Agony wracks through my body as Luthier and his cronies torture me without mercy. I'm bound in such a way that restricts any movement, leaving me helpless while they inflict their sadistic desires upon me. I had once foolishly believed I could endure it, convinced that their depravity wouldn't break my spirit if my suffering served a greater purpose. I couldn't have been more mistaken.
"Please stop," I sob, my pleas dissolving into the chilling air around us. However, no matter how desperately I beg, my cries fall on deaf ears.
"Silence!" One of the brutes holler at me, venom lacing his words. "Quit pretending you're not enjoying it, you practically begged to be here."
"I... I despise it," I stammer through sobs, tears cascading down my face, blending with the snot, sweat, and blood smeared across my skin. "P...p...plea..."
My plea is abruptly cut short when a surge of electricity courses through my body. Tied down as I am, with one man brutally assaulting me, my body convulses against the harsh restraints. The world goes black as the high voltage short-circuits my senses, and when my vision clears, Luthier's face looms in front of me. Flaunting his electrokinetic ability, the electricity dancing from one finger to another.
A malevolent smile twists his features as he shocks me again, each jolt of electricity a promise of more torment. "If I hear another sound from you, I'll slice out your tongue and force it down your throat."
If I hear..
If I..
If..
--------
As my heavy eyelids grudgingly part, I find myself nestled in the sanctuary of the massive bed in which I had earlier been seated. Shifting to prop myself up into a sitting position, I steal a moment to gather my bearings. The world outside the tent is cloaked in the mantle of night, a silent testament to the passage of time since I had been soaking in the warmth of the bath. A soft, wavering glow beckons my gaze towards the far corner of the spacious tent, where my rescuer is ensconced behind a cluttered desk.
He sits amidst a tumultuous sea of scattered parchments and crumpled maps, the candlelight casting long, flickering shadows across his intense visage. A quill rests in his grip, hovering indecisively over a blank sheet, as if awaiting inspiration from its weary master. His other hand supports his head, fingers splayed through the dark strands of his hair, seemingly attempting to physically wrangle the elusive answers from his mind. His handsome features are sculpted into a mask of deep concentration, the ghost of a furrow dancing between his brows in an eloquent display of vexation.
The light dances off his chestnut skin, bringing into focus the angular planes of his face, the stern set of his jaw, and the stark intensity of his stormy grey eyes. There's an air of tension about him, as palpable as the looming catastrophe that this war will surely bring, a frustrated energy that seems to radiate from him, filling the space between us. It's as if his internal turmoil has animated the very atmosphere within the tent, resonating with the silent symphony of a man battling against an insurmountable task.
'I must have drifted off,' I deduce, the events leading up to my current situation a blur. I have no recollection of how I ended up on the bed, but sleep seems to be the only plausible explanation.
Careful not to disturb him, I ease myself out of the bed and pad softly to an oversized crate a few feet from his desk. Tucking my legs beneath myself, I settle down to observe him at work. Even in this dim light, he's breathtakingly handsome.
'I could lose myself just watching him,' I muse, the peculiar connection I feel towards him starting to unsettle me. 'Why does his absence make me feel so vulnerable?'
Fear begins to fester within me. 'I'm too reliant on him, a pitiful girl clinging to his side. Surely, he will tire of me soon.' The thought amplifies my growing unease. 'I need to dispel these emotions, and quickly.'
"Come here," His voice breaks the silence, startling me. I hadn't realized he was aware of my presence.
Gathering myself, I find the courage to approach him, my tentative footsteps echoing in the spacious tent, punctuating the silence that blankets the room. Hesitating at the side of his chair, my heartbeat quickens in anticipation, a staccato rhythm that feels deafening in the quiet around us. In a swift, yet gentle motion, he reaches out, his strong hand wrapping around my arm, pulling me into his lap.
His stature is colossal, a veritable mountain of a man, making me feel incredibly small and fragile in comparison. There's an inherent strength about him, an unyielding robustness that radiates from every fiber of his being. Yet, his touch is surprisingly tender, as if he understands the fragility of the flower he's chosen to cradle.
Heaving a sigh that seems to hold the weight of a thousand worries, he draws me closer, my back nestling against his chest, enveloped in a warmth that feels like home. His chest is firm and solid, a reassuring bulwark against the world outside. The sensation is almost overwhelming, the comfort of being held by him likened to being swallowed by a gentle wave, protecting and warming every inch of my body.
Despite the surrounding chaos, his steady heartbeat reverberates through me, a soothing rhythm that calms my racing thoughts. It's a strangely intimate feeling, our bodies entwined in such a manner, like pieces of a puzzle finding their rightful place. As I rest against him, I feel cocooned in a sense of safety and warmth, a sensation I've been longing for, making this moment feel all the more precious.
"Go back to sleep, I didn't mean to wake you," He murmurs, shifting in his seat to provide me with more comfort.
'You didn't wake me,' I want to say, but my voice betrays me, remaining silent. I merely shake my head in response.
"You need your rest," He soothes, his voice a comforting lullaby. "It will help your body to heal."
'Healing isn't possible,' The bleak thought pulls me into the abyss of my mind, filled with horrific memories of the torment I endured at the hands of Luthier and his accomplices.
My life has been held captive since before the tender buds of my adolescence had a chance to unfurl into the full bloom of womanhood. Experiencing a myriad of atrocities, enduring years of relentless torment and debasement, has distorted my perception of what a normal body should even resemble. My existence has been a brutal dance between survival and despair, leaving me in a constant state of uncertainty and fear.
The mirrored surface of a calm lake, once reflecting the innocence and promise of youth, has been shattered, its pieces strewn about, reflecting back only a twisted, fragmented image of who I once was. The blueprint of normalcy has been so cruelly snatched from me, leaving behind an abyss of confusion and self-doubt.
The resilient spirit that once danced within me, full of hope and dreams, has been systematically battered and bruised. It clings to life like a flame flickering in a harsh wind, uncertain and teetering on the brink of extinction. Its once vibrant hues have dimmed, and I can't help but question if it will ever shine as brightly again.
Yet, amidst the prevailing darkness, a tiny seed of resilience stubbornly persists. A stubborn refusal to be extinguished, a yearning to reclaim what was cruelly stolen. As I navigate this tenuous path towards healing and self-discovery, I can't help but wonder if this tarnished spirit can ever truly mend, if the echoes of my past will forever haunt my steps, or if I can somehow forge a path towards redemption and rekindle the light within.
"Fleya is worried about you," He speaks softly, his voice cutting through the gloom of my thoughts.
The mention of my friend sends a jolt through me. It's been nearly two weeks since I last saw her. The longing to see her safe and sound is overwhelming.
"She wanted to visit you, but I refused," His words stir my curiosity. I look up at him, seeking an explanation. "Seeing the extent of the damage inflicted upon you, the harm she was spared from, would shatter her."
Understanding dawns upon me and I nod in agreement. I hadn't considered the potential emotional fallout. The last thing I want is for Fleya to shoulder any guilt for my suffering. She's innocent in all this.
"So, you need to recover in order to see her again," He continues, and I immediately understand his unspoken motivation. "To do that, you need plenty of rest."
Suppressing the urge to roll my eyes at his command, I merely rest my head against his solid chest instead. The rhythmic beating of his heart beneath my ear provides a soothing lullaby, instilling a sense of security within me. As he continues his work, my gaze follows his hand across the paper. However, the inked strokes, which formulate coherent sentences for him, appear as an indecipherable arrangement of lines and patterns to my untrained eye.
As his heart continues its steady rhythm, paired with the comforting warmth radiating from his body, my eyes gradually succumb to the pull of exhaustion. For the first time in my life, an enveloping sense of tranquility settles within me, accompanied by the reassuring knowledge of safety. In his presence, I know I have nothing to fear.
An unexpected sigh escapes me. It is laced not with sorrow or despair, but a hint of contentment. A rarity I thought I had long forgotten. Nestled in his embrace, I'm protected from the cruel world outside, insulated from past horrors.
With each passing second, the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat lulls me further into a state of calm. The warmth emanating from him is a balm against the lingering chill of fear and despair, replacing it with something akin to hope. The tendrils of sleep begin to creep in, coaxing me towards the much-needed rest he had earlier stressed on.
I fight the pull of sleep, not wanting to miss a single moment of this newfound peace. But eventually, my heavy eyelids win the battle. The world blurs, then darkens. Yet, even in the grip of impending sleep, a subtle smile graces my lips. Despite all odds, in this moment, I am at peace.