Chapter Text
III
columbina
pain, needleplay, forced orgasm, overstimulation
“Careful,” they had said. “The third has her eye on you.”
You weren’t sure who exactly said it; it was either one of the Harbingers or their associates. It was someone that your parents were affiliated with, that was for sure.
As the heir and next to take over the family business, your presence was demanded at all the meetings they went to, which were business talks with the Fatui themselves.
Your family was important. They were wealthy, they were influential, they were powerful. They were everything needed to prevent something like this from happening, and yet they were the reason behind the occurrence.
If you had been anyone else, in any other position, maybe you wouldn’t have caught Columbina’s eye.
Columbina—the third. The one with half lidded eyes that seemed to gaze at nowhere in particular yet still left you with the constant feeling of being watched. She was fluid, all graceful movements and shadowy steps, gliding across the room in ways the eye failed to follow. She was dangerous, one of the other Harbingers at the meetings had warned but had shaken their head, refusing to answer when you asked why?
You knew little about her besides that and a strange piece of information that someone had whispered into your ear while walking by.
The third has her eye on you.
At the time, you weren’t sure what to do with that information. You were uncertain as to whether you should notify your parents, if you should ask your bodyguards to be extra diligent, if you should stop attending the meetings altogether...
The possibilities went on. You still weren’t sure what exactly you should have done, but looking back, you should have done at least something, anything but brush it off as some indecipherable, insignificant remark.
Because Columbina was watching you, the way a hunter would its prey, patiently waiting in camouflage, eyes trained on its target until a perfect opportunity arises.
You were walking through the dimly lit halls alone after using the washroom, searching for your bodyguards that were no longer at the door when you came out. You could feel someone’s presence looming over you, weighing on your shoulders and shackling your legs to the floor like anchors. However, each time you checked behind your shoulder, nobody was there, and so you sighed, deciding to just return to the meeting room.
And strike, she did.
The ceiling was a soft hue of pastel pink, the faint colour of cherry blossoms lining all four walls of the room you found yourself in. Everything felt normal—your head wasn’t hurting, your limbs weren’t sore, and you weren’t disoriented. Everything felt perfectly fine, so much so that you wouldn’t have even suspected anything happened, but the intricate white lace sheets and silken rose pillowcases which clearly didn’t belong to you told a different, more sinister tale.
You weren’t underneath any covers, but rather lying on top of them. You quickly noticed that you weren’t dressed, but you weren’t fully nude either—you were in underwear. You thought to cover yourself; though whoever had brought you here had already seen you undressed, you still didn’t like the idea of remaining on display for whoever it was. A small pile of what appeared to be folded clothing sitting on the edge of the bed caught your eye, and you scrambled over to pick it up. The linen fabric unfolded to reveal a dress, something you thanked the gods for, even if only a small positive to this entire nightmare of a situation.
The fabric was light and comfortable, though after you zipped up the side, you noticed that the clothing was a flawless fit—as if it was tailored for you. What was a sprinkle of pleasantness quickly turned into a newfound discomfort, your heart accelerating as your mind grappled with the situation at hand.
You had been taken somewhere, though you weren’t sure where or by who. The lack of any other presence in the room was odd; you would think that your kidnapper would be here waiting for you to wake up. But they weren’t, and so you had no choice but to look around, trying to familiarize yourself with your surroundings and see if you could gather any information about the place.
Lining both the bed and the shelves next to it were a variety of plushies and dolls. From fluffy stuffed bears, to manicured dolls with hair better groomed than yours, you were surrounded by miniature, lifeless forms, each pair of their eyes burrowing into you, watching you. There were so many that you could barely separate them from one another, and together they formed a spider-like amalgamation that sent chills down your spine.
You hadn’t heard any footsteps approaching, but the door swung open anyway, the soft creak alerting you. You turned around sharply to see the familiar figure of none other than Columbina in the doorway, one of her hands on the doorknob, the other delicately balancing a delicate crystal tray on her fingertips.
On the tray were a pair of scissors with pink handles, neatly wrapped bundles of equally pink ribbons, and a stack of something that appeared to be packaged—you weren’t sure what.
You had no intention of finding out, either, but it didn’t seem like you’d have much of a choice in that. Columbina, still gracefully holding the tray with one hand, locked the door with the other, slowly until the key until you heard a clicking sound. Any chance of escape you now had was sealed, both your pulse and breathing accelerating at a rapid pace as panic sunk in.
You wanted to ask her why you were here, what she wanted with you, what the tray she was holding was supposed to be for—but all you managed out was a weak, feeble squeak, your words snuffed out in your throat.
You scrambled backwards on the bed as she closed the distance between you, up until the point your back pressed against the bed frame.
She stopped before the bed, her free hand reaching out to hover over your waist, ghosting over your form as if to admire the fit of the dress on you. You could see her lips curl upwards as her eyes crinkled softly, an eerie smile on her face. Only then, did you notice the packed contents on the tray—needle tips. Your blood ran cold, your heart lurching into your stomach as fear overcame you.
You wanted no part of this. You had to escape, somehow—you instinctively thought to shove her away, perhaps you had the slightest fighting chance if you caught her off guard. Or maybe you could injure her with the scissors, they were just within reach. It wasn’t like you’d have much time to think of a better plan; you needed to do something and you needed to do it now.
At least, that’s what you told yourself as you frantically lunged for the scissors on her tray. Your fingers grazed it for a split second, just moments before you felt her hand on your wrist, your weight being dragged down, back slamming against the plush bedding and a sharp, piercing pain spearing through your hand.
A shrill shriek left your parted lips as you cried out in pain, your eyes instantly filling with tears that spilled down your cheeks. Without thinking, you tried moving your hand, but that only made the pain worse. Even the slightest twitch of your fingers was agonizing, leaving you no choice but to try and keep your hand still. Despite your efforts, your hand still throbbed in tune to the beat of your heart, radiating fresh waves of torment that shot up your wrist with each passing second.
Your palm was warm and the back of your hand sticky, leading you to force your eyes open a crack to glance at the injury site. Amidst the tears that blurred your vision and the sobs that escaped you, you could see the same pair of scissors that you tried to reach for—pink handle and all—standing vertically, its blades pinning your hand to the mattress underneath.
You instantly squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to look at the grisly scene, though the mental picture of your wounded hand was already burnt into your mind.
Incoherent pleas to the gods left your lips as you frantically begged for someone or something to save you, to have mercy—but no one came.
You were alone, and your fate left not to the gods but rather Columbina, who was gently cupping your cheek with one hand, the other caressing your hair as if to say everything was alright.
“Stop,” you whimper through shaky breathing and pitiful cries. “Please—”
You felt her hand leave your cheek, a singular finger resting against your lips, shushing you.
You obeyed. With the blinding pain that rhythmically flowed through every fibre of your being, you couldn’t even muster up the will to resist. You kept your mouth shut as she wanted you to.
With the room now quiet, you could hear her humming, a deceivingly melodious tune that greatly contrasted with the horrors you were experiencing.
What did she want from you? You didn’t know, and you couldn’t think; not with the utter suffering that clouded your mind. You could only lay still with your eyes closed as you waited in dread of what could occur next.
Columbina’s humming didn’t cease, a soft, almost soothing sound as you felt the weight on the bed shift. Your muscles tensed up as you tried to mentally prepare yourself for what was next, but to your surprise, Columbina merely returned with a soft fabric that dabbed at the tears puddled up on your face.
As minutes passed with no change, you couldn’t help but feel your worries exacerbate. You were tempted to ask her what she was planning; not knowing something had never felt worse.
Just as you opened your lips to speak, you felt her hand leave your hair, returning in the form of her fingertips against your collarbone. Almost hovering in midair, you could only feel the ghost of a touch as she dragged her digits down your neckline, the coldness of her hands making you shiver before sliding down over the linen fabric of your dress.
Columbina’s fingers swirled across your chest, dipping lower to your stomach, drawing slow, intentional circles over your hip bones before grazing over your inner thigh.
Your eyes shot open, alarms going off in your mind at the feeling of her touch in such intimate areas, your still healthy hand instinctively stretching out towards her.
A searing pain ripped through the entirety of your wounded hand as the scissors were violently ripped out and shoved through the other.
The tune emitting from Columbina was snuffed out by the sound of a strangled wail torn out from your vocal cords, one that rang loudly throughout the room.
For minutes, all you could feel and think about was the excruciating sensation that flowed through your veins with each new gush of blood that cascaded out your palm, soaking into the once pristine sheets. It was only when the initial shock and terror faded into a still agonizing but duller ache that you noticed the strikingly gentle feeling of her fingers between your legs, rubbing slow circles over the fabric covering your cunt.
With your hands immobilized, you had no plans of physically making her stop. You weren’t even sure if you wanted to; the miniscule sparks of pleasure were the only thing that could tear your mind away from the searing agony in your hands. If you focused on it hard enough, the pain seemed to fade into something more distant.
You closed your eyes, diverting your attention from your injuries to the feeling of her fingers, slightly cool to the touch, slipping underneath the fabric of your underwear. Her thumb grazed over your clit, her other digits teasing at your slowly slickening entrance.
Opening your eyelids just a crack, you peeked at her, noticing that she was observing your reactions—her smile widening ever so slightly at each of your hitched breaths.
Columbina’s tune carried on, a soft soundtrack to the main chorus of moans now leaving you. Her fingers were still colder than you expected when she slid them into your now prepared hole, wet with your own juices and coating her middle and index finger as she curled them up at the sweetest of spots.
As her fingers worked up a rhythm inside of you, pleasure began clouding your mind, leaving you in a hazy daze. With each movement she made, the throbbing in your hands began to lift, in the forefront of your mind was instead a delightful heat that surged through your core.
You couldn’t help yourself from bucking your hips against her hand, desperately trying to garner more friction. The Harbinger didn’t seem to mind, the upward tug of her tips only strengthening as she quickened her pace, each curl of her fingers seemingly intent on driving you over the edge.
Lost in your own senses, you didn’t even notice when she reached towards her tray again, picking up one of the sterilely packed objects. You only paid attention when you heard her pause her humming, a small tearing sound in its place.
In any other circumstance you would’ve likely been terrified. But, high from the euphoria her fingers stirred within your walls and dizzy from the blood you lost—blood that had oozed and soaked into the sheets and mattress underneath, permanently staining them—any fear you felt was long gone.
When Columbina slid the thin needle through the top layer of your skin, you only felt a slight pinch. The barely noticeable sting was just enough to add an additional sensation to your experience, the medley of pain and pleasure, a strangely intoxicating concoction that was just enough to send you over the edge. You reached your climax then, the knot inside of you untying itself as your back arched and inner walls spasmed.
Your own cries rang in your ears as you came, the sound of her name bouncing off the walls.
As you came down from your high, the ache in your hands seemed to once again materialize. Before you had an opportunity to pay it any mind, however, you could feel her fingers move once again. Your eyes snapped open in alarm—you were still sensitive—and in panic, you tried to protest.
“Ah—” The sound that came from your lips was breathy, and much too delighted for your own liking. “Stop, I’m still sensitive—”
In response, Columbina smiled wider, her thumb brushing over the swollen bundle of nerves that made you squirm. You gasped, trying to wiggle away from the much too overwhelming feeling, to no avail—without your hands, you couldn’t get far. You could only pitifully lay there, twitching as she continued working her fingers inside of you, her thumb and palm gyrating against your clit, sending much too powerful shockwaves cascading through your body.
Despite the overwhelming touches on your much too sensitive body, you could feel another orgasm building up in you, your mind lost to the agonizing ecstasy that rendered you into a mess. You could feel another needle slide through your skin as your body convulsed, strangled moans leaving your parted lips.
Her touch didn’t end there. You could feel her fingers begin another round of torturous movement within you; you weren’t sure where pain began and pleasure started anymore.
“Please stop—” you tried to beg, hoping for even just a hint of mercy. Each small shift of her hand made you jolt as your nerves were set ablaze. “Please, please, I can’t, it’s too much—”
You shouldn’t have expected anything less of the third, who was peacefully humming still, unfazed by your reactions.
You were nothing but incoherent babbles and sobbing pleas when you came again, your fluids soaking into the sheets almost as much as your blood was, juices sticking to the inside of your thighs and pulling away in strings each time she retracted her fingers, only for you to feel them prodding against your abused opening once more.
You had lost count of how many times you climaxed, each orgasm wrung out of you more excruciating than the last. Only when your body was limp and the last needle had pierced through your skin did Columbina finally let her motions come to an end. When she pulled away from you, touching her fingers to her lips with a pleased hum, you were much too exhausted to say or do anything, small tremors still going through your quivering hips.
You were barely conscious when Columbina deftly laced her ribbons through the needles left in your skin, meticulously wrapping the satin around each point of contact between the steel and your flesh. You could see her gracefully tie a bow at the end, before she sat down on the bed, next to where your collapsed form.
She picked up one of your hands—still pulsating with pain—and pressed her lips to the back of your punctured hand in a tender kiss. She pulled away with sanguine stains on her mouth, seconds before her tongue swiped over her bottom lip to clean it away.
Sliding her arm underneath your back, she helped you up into a sitting position, where you rested your fatigued weight upon her. Your eyes cracked open just a sliver, allowing you to look across the room, where a full body mirror was.
In your bloodied reflection, you could see Columbina brushing through your hair with her fingers, the Harbinger surrounded by all her dolls.