  Without the chains she shrunk even smaller, as if shackles were all of her substance.  It was not certain where the shiver began, but it soon encased all of her skin.

“I’ll always obey you, g-glorious master.”  A mouse could’ve drowned out her speech.  She’d seen his great hand cage much larger wrist.  Hers would be pulp in his grip.  Haunted eyes lifted, and the Cetra swayed.  He was so tall it made her dizzy.  “I w-won’t be willful…willful at all.  I’ll give you no trouble, perfect master.  I promise you, greatness, I-I learned my lesson m-many times over again.”  Hollow gaze darted to her former owner who grinned like a rat at a feast.  “I’ll always, always be a good slave…”

Clinking like chains filled the Cetra’s ears then warmth cloaked her better than summer.  A strangled cry escaped her split lips, as her battered body ascended.  Lifted high with no effort and wrapped in black leather, her whimper bled pure fear.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Aeris,” he promised, low voice stilling the air with her name.  “You’re in my arms now.  I have you.  You’re safe.  Do you know who I am, little one?”

Blinking and bleary, she attempted to focus.  The light was much closer now.  Midgar, the church, her former tormentor faded away around light.  All that existed was emerald and pale.  She forced consciousness back like a mask.

“Yes…perfect master.  I-I know you.”  The gleam from his eyes was so bright to near blinding, but she didn’t dare shield her face.  “You’re the Great General…S-Sephiroth.”

“That’s right.”  The so-named lowered his head.  “You’ve remembered my name, little flower…”

He shifted her easily in his strong arms, and a long forelock brushed her cheek.  His step was so smooth, his black boots so silent, and her vision’s edge curdled and curled.

Sephiroth carried his charge down the nave where once hopeful flowers had grown.  Wrapped in sweet warmth and held with such care, Aeris fought the miasma of dark.  She’d just awaken to endless rape or a scourge tearing through her frail flesh.  Each whimpering breath pleaded to hold to this moment, though surely it had to be lie…

“I’m…in your arms, g-greatest of masters.  Y-You’re carrying me away.”

“Yes,” he whispered gently down.  “I’m taking you to a place where you’ll never be whipped, raped, or shackled again.”

Those words meant nothing to the tiny Cetra.  A world like that didn’t exist.  He’d throw her down soon, beat her, use her.  He owned her.  It only made sense.

“Lay your head on my shoulder, Aeris.”  The rich baritone rolled through her skin.

“Yes, master…” she murmured and obeyed.

“I’m not going to hurt you, little flower,” he promised, “but I may have to burn down your church.”

<–Warnings and Foreword                                                                       Chapter 2–>











7 thoughts on “The Broken Rose: Chapter 1 – Desecration

  1. Pingback: The Broken Rose – Warnings and Foreword | The Shameful Narcissist Speaks

  2. Pingback: Chapter 2 | The Shameful Narcissist Speaks

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