The third interminable day dawned, and I found myself still confined within the same dreary room, trapped since that day. Today held particular significance, for it was the designated day that I was supposed to meet with the three mystical spirits.
The heavy door creaked open, and Sister Felice entered, her stern features framed by the flickering torchlight from the corridor. In her calloused hands, she carried a tray with a hunk of stale bread and a chipped clay cup of water.
As she set the meager provisions on the dank floor, her piercing gaze found me huddled in the corner of this dark room. "Do not mistake this for kindness," she said, her voice as harsh as the stone walls that entombed me. With that, she locked the door once again and walked away.
"At the very least, I am being fed," I murmured.
Hushed voices carried through the thick door, snippets of conversation filtering into this dark and lonely room. I strained to make out the muffled words as people passed by in the corridor outside.
"…dreadful scarring, I'm afraid. The burns were quite severe." Visions of Ellie's porcelain skin marred by angry red trails of scorched flesh flashed through my mind.
"Such a pretty girl," a woman's voice, likely one of the orphanage matrons, tsked sadly. "She had such hopes of catching the eye of a wealthy patron."
Ellie's dream, she practically announces it every chance she gets. Her dream of being swept away to a life of comfort and privilege now lay in charred ruins, just like the flesh of her once unblemished arm. Her chances had gone up in flames that fateful night, all because of her careless actions.
I felt not an ounce of guilt towards her, I have come to that realization.
However, where once her disdain for me had been a twisted game, a cruel amusement to entertain her boredom, I knew that hatred would not burn with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns. The scarred, mottled flesh of her arm stood as an ever-present reminder of what happened that day, fanning the flames of fury with each agonizing breath.
Other than the whispering condition about Ellie, I often hear the hushed whispers slithering under the door stung like a thousand scorpion stings. "Witch. Monster." The cruel epithets were nothing to my ears, but in the wake of that dreadful day, they carried new, venomous weight.
They blame me for something they don't know about. How typical of them.
For the days that I have been here, the incessant pounding on my door has become a grim soundtrack to my days. The shrill giggles and taunting cries of children filter through the walls, piercing my ears like needles.
At first, I tried to reason with them, to make them stop with their behaviors. But it soon became clear their "pranks" were not born of childish whimsy, but rather insidious influence. Someone has poisoned their minds against me, painting me as a figure to be feared and tormented.
With each rattling knock, each scurrying of little feet outside my door, I'm reminded of how deeply the seeds of hate have taken root here. The cruelty is being passed down like a vile inheritance, cultivated in their malleable minds by those who should know better.
Yet, I cannot find it in my heart to be angry at the children themselves. They are but empty vessels, soaking up the toxic prejudices that fester in the hearts of those around them. My ire is reserved for those who influenced them, who would use the innocent as instruments of torment.
So I endure the knocks, the jeers, the endless barrage of childish cruelty, hoping that one day, their eyes may be opened. Perhaps they can shed the twisted dogma instilled in them and see for the human I am beneath the vicious rumors.
I've learned to tune out the muffled taunts, the rhythmic pounding meant to unhinge me. My focus remains rigid, zeroed in on maintaining my tenuous grip on sanity.
The nights are the cruelest tormentors. No sooner do I let my eyes drift shut than the nightmares descend—twisted visions dredged from the depths of this place's sordid history. Phantoms of the persecuted flit through my slumber, their anguished wails echoing endlessly.
Every corner of this wretched room taunts me with the ghost of torments past. The dank walls seem to close in, suffocating me with the weight of anguish memories. I can still smell the fear, and taste the desperation that clung to the air like a miasma.
Obedience was my sole shield against being cast into this oubliette. Ellie's stern commands, Sister Anna's pious diktats—I followed them all without question, desperate to avoid incurring their wrath. Even now, the echo of their voices rings in my ears, a constant reminder of the price of defiance.
Yet for all my capitulation, I find myself entombed here once more, a prisoner of this lightless, soul-leeching chamber. As the hours bleed away, I wonder how much more my battered psych can withstand. With each passing moment, I can feel my sanity fraying like an overworked rope.
Memories assailed me—the crack of the disciplinary rod, the searing brand of the iron, the shrill, incessant tolling of bells that burrowed into my skull. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the visions intensify, flickering behind my lids in lurid shades of crimson and shadow.
How much longer can I endure this waking purgatory? My soul cries out for deliverance, for even the briefest taste of freedom from this room. But I know no salvation awaits.
I looked down at the pendant glinting in my palm. This unassuming trinket has become my obsession, my sole tether to whatever sliver of hope remains. Its incessant whispering echoes through my mind, burrowing deeper with each utterance of my name.
Ruby…Ruby…Ruby…
I turn the cool metal over and over, searching its smooth surface for any clue, any hint as to how to unlock its secrets. The full moon looms a deadline that fills me with equal parts dread and longing. Break it open, they commanded but provided no guidance on how to accomplish such a feat.
My eyes trace the intricate whorls etched into the pendant, seeking any flaw or imperfection that may reveal the method of prying it apart. But it remains stubbornly intact, mocking my efforts with its impenetrable facade.
Since that day, I can feel its power, thrumming with an energy that calls to the core of my being. The whisper intensifies a siren's call that flows more insistent with each passing moment. I clutch the pendant tighter, knuckles whitening as tremors wrack my arm.
"It's useless…" The words taste like ashes on my tongue, an admission of utter defeat. Even if, by some miracle, I manage to escape this room, I'll return to the cave empty-handed. A failure.
What was the point of it all then? The sleepless nights, the obsessive fixation, the slow unraveling of my sanity? All for naught, it seems. I'm no longer to unlocking the pendant's mysteries than when I first laid eyes upon its deceptively simple form.
Ruby…Ruby…Ruby…
The incessant calling of my name is unraveling the last threads of tethering me to sanity. That infernal whispering, Ruby…Ruby…Ruby…, it burrows deeper into my consciousness with every utterance. I can't escape it, can't drown out the maddening summons.
I'm so tired…so unbearably tired of everything.
I tucked the pendant away with a weary sigh, turning towards the window. The first silvery rays of the full moon are peeking over the horizon, bathing the world in its ethereal glow. Normally a sight would fill me with wonder, but not tonight. Tonight that luminous orb is a harbinger of disappointment, a reminder of promises that I won't be able to keep.
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, breath misting the pane. They will be waiting for me, no doubt. Expecting me to show up in that cave. But how can I face them empty-handed and unable to get out of this room?
My head shakes slowly, my mouth forming a tight line. Even if I tried to explain, to lay bare this struggle, would it matter? The words would ring hallow, pitiful excuses that they have surely heard before.
In the middle of gazing at the moon, I suddenly froze on the spot. My eyes widen as I catch the sight of the shadowy figure between the trees.
"Who…?" My breath catches in my throat as our gazes lock. He wore black from head to toe, a long coat or cloak that seemed to drink in what little light remained. The fabric looked almost liquid, rippling subtly despite the stillness of his stance. But it was the mask that he wore truly chilld me. An expressionless visage of smooth black material, devoid of any features save for those burning pits where eyes should be. Like twin cores of molten fire given physical form, they blazed with a baleful inner light completely at odds with the shadow cloaking the rest of his face and form.
A chill slithered down my spine, an icy trickle of primal dread. Though the figure remained motionless, something insidious seemed to emanate from its shrouded form—a palpable aura of malice that set every nerve ending afire with the body's most ancient warning.
Flee.
My pulse thundered in my ears, the rapid staccato of a prey creature sensing the approach of the predator. Every instinct screamed at me to run, to put as much distance between myself and that unnatural presence as possible. But there was no escape, not here in this confined space that had become a trap. I was caged, a mouse with a nowhere to scurry form the looming serpent.
A step forward, unhurried and inexorable as the march of doom itself. Then another. Those twin pits of smoldering crimson never wavered from me.
What should I do in this situation? Nothing. There is nothing I can do.
My heart sized in my chest as the wraith-like figure suddenly manifested before the window, a silent violation of all natural law. One moment the pane was empty, the next those twin garnets burned through the glass pinning me like a terrified specimen.
"How…?" the question beat frantically against my mind even as rational though began to fray. This was no mere man, of what I was abruptly and horrifyingly certain. What foul sorcery or darker power had transported it here, to this second story window?
There was no time to ponder such profane mysteries. He took off his mask, I could clearly see his horrifying face, his mouth wide open and with a sound like the shriek of torture soul, the glass exploded inward in a glittering spray. Shards sliced the air, their deadly rain parted only the unnatural figure's passage as it thrust itself through the shatter window and into the room with me.
The tinkling of scattered shards was obscenely at odds with the dread weight now permeating the air. I backpedaled with frantic haste, but the confines of the chamber rapidly truncated my retreat. Too soon my shoulders met unyielding stone, and I could go no further.
The scream withered in my throat as a guttural growl rumbled from the intruder's shadowed depths. A sound that could have issued from no human vocals cords—a bestial, reverberating snarl that raised every hair on my body in primordial warning.
"Crimson…child…" The horrifying creature said, still locking its eyes on mine.