Chapter 6 - 06: Dying Wish VI
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They would come in the afternoons or just before dusk. Always when no one else was around. One brother would slip in first with a sour smirk. Then another. Soon all five would gather like crows on a carcass. They never spoke much. Just a nod or a glance between them before fists started flying.
It was never in front of others. Not officially. Never where a noble eye might wander. But inside the cottage or behind it... where the bushes grew thick and the ground was packed with old roots, they would corner him. Laughing sometimes. Silent other times. And take turns.
After a month he learned not to scream. Not because he wanted to be brave, but because it hurt more when he did. They liked it when he made noise. It gave them something to measure. Something to chase. If he cried out, they would keep going. If he curled up quietly, they would eventually get bored.
Sometimes a servant would pass by and see. A flicker of a figure in the window. A shadow shifting behind the bushes. A thud. A grunt. The sound of something breaking.
But they looked away. Always.
He was beaten five times each day. Once by each brother. They rarely showed up together anymore. They began to space it out, like a schedule. One would visit before breakfast. Another during midday. One after sunset. Another in the middle of the night when the moon was bright and silence thick. They called it fairness. Equal turns. Equal cruelty.
Some days he could not move.
He would lie behind the cottage, curled up in the dirt, arms wrapped around his ribs. His body was bruised. His lip split. One eye swollen shut. No one came for him. No one asked if he was alright. The world kept moving. The manor lights kept burning and the Nobel parties kept happening. The servants kept walking past. Eyes down. Lips sealed.
His brothers made a game of it.