Flonda sat on the cold, unforgiving floor of the iron cell, her wrists chafed from the metal cuffs that drained her power and left her feeling hollow. The cuffs severed her connection to her core, making her nothing more than a prisoner, a pawn in a game she had not agreed to play. The cell was dark and damp, the distant sound of dripping water the only thing breaking the oppressive silence. Her untouched food tray lay in the corner, ignored; she had no appetite for it. Her thoughts were on Voldrak.
He'll come for me, she repeated to herself, her determination flickering like a flame struggling against the wind. But even the strongest flame can waver. She clenched her fists, trying to ignore the pit in her stomach, the aching fear that gnawed at the edges of her mind.
