FRACTURED WILL
The hand waving in front of my face jolted me out of my thoughts. I blinked, looking up to meet his gaze—a curious look, mixed with something darker. Anger, maybe?
"So, you're sober now," he said, his voice void of emotions.
He crouched down to my level, his face closer than it had ever been before. But this time, his eyes weren't smiling. The warmth I'd seen earlier was gone, replaced by something menacing, like a storm brewing behind them.
"Get back up. You think it's over just because you're down?"
I had no idea what he meant, but before I could even begin to process it, he grabbed my hand, yanking me to my feet with enough force that I staggered. He held on tightly, steadying me until I was balanced. Then, without warning, he pulled me closer—his breath warm against my ear as he spoke slowly, deliberately.
"This is just the beginning. When I think you're ready, I'll find you."
His voice sent a chill down my spine. Something was unsettling about the way he said it, like he was toying with me, like I had no say in the matter.
He leaned back, studying me with eyes devoid of any emotion now. It was a complete contrast to the intensity just moments ago. Then, we both heard it—the rattle of the doors opening. His eyes flicked toward the sound before returning to mine. The smile returned to his face, but only in his eyes. It wasn't comforting; it was unsettling.
And then he was gone.
Just like that.
I stood there, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Who was he? What did he mean? And most of all, what should I be preparing for?
But before I could process any of it, the scarred man rushed over, his hands gripping mine tightly as he hauled me out of there.
Again.
I couldn't believe it—I was outside again, breathing in the fresh air, though the freedom was as bitter as the taste of iron. My heart sank when I saw Natasha. Great. What luck. (Note the sarcasm).
The scarred man, Hagrid—I'd learned his name later—shoved me roughly to the ground. I hit the dirt hard, landing at the feet of Natasha and my other captor who introduced herself as Vivian. Like a sacrificial lamb, I was delivered in front of them, and the crowd stirred, eager for a show.
"She's the so-called monster!" Natasha declared, her voice loud and dripping with fake cheerfulness. She gestured toward me like I was some grand prize, parading me in front of the others who stood around, watching with a mix of curiosity and wariness. The room was thick with tension, the kind that makes every breath feel like a struggle.
I felt their eyes on me, judging, sizing me up, and trying to reconcile the person before them with whatever stories they had heard. Natasha's grin widened, feeding off the attention. "Hard to believe, isn't it? This little thing, the monster everyone's been whispering about."
"She's the second half of the so-called prophecy... meant to defeat us," Natasha sneered, her voice now devoid of the fake cheerfulness she had worn like a mask moments before. The room went still as her words hung in the air, heavy and full of venom.
Eyes widened, whispers filled the room, and I felt the shift—an undercurrent of fear rippling through the crowd. They looked at me differently now, not just as some prisoner or pawn, but as something more dangerous, something they couldn't control.
Wait... what? A prophecy? I was part of some prophecy, and no one had bothered to clue me in?
Before I could even process this, Vivian spoke. Her voice was like ice, a stark contrast to Natasha's exaggerated enthusiasm. Vivian didn't pretend to be friendly—her words cut straight through me.
"Her powers have been sealed," Natasha said coldly, her words cutting through the air like ice. "Do whatever you want with her... but don't kill her. Having the second half of the prophecy as our puppet will give us the upper hand in victory."
Her lips twisted into a cruel smirk as she locked eyes with me. I could feel her malice bearing down on me, sharp and suffocating like a hand tightening around my throat. while the crowd erupted in cheers after Natasha's declaration, their relief palpable, The weight of her words settled deep into my chest. A puppet—that's what they wanted me to become, a tool to secure their twisted victory.
With a dismissive wave of her hand, Natasha sank back into her ornate chair, her confidence radiating as she lounged like a queen among her minions. "Begin," she commanded, her voice ringing out over the crowd, sealing my fate.
She hadn't even finished her command when two young women stormed toward me. They grabbed me, one on each side, dragging me away with brutal efficiency. I struggled, thrashing against their grips, but they hauled me off like I was nothing more than an object, a mere inconvenience to be disposed of.
So this is it, I thought bitterly. Part of a prophecy I'd never heard of, now stripped of my power and handed over to a mob for torture. Wonderful. Maybe death would be a kinder fate.
The echoes of laughter still rang in my ears as they dragged me away, like a lamb being led to slaughter. I glanced back, catching a glimpse of the boy I once thought I could trust. Trust—what a distant, unreachable thing. The tears I wanted to cry felt long gone, dried up along with whatever hope I once had. All I wanted now was to go home.
They hauled me to the center of a large, grim room filled with devices I could only assume were meant for torture. The stains, the dark reminders of others who had been here before me, made it clear what was coming. I was only three years into life, and yet... I was ready to be done. But as much as fear gnawed at me, a part of me was relieved it was me instead of Duan. The thought of him here—it would drive me mad. And then, out of nowhere, I laughed. It was loud and clear, cutting through the air, and I saw them all turn to look at me. At least I still had that—something to be thankful for.
One of the young women, whose name I didn't want to know, grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me off the ground.
"What's your name?" she screamed into my face.
I gave her a small smile, looking her dead in the eye. "Ivy. My name is Ivy."
The slap that followed was sharp, but I barely felt it.
"That smile won't last long," she spat before throwing me back onto the cold, hard floor.
But I couldn't feel the pain anymore; I was numb. Let them do what they would. They couldn't give me what I needed—neither death nor freedom.