Neil Jessie was getting married tomorrow.
He sat in his cell, feeling his heartbeat and gazing at his palms. These were the hands that had embraced her countless times, rough with calluses from years of practicing piano. Yet after tomorrow, everything would be different.
For the first time in his life, he began to worry that some misfortune might befall his hands suddenly. Scalding them while boiling water, crushing them under bricks...even without accidents, he feared they might lose function for no reason: muscles dying, bones shattering. If that happened, how could he put the ring on her finger tomorrow? What would he use to promise that he would protect her all her life?
He made a few gripping motions to dispel these absurd fantasies. Just then, the iron gate opened with its usual jarring clang.
"Prisoner 40509, come out." The warden said.
Neil walked out of the cell in shackles, voluntarily raising his hands in front of the warden. Once the handcuffs were on, he felt a strange sense of safety. This way his hands wouldn't get hurt.
He followed the warden down the corridor. To him, this dim tunnel reeking of kerosene lamps was as clean and radiant as a jade path carpeted in red. Tomorrow, he and she would stride down this jade path together, toward the place where that ancient and sacred oath would be pledged.
Although the superintendent only permitted a fifteen-minute ceremony, that was enough. This would be the first wedding in the history of Stormwind Prison, and Neil saw it as his good fortune rather than honor.
Although she would leave after the ceremony, that would be after the ring was on. She would take a part of him into the free world.
Now Neil was going to meet the officiant assigned by the Holy Light Cathedral. Along the corridor, many encouraging words came from the cells on both sides.
"Neil, you're our hero."
"She's sure to be a good wife, Neil."
"I'm much more impatient than you, mate."
Some prisoners stuck out their hands through the iron bars, patting his shoulder and touching his arm in encouragement. To respond to their friendliness, Neil would move close to the bars and make a symbolic embracing gesture with his shackled hands. He thought how fortunate he was, even the weddings of nobles and royals could not gain so much, such sincere blessing.
Another prisoner reached out to him. Although Neil did not recognize the man, he still moved close to the bars to allow the other to pat his shoulder.
The man placed his hands on Neil's left and right shoulders and did not speak. His face, covered in purplish-black scars, revealed the true misery of a long-term prisoner and indifference that had long forgotten the outside world.
A wave of compassion rose in Neil's heart. Without her existence, perhaps he would soon become like this man.
"Thanks, mate."
The man did not let go.
"If you don't mind, I have to go..."
The man's hands suddenly gripped Neil's shoulders tightly, then slammed him against the iron bars. Neil felt the pipes embed into the place between his left eye and nose, and his vision instantly went black, his mind buzzing. A rush of heat slid down to his lips. Then he felt something plunge deep into his abdomen, slanting upward into a very deep place, like an iron nail driven through wood and then bent.
By the time the warden in front regained his senses and pushed the man away, Neil had collapsed on the ground, a pointed and rust-covered iron rod plunged into his abdomen, stirring up chaos inside.
Neither the intense pain nor the sudden clamor in the cells could prevent Neil's mind from being occupied once more by the anxiety of losing his hands. He could barely see his fingers in his field of view, and only succeeded in making a grasping motion once. The nightmare had come true. His hands were no longer obedient. He could no longer embrace her. He could not put the ring on her finger.
His blood soaked the shackles and flowed down the corridor, seeping into holes in the uneven floor, flowing into other prisoners' cells, like a red carpet torn into a million strands.