Every inch of the cell is cold and harsh, the moisture on the walls glistening in the dim light like an abstract painting of despair. Yet there's something almost comforting about its familiarity, the secure solitude of this enclosed space. After a day filled with dread, uncertainty and potential harm around every corner, the sight of my cell door brings a surprising relief. It's not the ideal sanctuary, but it is mine, and from today onward, it also belonged to Fleya as well.
I watch Fleya rush into the cell and towards the bucket, an action she performs with obvious reluctance. I had instructed her not to request bathroom breaks during work hours, presenting it as a rule, rather than a decision dictated by my concern for her. I'd rather she believe my lie than understand the reality: asking a guard for a favour always has a price, and it's one I did not want her to pay.
Yet, it's a price I've paid numerous times, a bitter reality that I've accepted. The ghost of Luthier's touch still lingers, and I can taste the bitterness of it, reminding me of my own harsh reality. I hope the food ration they promised today will help erase it, at least temporarily.
"I'm so tired, do we have to do this every day?" Fleya's complaint is soft and filled with exhaustion, her sorrow-filled eyes fixed on me. "I do not wish to be here."
Her words transport me back to my early days here, days filled with confusion, fear, and a deep-seated wish to be anywhere else. Even after all these years, the memory still stings, a vivid scar on my soul. I soften my voice, hoping to offer her some comfort. "I know everything must be so confusing for you right now, but you will get used to it."
I know it's the last thing she wants to hear, but it's the truth. This place doesn't release its prisoners; it consumes them. I don't want her harbouring any false hopes that could lead her to danger or worse. Those who run this prison, from the guards to the warden, they view us as nothing more than disposable commodities, discarding us without a second thought when we're no longer of use to them. It's a brutal reality, but it's one we need to accept to survive.
"There's no need for me to," The girl retorts, her chin raised in defiance. "My brother will soon arrive to free me, and when he does, you're coming with me."
"Silence, child!" I command in a harsh whisper, my grip tightening on her upper arm. "You mustn't speak so recklessly lest they hear you."
Fleya winces under my grip, her slender frame trembling as she regards me as a new threat. Instantly releasing her, I watch as she retreats, creating a buffer between us.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you," I say, my gaze locked on the angry red imprint my grip left on her arm. "If anyone overhears you, it will put you in danger."
"It's the truth!" She retorts, her words laced with disdain and venom. "My brother will rescue me and when he does, he'll cast all those who've harmed me into Keasix."
"Quiet!" I insist, my eyes darting nervously around the tunnel for signs of eavesdroppers. I swiftly approach her, my hand covering her mouth as I warn her, "Your brother cannot save you, not from the King's prison. Any attempt to would be treason."
Her eyes blaze with loathing at the mention of the King. I am taken aback. While his rule is widely detested, the intensity of the fury in her eyes is exceptional. For the small, fragile girl that I've come to know, this rage seems disproportionate. I slowly remove my hand from her mouth, dropping it back to my side.
"My brother will come for me, you'll see," She asserts before settling down on her blanket, effectively dismissing me.
'She'll soon see that I am right,' I muse, nibbling on my chapped lower lip. 'She must, if she hopes to survive.'
With a resigned sigh, I settle down next to her, leaning my head against the cold, stone wall of our shared cell. "I was eleven, only one year younger than you when I was thrown in here," I mention. Fleya shifts subtly at my words but doesn't respond. I can tell, however, that she's listening.
"My brothers and I were convicted for stealing a loaf of bread from a bakery. We were desperate, on the brink of starvation, and out of options." A rush of emotions overwhelms me as I share, for the first time, memories of my life outside these walls. "With no parents to turn to, it was either steal or starve."
"But that was a mistake, our greatest mistake. We thought we would only have to serve a few weeks in prison, that's what the rule said for stealing. But, we underestimated the greed and cruelty of the king." I close my eyes as I recall the memories, a sharp pang resonating in my heart.
"The king had been visiting our city on that very day. He saw us getting arrested, decided to make an example of us. It didn't matter that we were just kids, or that we had only stolen because we were starving. We were made to be a symbol, a reminder to all who dare defy his law."
My voice drops to a whisper as I continue, "My brothers and I were split up, sent to different prisons across the kingdom. I've been here ever since." The silence that follows my confession is deafening. Fleya's soft, steady breaths provide the only sound, a stark contrast to the heavy silence surrounding us.
"I tell you this not for sympathy, Fleya. I tell you this so you can understand why your hope for rescue...it may not ever happen." I swallow hard, my throat aching with the bitterness of my words. "The king has no mercy, especially not for prisoners. And those who dare challenge him, they don't tend to fare well."
Her response comes as nothing but a whisper, her words lingering in the cold air of our cell, "My brother is not like any other. He will come."
Her unwavering belief in her brother, it stirs a strange mixture of feelings within me, envy for her faith, dread for her possible disappointment, and a strange yearning for the kind of hope she held on to. Despite knowing the harsh realities of this place, a small part of me wants to believe her, to hold on to that tiny flicker of hope.
"If that's true, Fleya," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, "Then I pray for his swift arrival. Because this place...it can change people, make them forget who they were. And I don't want that for you." I cast her a side glance, her face hidden in the dim light, but her determined silence says more than enough.
"W..what happened to your parents?" Fleya asks after some time, the timidity in her voice evident as she ventures into this sensitive territory.
"They had already passed away by the time we resorted to theft," I respond nonchalantly, the absence of my parents has never been a point of grief for me. It's hard to miss someone you never knew. "Both succumbed to illness shortly after my younger brother was born, merely a year after my own birth."
"What about your brothers? Are they... are they still alive?" Fleya questions, her apprehensive expression revealing she's already bracing herself for the answer.
"I haven't a clue, though Ive assumed they were dead after all these years," I admit, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath to compose myself. Upon reopening them, I see Fleya's tear-streaked face, a sight which drives my hands to wipe them from her cheeks. "Do not weep for them. The release of death is a blessing compared to the torments of this place or the hardships we endured before."
"You must miss them terribly," She manages to whisper between sobs. It's an odd sight, seeing her so open with her emotions. In this place, any sign of vulnerability is an invitation for trouble, but it's somewhat refreshing to see someone yet untainted by the prison's brutal realities.
Indeed, it's been a long while since I last thought of my brothers. Their memory was all I clung onto when I first arrived here, but as survival took precedence, they gradually faded from my conscious thoughts. Yet now, sitting beside this girl and witnessing her raw emotion, I allow myself to feel again. I mull over her question and, to my own surprise, I realise I do miss them.
Even if the details of their features remain elusive, receding into the fog of forgotten memories. Their faces - once vivid and etched into the corners of my mind, have blurred into hazy silhouettes, slipping like water through my fingers each time I try to grasp them. Their voices, once resonant echoes within my consciousness, are now muffled murmurs, the timbre and cadence lost in the labyrinth of time. Despite my fervent efforts, I cannot recall the warmth of their smiles, the comfort of their laughter, or even the sting of their scorn. The essence of who they were to me - so familiar yet so distant - is now a phantom in the theatre of my memory.
"More than words can express."
Fleya doesn't say anything for a while, just huddles closer to me. Her warmth seeps into my side, providing a fleeting comfort in the cool dampness of the cell. I let my gaze drift upwards, where the jagged rock ceiling glimmers with beads of water. Her hand is small and cold in mine, a reminder of the innocence still clinging to her.
"I promise," Fleya says finally, her voice trembling slightly, "When my brother comes, he will take you with us. He is very powerful...he won't let you stay here."
Her words hang in the air, a beacon of hope and desperation. I can't help but feel a pang of sadness. She still believes in rescue, in a world beyond these walls. But I've been here long enough to know better. No one leaves this place unless the King wills it.
Despite my skepticism, I squeeze her hand gently, humoring her. "I hope so, Fleya," I tell her, keeping my voice as gentle as I can. "I truly hope so."
Her grip tightens, and I know she's not just trying to convince me, she's also trying to convince herself. In her world, her brother is still coming, still searching. I can't take that away from her. Not yet.
The rest of the night passes in silence. Fleya eventually falls asleep, her breathing slow and steady against my side. As I lay there in the darkness, the echoes of my past and the uncertainties of the future intertwine. Fleya's hope, her faith in her brother, reminds me of a part of myself I'd almost forgotten - the child who once dreamed of escaping these walls.
As I finally drift off to sleep, the last thought that flits through my mind is the hope, however unlikely, of seeing the world outside these cold stone walls once more.