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The Iron Cage	By : Aragem23 Category: Comics > WitchBlade Views: 2083 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Haibane Renmei or Witchblade. I do not make any money from writing this fic.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
She stood in front of the mirror and looked at marks left behind from the rape. There were dark marks on her neck and shoulder from where Mr. Irons had placed his mouth. A bruise bloomed like a rose on her cheek from where he had struck her and there was a soreness deep inside where he had . . . “reached” inside of her. She almost didn't recognize the girl in the mirror. Her hair was tangled and twisted, her face pale, and her eyes were . . .just blank. They were like a doll's eyes. Bright, but empty with no emotion.
It took nearly twenty minutes of feeling nothing for grief to bleed from her soul. He may have taken her virginity, but that was minor compared to what he stole. When she remembered Reki's scent, she could only inhale his cologne, Reki's caress became his slap, and Reki's kiss became his brandy flavored mouth. She could barely remember Reki's touch, her embrace. Sometimes it took her a long time to recall the sound of her voice. It was as if she was trying to holding to sand, no matter how tightly she held onto it, the grains would continue to slip through her fingers. She was loosing Reki again.
She bathed herself again. Not to clean, but to sooth her inflamed skin and bruises, especially the spots where she had scrubbed her skin raw. The bruises on her backside were yellow, a healing color. After washing her hair and brushing out the tangles, she wrapped herself up in a towel and went into the bedroom. A breakfast tray was set with crepes served with strawberries and whipped cream and another glass of milk. She didn't feel like eating, but her hungry stomach wouldn't let her ignore the food. She ate the meal slow, taking time to chew every bite and sipped the milk slowly until it was gone. More clothes were laid out for her: a white blouse and pair of shorts. There was even a pair of socks with white oxford shoes on the floor. She looked around and saw that the sundress she had worn yesterday was gone as was the tissues Mr. Irons had used to clean himself was gone. Someone had came in and cleaned the room and set the tray.
She mechanically got dressed and wiggled her toes in the shoes. It felt strange to have her whole foot covered, but it was comforting too. A layer between her skin and the world. Maybe she would be taken outside again and she could feed the turtle another flower . . .
The gate . . .the gate would be there too! She should have gone through that gate when she had the chance! It would still be there. She'll leave today. She just had to hope they let her go outside today. It was a terrible wait. The clocked seemed content to slowly tick towards noon despite her need. She paced the room, tried to calm her nerves by reading, but each time she sat at the window sill, she could see the garden and her chance for freedom. She didn't dare read on the bed. It would bring back too many memories of what Mr. Irons did to her last night. The room felt small, like the Room had been. Now she realized that the bedroom despite it's comforts and beauty was just like the Room. She was locked in and people who hurt her came in and went.
Finally, she heard footsteps in the hall outside. Relief was brief until she realized it could be Mr. Irons or Nottingham coming. She held her breath as the door was unlocked and the homely woman was behind the door. Never had she been so happy to see a wingless before. The woman told her they were going out to the garden for two hours again. She was the same dour attitude, but Rakka didn't care. She wasn't interested in being friends with her either.
The walk to the verandah was slow and torturous when all she wanted to do was to run. Couldn't they walk faster? Wasn't there a faster route they could take?
Then a sweeping figure was walking up the hall towards them. Nottingham was wearing a black suit with his dark hair almost melding into the color. Rakka's heart leaped into her throat. Was he on his way to her room? A mental image of him dismissing the maid and taking Rakka back to her room to get what she denied him last night. She lowered her head, hoping that he wouldn't notice her, but knew it was futile as there was just her and the homely woman. He walked past her without so much as a glance in her direction. She was so relieve she felt light headed. She glanced over her shoulder, just to make sure that he wasn't having a second thoughts and looking back at her, instead she saw his broad retreating back and it was a welcomed sight indeed. She wished that all wingless would give her the same consideration; ignoring her as if she didn't exist. She wouldn't suffer as much.
As soon the homely woman let her out onto the verandah, Rakka stepped out onto the grass barely hearing the woman's instruction to listen for the bell. She forced herself to slow down before she drew attention to herself. The garden was empty, but Diane could be watching her from the window. Thinking of her, Rakka looked up at the window where she had seen Diane and thankfully she wasn't there nor at any of the other windows. With a pounding heart and hopeful spirit, Rakka followed the cobbled path and as she neared her destination she slowed to a halt, her shoes scraping the stones.
The gate was done. In its place was a solid wooden door with a brass handle. The hinges were so new the sunlight reflected in them. She pulled on the handle and the door stayed steadfastly shut. Rakka heard a voice and realized it was her own. “No, no, no, no, no, no.”
Her hope shattered into small shards of broken crystal all around her as spikes of fear entered her heart. Somehow, someway, Mr. Irons knew about the gate being loose and had it replaced overnight with a heavy door. As if he knew that she wouldn't have the courage to leave yesterday and raping her would have given her the drive to escape so he had the gate replaced so she couldn't. Was he watching her now? She looked around, but didn't see how he could have seen her out here. Wasn't he gone yesterday? Did one of the servants see her? Then she noticed a little black wire tacked along the edge of the wall. Her eyes followed it until it to a small black box with a round lens. It took a few moments for her to remembered what it was called. A camera.
* * *
That night she waited for Mr. Irons or Nottingham to come to her bedroom. She sat in a chair with arms curled around her legs with her eyes on the door. She thought about what she would do if they came through that door. Would she try to fight them? Or lay back and let it happen? She didn't know and fortunately she didn't have to find out as they never came that night.
She woke up as the morning sun touched her eyes still curled in the chair waiting. The homely woman came and brought her a change of clothes and a breakfast tray. She didn't speak to Rakka or look her way. She simply walked in a serving cart and set the tray on the table and laid the clothes on the bed and wheeled the cart out. Rakka got up and went to the bathroom for a quick bath before eating. Before stepping into the tub, she stood in front of the mirror and surveyed her body. The marks from the flogging were nearly gone. The scabs had either fallen off or were close to doing so. The bruises on her neck and cheek were still there, but healing. Maybe if she was left alone for another day or so, she would be free of any bruises or marks.
After the bath, she ate the french toast and drank the glass of milk and dressed. The clothes were a plaid skirt and white blouse with white knee high socks and black Mary Jane shoes. As before, the clothes where meant for a taller girl. Then it came to her that these clothes may have been meant for Reki. Mr. Irons made it no secret that he preferred Reki and even had “special plans” for her, but got Rakka as a consolation. What would he be doing to Reki if he had came two weeks earlier when Reki was still around? Again, Rakka thought about asking Mr. Irons about Reki. She lost her chance last time she saw him because of what he had done.
Mr. Irons, do you know where Reki is? Just one simple question. He had already done the worst he could do to her by whipping her. Had he? She had the feeling that he could do far worse to her without a second thought. He wouldn't hurt her for just asking a question. Would he? There was just too much she didn't know or understand about this man.
The homely woman came and took her to the garden while these questions haunted her. The only answer she had for herself was to wait until the next time Mr. Irons was around she would ask him, if she could find the courage to do so. And she utmost dreaded that meeting.
She pulled a lily from the patch beneath her bedroom window and carried to the pond. Maybe the turtle would like another flower to eat. After finding the door yesterday, feeding the turtle a lily made her feel better and doing so again couldn't do any less. The murky water held no turtle for her, but from the corner of her eye she saw a round shape scuttling through the grass. It was her turtle heading towards a flower bed, likely to find any fallen petals or bugs. Rakka knelt into a shameless crawl to lure the turtle back to the pond with the lily.
“I've been receiving a complaint about you.” Mr. Irons' voice carried like distant thunder on a sunny day.
She froze flopping back onto her rear and looking around. Where was he? Was he talking to her through a camera? She scanned the building corners for any black boxes.
“Oh?” Nottingham's dark silken voice responded with feign interest.
Nottingham was out here too? Where were they? How could two such imposing men be hiding out in the open?
“Diane says you are keeping her away from the “petit ange”. Mr. Irons spoke the french words mockingly. “She wants to care for the girl and you aren't letting her.”
Rakka saw the open window above the flower bed the turtle was heading for. She moved forward onto all fours and crawled forward slowly.
“With her history, I assumed keeping her away from the girl would be wise.”
She stopped short of the flowerbed and listened. She didn't dare try to peek inside, what if they see her?
“You consider the Ange de la Mort a danger to the petit ange?” Mr. Irons chuckled. Rakka didn't see the joke, but then she didn't understand the French words either. “I see your point. I'll tell her that it doesn't matter as we'll be leaving tomorrow morning.”
The turtle popped it's head out from a row of flower stems. It wrestled with the tall stalks to get through.
“Have you performed the background check for the applicants?” Mr. Irons inquired.
“Yes sir. Three of the five applicants for the French tutor position seem suitable and Mr. Roger Yorbet checks out, he retired from St. Michaels with glowing reviews,” Nottingham went over a list of names and subjects recommending some and rejecting others.
The turtle managed to wrench from the flowerbed and was scrambling through the grass to get back to the pond. Rakka picked up the turtle with both hands and held it up while its little legs continue to walk the air. As if believing it could eventually reach its destination if it kicked its legs enough time. She wondered why Mr. Irons was hiring teachers. Did he run a school?
“Gregory Donalds is an excellent pianist, but he has a habit of seducing female students. It got him quietly dismissed from Augustine's Private School for Girls and six months ago he was facing statutory rape charges for sleeping with a 13 year old, but the family dropped the charges.”
“Likely on the same day they got a generous settlement from Donalds' father, Senator Chase Seymour.” Mr. Irons sounded amused. “The Senator didn't want it public knowledge his bastard son likes having sex with minors.”
“Shall I discard his application?”
There was a moment of thoughtful silence. “No. Hold onto it for now.”
Rakka set the turtle on the grass and tried to tempt it with the lily. It withdrew its head into its shell as if offended by the offer. She idly held the lily before the head opening in case it changed its mind and continued to listen. There was a thrill about listening in to their conversation, like she was able to get one over on them by eavesdropping on them.
“Fax the names to Ms. Glass and have her begin interviews early tomorrow morning. I want the girl to begin lessons the week after next.” There was a creak of a chair weight was lifted out of it. There were footsteps and then ice clicking in glass. “Do you think I'm like Donalds in sleeping with the girl?”
“No sir. Donalds seduces young girls because he is intimidated by adult women. You slept with the winged girl because she is yours.”
The turtle had decided it had had enough of being teased by the lily and wanted very much to return to its pond. It's legs emerged and it began scuttling only to be frustratingly lifted off the ground. The girl held it tightly with both hands not wanting to be alone, even if her companion didn't understand the emotions coursing through her heart. Her ears pricked, listening for every word. The afternoon felt hot and the grass was beginning to making her skin itch, but she didn't move one inch for fear of alerting them to her presence.
“Long ago, a girl her age would have been expected to be married off to a husband twice if not thrice her age and having his children.” Water dribbled into glass and over ice. “But then, I am comparing her to human girls.” His voice became wistful and almost forlorn. “She's not human, she's a sorrowful miracle born from a speck of dust and bearing wings that should mark her as blessed, but only serves as a stigma in this modern world. She's innocent yet marred by death and pain, young, yet already lived a lifetime. An almost perfect balance between light and dark, but only if she had committed the ultimate sin in a previous life. Since she can't help me achieve my one desire, then she will satisfy lesser ones.”
Rakka drew in a slow breath. Her insides felt as if they had been changed to stone. The turtle had given up trying to walk on air and had withdrawn its head and limbs into its shell for a much needed rest.
“Speaking of which,” Mr. Irons was lightly shaking a glass with ice, “what is she doing now?”
The warm afternoon suddenly chilled as if a blanket of frost had fallen.
“Playing with a turtle.”
Rakka sprang to her feet and took off for the verandah. She realized she still carried the turtle and made a quick detour by the pond and threw it in. It fell in with a loud splash and then bobbed to the surface stunned and very confused. Rakka was out of breath by the time she stepped up onto the verandah wishing there was further she could run. Though the garden was large, the larges space she had ever seen, it now felt cramped. For the next twenty minutes, she waited for the repercussions of her actions to fall on her. She wouldn't have been surprised if Mr. Irons couldn't command a bolt of lightning to strike her dead or a giant rock falling from the sky to smash her head.
Nothing happened. There was no bolt of lightning nor a falling rock. There was only the hot afternoon and her rapid breathing and pounding heart. Instead, the homely woman appeared within the hour and took her back to the room. When the bedroom door locked behind her, Rakka felt as if she had dodged a bullet or a train. Maybe Nottingham didn't realize that she could hear them? If he looked out the window, he would have seen her with the turtle as he had said. Maybe she was worrying over nothing.
She noticed that a new tray had been set on the table. It was rather early for the evening meal. It was a light meal with soup and bread with a glass of water this time. She briefly wondered if perhaps she was being punished with having water instead of milk. The thought was quickly banished as she knew Mr. Irons would do far worse as punishment. At the corner of the tray was another folded piece of paper.
Eat.
Bathe.
Change Clothes.
Nottingham will take you to the parlor at 7:00 sharp.

Drips of fear dotted her spirit. She wondered what they had planned for her tonight. Was it another flogging? A glance at the clothes on the bed dismissed this line of thought. A white silk slip with thin shoulder straps and a pair of white silk stockings lay across it. They would want her nude for flogging not dressed in such lovely silk. And that could only mean they had something else planned and she had a sinking feeling she understood what that was. She sat on the bed and took easy breaths to calm her anxiety that was beginning to gnaw. It couldn't be any worse than what Mr. Irons had done to her the other night, but then there would be two of them. Would Nottingham also want to do it to her as well?
There was no choice. She never had a choice. Only to endure it no matter what happens. The clock announced it was 4:20, she had time, but she mustn't dawdle. The food would have tasted better if she wasn't so worried of what was coming, but she made herself eat every bite as she may need her strength. She took a long bath letting the heat soak into her flesh and bones. The bruises on her neck were yellow and she was no longer sore 'inside'. The marks from her flogging were gone too. She was felt almost healed and she wondered what pains would be bestowed upon her later.
She finished bathing and dried herself with a towel from the restored towel rack. Yesterday, when she returned from the visiting the garden the rack had been repaired with fresh towels hung up. She still had two hours before Nottingham came so she sat at the window sill and let the warm sunlight dry her hair and wings. She no qualms about being naked again, she had spent so long with clothing that this actually felt more natural to her. Her wings flickered shaking off any lingering drops of water and she leaned her chin on the knee of a folded leg enjoying this sense of peace while it lasted.
Mr. Irons said they would be leaving tomorrow. She recalled about them going to New York. Rakka tried to remember what sort of place New York was, but the memory didn't come to her. Was it like this place, with a garden she could visit each day, and servants who brought food and clothes?
And there was her simple task of asking him about Reki. She sighed and rubbed her brow on her knee in resignation. She was going to see him tonight and before whatever was going to happen started, she would ask him. She might be too frighten or overwhelmed to ask him before then. Reki had to be out there somewhere. Was she being treated the same as Rakka was now? Rakka doubted it though, she had the feeling that there was only one Mr. Irons in the world and she was the one that landed with him by circumstances. She wondered what was the one desire Mr. Irons had that he seemed to think only Reki could fulfill. And what did it have to do with Reki having black wings?
When she glanced at the clock, she grimaced at how she had been lost in thought for so long. She had an hour left before Nottingham came. Rakka dressed herself and to her surprised the white slip actually fitted her. It hung just low enough to allow her wings over the back and the silk accentuated her small frame and curves. The hem just ended midway down her thighs. The silk felt cool on her skin and she smoothed the front down her chest and stomach with both hands in front of the bathroom mirror. Pulling on the stocks were a bit tricky. She rolled up stocking to the toe and pushed her foot through, but it still took tugging the silk into place, pinching herself, until they fit snug on each leg. The laced tops hugged her thighs and had a habit of creeping down if she walked around too much. Habitually she would tug up the stockings every ten steps. White soft leather slippers were provided to keep the stocking feet from getting dirty.
She sat on the bed and watched the clock watching the second and minute hand gradually move towards the twelve while the hour hand was honor bound towards the seven. It was like there was a critical game of tug of war. One second, she's excited and can't wait for the clock to ring seven and then the next she's full of fear and dreaded each tick. She kicked her dangling feet letting the slippers hang off her heels as she waited.
She was startled so much when the door opened a slipper fell off her foot. Nottingham filled the doorway casting a long shadow that touched her knees. He was wearing his usual dark clothing with a loose coat with blue trimming. She quickly stood and shoved her foot into the lost slipper. Nottingham crossed the room as silent as a shade and she felt his eyes on her, examining her as a dutiful butler making sure a dish was prepared perfectly for his master. His long fingered hand adjusted a strap across her shoulder and brushed her hair behind an ear before slipping his palm to the back of her neck and guiding her out of the bedroom. After a brief pause for him to shut the door, he took her down the hall and into a part of the manor she hadn't seen before.
It wasn't a long walk before he pushed open wood double doors into a parlor. It was Victorian Age style with cushioned furniture and a ornate fireplace. She could easily imagine Victorian age men sitting in this room drinking tea and smoking while discussing current affairs and business or even playing cards on the small round table with wood and cushion chairs. She expected to see Mr. Irons, but he wasn't here. Then she realized the note only said that Nottingham would take her to the parlor, it said nothing about Mr. Irons being present. A sinking feeling dragged at her spirit, her question about Reki may not be answered tonight after all.
Nottingham took his hand from her neck to shut and lock the parlor doors. She noted her life had always been full of locked doors. Was it to keep people from coming in and disturbing them or was it to keep her from escaping? Maybe both.
He took her by the arm and led her to a red cushion couch set against the far wall. There were two rings screwed into the wall several inches above the back of the couch where two pieces of silk ribbon was tied and two cords each one connected by a ring joined into each arm of the couch. She faltered mid step, wary of what was going to happen to her on the couch. Nottingham's grip on her arm tighten, not inflicting pain, but the threat was there, he could easily force her if she resisted. She went with him before he could.
He stopped her at before the couch and tugged her stockings up. Rakka swallowed feeling his fingers touching her thighs so close to the apex. Then she was set on the edge of the couch and a gentle push on her shoulders had her laying back against the cushions. The couch was small enough that he could stand around it and taking her left hand and securing a dark ribbon around it. He moved around to the other side, his long arm allowed him to keep his hand on her ensnared wrist while he moved. Rakka was breathing hard while he took her other hand and tied it with the second piece of ribbon. She was able to bend her elbows slightly, but the ribbons held strong as Nottingham tested their strength by tugging her hands. Once he was satisfied he stepped around in front of her. Taking one leg, he moved it over and began tying a cord around it, just above the knee. The cord held her leg in place and when Nottingham did the same to her other leg she was spread open and exposed. Even more so when he pushed the skirt up to her waist baring her lower half.
He took off her slippers and let them drop to the floor and scooted them beneath the couch with the toe of his shoe. He stepped over to the round card table and stripped off his jacket and dark shirt. Rakka swallowed, her hands curling into tight fists as she watched him. Her eyes traced the curve of his spine from his narrow waist to bulky shoulders. She expected him to undo his pants, but instead he turned back and knelt between her spread legs. Having him so close to her open sex brought a warm prickly heat across her skin and she could feel his eyes on that part of body as if his gaze was solid. Callused hands caressed her inner thighs a involuntary sigh blew from her lips and for a second, she felt warm air blew across her soft folds and then Nottingham lowered his head and something wet and hot stroked her. Electricity buzzed through her body and bubbling pleasure filled her stomach as the hot wet strokes continued. They were exploratory at first, but then more direct as a small pleasure nub was lapped and teased. Rakka's body shook uncontrollably, but the cords and ribbons held her in place.
Nottingham glanced up at her over her crotch. They were the same slate gray eyes as before, but there was a heat behind them now. He turned his head just enough to draw the tip of his tongue along the slope of her inner thigh and his teeth gave the soft skin a gentle tug. Rakka's own teeth was chewing her lower lip. The front of the slip rose and fell in deep gasps when Nottingham closed his mouth over the top of her wetting slit and pulsed his tongue over her clit. Her low moan filled the parlor, her hands flexed against the ribbons and her feet twisted with curled toes. Her hips bobbed upward as she strove to press herself against his mouth. Hot pressure was building in her stomach, getting ready to burst with just a few more licks. Then just like that, Nottingham stopped. She stared at him bewildered and frustrated. Why did he stop!?
His hands slid up the white slip pushing it up her torso baring her small breasts. His large body leaned back and forward, putting his waist between her legs as he leaned forward to draw the tip of his tongue over a nipple, teasing it to in a tight bud and then giving attention to the other. Rakka whined, frustrated, she didn't want his mouth on her breasts, she wanted it right back between her legs now. When his released her hard nipple with a soft pop, his glanced into her eyes tauntingly. The heat coasting through her body and the intensity of his eyes were so overwhelming she glanced away to catch her breath, to calm that frustrating heat bubbling and twisting inside her.
Then Nottingham caught her chin and turned her face to his. With eyes still taunting her, he kissed her, his tongue questing for hers. Then she understood. If she wanted him to continue between her legs, then she was going to give him something she had denied him earlier. It stung to give in to him, but fortunately, it wouldn't cost her anything. Mr. Irons had stolen Reki's kiss from her already. She responded, or at least as she was able to. Reki's kiss had been a gentle pressing of her lips, and Mr. Irons had been seizing and overpowering, Nottingham wanted her to do more than be just a pair of lips. His tongue stroked hers and she found herself responding, sloppily and clumsily, but responding all the same. She plucked her tongue away once it brushed against his teeth, frighten that he may try to pay her back by biting her tongue. Yet, he was satisfied and drew down her body to resume his kneeling on the floor and brought his mouth down over her clit. This time a thumb and forefinger squeezed the top of her mound bringing her clit to the forefront for his tongue to assault.
She didn't hear the parlor door unlocking and swinging open. She didn't notice it being locked and another presence approaching watching her with amused cold blue eyes. All she could focus was the wonderful thing Nottingham was doing to her.
“Playing it safe by kissing the lips without teeth, eh?” Mr. Irons' voice was calm, but its affect was like the crack of a whip.
Rakka's jerked, her eyes wide as she looked up at the pale hair man. Nottingham continued his lapping, but once Rakka tensed up, he turned his face upwards to Mr. Irons, “We came to an understanding.”
“You're spoiling her.” Mr. Irons chided, though he didn't appear to be displeased.
“I was getting her ready, as you asked, sir.” Nottingham stood up and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Forgive me if I took some liberties.”
A cold chill settled over her in Mr. Irons' presence as the pain of what he had done to her came back fresh. It was unsettling at how she still ached with need and felt fearful at the same time. She had to ask about Reki, she had to do it now.
Mr. Irons' hand curled around her foot, his thumb rubbing the sole and toes through the silk stocking. “Did she orgasm?”
“No, but she getting close to it.”
“How did she take to being bound?”
“She was nervous about it, but didn't resist.”
“M-m-mr. Irons . . .” Her voice was so soft, she doubted he heard her.
Yet, his handsome face turned to her, a pale brow arching. His hand tighten, just slightly, around her foot, his thumb pressing into the instep. “Yes?”
She regretted speaking up, but it was too late now. “Do . . .d-do you know where Reki is?”
He tilted his head and studied her. She wanted to look away, needed to look away, but if she did that, it would diminish her question. Then he smile, amusement spreading across his face, yet his eyes were sharp with just a glint of anger. “You want to know about your friend, that's understandable.”
His left hand dropped from her foot and slid along her thigh. “I do know where Reki is. In fact, I spoke to Nathan Coldstone a day ago about her.”
Hope rose, filling her up like a wellspring. At that moment, Reki felt close and it came back to her. Reki's caresses, the pressure of her lips, and her soothing voice came rushing back like a wonderful tide. She waited with almost baited breath for Mr. Irons to tell her about Reki.
His hand cupped her crotch, smearing moisture of her secretions with Nottingham's saliva against his palm and her outer folds. “I'm a fair man, I'm willing to reward good behavior, but the problem is you haven't really been a good girl.”
Her heart sank. All her hopes began to break piece by piece.
“You've bitten Nottingham and the other night, you were less than cooperative with me.” His fingertips traced the edges of her outer fold, spreading her open.
She noticed he didn't mention anything about the hot chocolate spill, shutting Nottingham out of the bathroom, or even listening in on their meeting from the garden. She didn't dare glance in Nottingham's direction, knowing that right now her full attention had to be on Mr. Irons. “I'm sorry, Mr. Irons.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but I prefer actions to words.” He began to stroke her folds. Small jolts of pleasure spread through her pelvic area. “From now and until we finish, you are going to be eager to cooperate with what we want. Afterward, if I find your compliance acceptable, then I shall tell you about what I discovered about your Reki.”
He was avoiding her pleasure nub, but his touch was making it hard to think clearly. Maybe that was the point. It kept her from thinking too much about it and being hesitant. She nodded, “I'll do whatever you want . . . Mr. Irons.”
“Good girl. Nottingham, light the candles.”
- 5
- 6
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The Iron Cage