Fröken Linnea Stockholm

"YOU, young lady, have run away for the last time-!"

THUMP

"-for THREE days! THREE. DAYS. You have no idea what it's like for us! You could be anywhere! You could have been dead! The whole time we were worried sick abo-!"

THUMP

"-lways ending up in the foulest of places too! The entire servantry mobilized and WHERE DO WE FIND YOU?! All the way down by the ol-!"

THUMP

"-nd just what do you think you're doing down there anyway?! Honestly Linnea! There is NO reason in the world for you to b-!"

THUMP

"-riving your father and me to early graves. Oh, and don't give me that face! I know you aren't even listening to me right now! The moment we turn our backs you'll be gone again! But ohohoh, no! Not again! It's time for an intervention, you little demon!"

THUMP

Ouch! At this rate I'm going to get lumps on top of my lumps! Mother has been at it for the past nine minutes, pacing around like a woman gone mad and only occasionally pausing in her stride to concuss me on my poor, little, delicate head. Completely unmerited too! I, Fröken Linnea Stockholm, just so happen to be an angel in the flesh.

"Your mother is right." Father chimes in from across the room. "You've shown time and time again that you cannot be trusted with even the tiniest fraction of responsibility. You've left us with little choice..."

Bracing for more thumps but finding none, I risk opening my eyes. Mercifully, Mother has stopped her pacing and her wallops both, instead joining Father's side by where he sits in his armchair. She snuggles into him, but her face is bunched like used tissue, as if she is about to cry. Father frankly doesn't look like he's holding together much better himself, a dreadful glumness to his features that makes him look faintly sallow in the chandelier light. Both of them have begun to gray prematurely despite being only middle-aged. I have no idea how that happened. It must be genetic.

"Little choice?" I venture, batting my eyes innocently at the pair. "Father dearest, whatever could you mean?"

"We're hiring a bodyguard." Mother interjects sternly. "A bodyguard to protect you from your own twisted proclivities. You've made it clear that you cannot be trusted to be alone, and your father and I are sick of worrying about you."

Ack! This is it for me. This is the end. After years and years of brutal abuse at the hands of my callous and EVIL parents, this is the finishing blow, the coup de grâce I cannot possibly survive. My spine, that elegant column of ivory that has erected me so beautifully for all of my short, sad, utterly pitiable life, shatters, and then I'm falling. I'm tumbling. I'm collapsing (gracefully) onto the couch. Real genuine fake tears bead in my eyes, flowing from me as freely as blood. I knew it. Betrayal always comes from those you most expect...

"N-no... It... It hurts... Can't... Can't breathe..." I death-rattle, clutching woundedly at my left bosom where I swear I can feel my heart beating no longer. "I... I think I am having a heart attack... Help me... This is NOT a joke. I'm dying... T-tell the... HRRAK! HRRAK! ...ugh... Tell the cook I shan't... shan't be requiring dinner tonight..."

Father sighs and pinches his nose. Mother bows her head in shame, unable to bear to look at me for any longer. YES. Guilt. They have killed their only daughter and now they must live with the conse-

"You may come in now." Father addresses, not to me apparently. "There on the couch is our Linnea. She's our daughter, deeply manipulative and deeply rude, but the only one we've got. I trust you will be able to keep her safe as we discussed?"

WHAT?!

YES! FINALLY! I'VE DONE IT! My parents? Evaded. The servants? Evaded. That stupid ugly idiot of a 'bodyguard'? Easily evaded. E-A-S-I-L-Y. So easy. Honestly it was the easiest thing I've ever done in my life ever. It's kind of pathetic how lack-witted and slow my bodyguard is. I would be laughing at them if I wasn't completely and utterly winded for... unrelated reasons.

"Phew... ha... yes... ha... I did it..." I gasp out, pausing to rest against a tree while I catch my breath. "Freedom... ha... is mine..."

And what a glorious freedom it is! (One I intend to make good use of.) I've already followed my usual pathways, heading from my family's luxurious estates along only the most deserted and rat-infested alleyways until I arrived in the most disreputable areas on the outskirts of the city. It's for, uh... philanthropic reasons, of course. Naturally. Alas, I have once again completely 'forgotten' to bring any coinage, but I will have to make do with helping the poor through any... other ways I can.

Anyway, after lingering in town for a spell and finding no obvious... recipients of philanthropy... I had ventured further eastwards into the forests beyond. The forests are well known as being riddled with the worst and most desperate sort of people, the kind of place inhabited by only those who are too poor to afford even communal housing or by those who are so coveted by the law that their faces cannot be rightly seen if they wish to remain free. It's a mythical place supposedly filled with foul-smelling bandits, relentlessly-brutal ruffians, and darkly-dashing rogues of all sorts, but so far all I've found are boring old trees, dreadfully uninspired birdsong, and dirt. Where the hell are all the people in need?

"Oooooooh! Oh horror!" I proclaim dramatically, my voice pitching a whole octave higher than how I naturally speak. "I sure am lost in these dark, scary woods! I sure hope there aren't any bandits around! A poor, weak, defenseless thing like me would be just too easy to overpower! And the only valuables I have on me are my clothes~!"

I bend down to stretch my calves, shimmying my... expensive skirts... at some bushes that I think look suspicious, just so that any would-be bandits can see that I'm packing big value. Then I wait. And I wait. And I wait... ... ...

Nothing happens. Nothing's happening. Of course. Of course nothing's happening, Just my luck. And you know what? This is some shit! I've worked hard at getting here. Really hard! I've toiled with my delicate little maidenly fingers picking locks and I've strained my delicate little maidenly legs bolting down alleyways. The least, THE ABSOLUTE LEAST the bandits could do is have the common-sense and decency to actually show up! Really! A proper lady should not be made to sit around and wait. I take a deep, slow, trembling-with-annoyance-bordering-rage-filled breath. And then I release.

"HEY DUMBASS OR DUMBASSES PLURAL!" I bellow, scattering the birds for at least a mile. "I SAID I SURE HOPE THERE AREN'T ANY BANDITS AROUND! NOW GET OUT HERE BEFORE I COME AND FIND YOU! YES, THAT IS A THREAT!"

Yes! Oh my god, yes! Finally! It's finally happening! I can barely believe it. After so many escape attempts, after so many misencounters with 'degenerates' who were weirdly polite and respectful, after so many times I'd been found 'lost' and so many 'rescues' ending in my safe return home - after so, so, so many failures at last I finally have one success!

I am in the woods, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, completely tied up, shoved into a large burlap sack that smells faintly of potatoes, and have been callously tossed into a tent by some very rough and very aggressive bandits. What's more is that the leader of the pack has very crudely assured me that 'no one can hear you scream' and that 'a pretty little thing like you deserves to be passed around a little bit'. That pretty much means I win. No matter how horrible my luck is there is zero chance that I am not getting absolutely ravaged tonight. My existence isn't THAT much of a joke.

"Help! Oh, someone please help! I am just a poor and delicate maiden! I'm not suited to be handled so roughly!" I wail melodramatically, my words mostly intended for the excitement of my captors and my own. "Please! Please don't hurt me! I... I have nothing I can possibly offer you!"

The act is so convincing, so deeply felt, that real genuine fake tears (a specialty of mine) begin to well up in my eyes, streaming down my blazing blush-burned cheeks and painting the dirt muddy. Oh, I'm good. I'm a veritable maestro of maidenly distress. They will hear my crying, and it will only make them want me more. They will come to me laughing and mocking. They will rip this sack open, but that won't be enough. Their hungry, greedy hands will find my frail frame and I'll be able to do nothing but squirm and sob as they finally shut me up by reaching for their trousers and forcing thei—

CLANG!

"Never should have come here!" shouts a bandit for outside my tent. What's that clanging sound? It sounded like steel on steel...

CLANG! SHINK!

"Gah! You killed Oliver! YOU KILLED OLIVER YOU FUCK!" one of my captors screams, his voice strained. "You bastard! You die on my bla- Urk!"

What is going on out there? This isn't part of the script! The script involves heavy breathing, the tearing of expensive clothing, and my token, theatrical struggles. It does NOT involve a swordfight! I need to see what's going on!

Desperately, I try to stand up only to quickly realize that I am bound so tightly as for it to be completely impossible. Confound it! I knew I shouldn't have so vehemently insisted that my ropes were too loose! ...I also probably shouldn't have demonstrated to the bandits all the different knot types that they could most effectively use to restrain different parts of me.

The best I can manage is rolling onto my stomach and starting to worm. Knees... shoulders... knees... shoulders... knees... I am eating SO much dirt doing this. And not even in a sexy way like if a big strong hand were smashing my face into the ground. It's just gross... Knees... shoulders... knees... shoulders... knees... Come on. Just a little bit further. I almost have my head out of the tent flaps. Once I'm there I'll be able to see what's going on. Though it seems to have quieted down quite a bit. Maybe the bandits took care of it... Knees... shoulders... knees... shoulders... knees... Aha! I can feel the fabric on my forehead. Just a little more and-

Bodies. Dead bodies everywhere. There were half a dozen bandits plotting terrible things for me around the fire, now there are half a dozen corpses eating more dirt than I am. And having the audacity to stand over the slaughter is my 'savior', slayer of bandits, rescuer of one very pent-up, very pissed-off maiden. I can't believe it... I successfully evade my bodyguard for once only to have some other completely different idiot ruin it all for me by playing 'hero'. My ravaging... My gangbang... My existence really is just a giant joke. I hate this person already.

"YOU! YOU ABSOLUTE COCK WOMBLE! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW HARD IT WAS TO GET HERE?! HOW HARD IT WAS TO GET TIED UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WOODS BY VIOLENT BANDITS?!" I shriek, literally starting to see red as I continue what is now an exceedingly slow and awkward 'charge'. "COME HERE 'HERO'! I WANT TO 'THANK' YOU. I WANT TO 'THANK' YOU BY BITING OFF YOUR LEGS AND BEATING YOU TO DEATH WITH THEM! YOU LITERALLY ARE RUINING MY LIFE!"

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