Hi there! I know I should really be working on Swaying in the Breeze, but I was hit with very rampant plot bunnies and I just had to write this to get it out of my head. Anyway, I hope that you all enjoy this piece!
Warning: This is pretty dark material. If you are squeamish at all or sensitive, I suggest not reading this. Thanks!
61. 61. 61. She had been stuck in that god forsaken place for 61 days. Or maybe it was longer… All she could recall before the darkness took over was sitting with her best friend and enjoying a nice cool cup of tea. May…I wonder if she's alright… That man, her captor, had never shown his face, but rather sent his servants to do his bidding. The brown haired one with the glinting glasses and the condescending smile was the worst of them all. Cruel bastard. She had seen the small, pleased smile he wore as he dug deep in her skin and probed painfully with her fully aware. And his hands…so cold! Every time he placed them on her shivers raked up her spine, like sharp needles into tender flesh.
At first, she was so delusional with the lack of water and a throbbing pain in her head to recognize her surroundings. Minutes passed like hours as she hallucinated with images of her childhood, her dreams, her nightmares. She passed in and out of consciousness, only hazy memories of what happened to go by.
When she had jolted awake, she was bound by metal shackles to a cold, unforgiving metal table. The brown haired man loomed over her and gave her such a fake smile that she almost threw up. Like he could possibly understand. It was as if he had no humanity left in his body, and every action since she began to count her days in that prison. That Hell.
She sat, huddled really, in the darkest corner of the dingy cell she was tossed into when they were done with her. The only light in the room shone from the cracks in the frame of the door, and she stared dismally at the floating dust she could see in the light. Her future would be full of nothing more than pain and sadness, but she would never give them the ability to see her suffering. As she eyed a glint of light off a sharp looking shard of glass, she felt relief and happiness well up. Freedom, she could sense it. She reached for the glass and feebly held it in her hand as she felt the sharp edges pry into her skin. I will no longer be a tool.
A quick flick of a wrist, a splash of warm liquid, and she knew no more.