Threats OF Democracy
Ivy's body trembled, though she had long since lost the ability to tell whether it was from the cold or the pain. The room was dark, only faint glimmers of light slipping through the cracks in the stone walls, casting shadows that seemed to move on their own. Her arms were bound above her head, the coarse rope biting into her wrists, but that was the least of her agonies.
Every breath hurt. Her ribs ached, each inhaling a shallow attempt to find some measure of relief, though there was none. The metallic tang of blood lingered on her lips, and the echo of her heartbeat thudded loudly in her ears, drowning out the sounds of her captors. Voices. She could hear them, distant but sharp. They were planning something. She wasn't sure if they were waiting for her to break—or if they enjoyed watching her resist.
A sudden surge of pain shot through her side. She bit down hard on her lip to stifle a scream, tasting blood again.
Her mind began to fog as the pain threatened to overtake her. But just as she thought she would lose consciousness again, a sudden coolness brushed against her skin. For a moment, it was like a soft breath of air had whispered past her, the burning pain in her side easing slightly. Not enough to be noticeable to her captors, but it felt like an unexpected mercy to her.
She blinked in confusion, her vision hazy. The reprieve was brief but enough for her to catch her breath. The agony returned, but it had less bite, as if something invisible had protected her from the worst. Ivy's mind reached for an explanation, but none came. Too tired to think about it any longer and too frail to inquire.
Her tortures moved closer again, and Ivy tensed, bracing herself for whatever new torment they had in store. However, this time she felt it—the tiniest pressure against her skin, as though a shadow formed a protective veil around her. Her captors didn't seem to notice. The way the darkness seemed to move in time with her suffering and the minute changes in the air that she experienced were invisible to them.
The torture resumed, but something was different. Ivy couldn't name it, couldn't understand why, but every time the pain flared to unbearable levels, it would soften just enough for her to keep going.
Maybe she was imagining things. Maybe her mind, on the brink of collapse, was creating its escape. Or maybe something else was watching over her.
I have barely been able to see outside for almost a year now. I've learned to navigate my surroundings by touch, honing my hearing so that nights grow quiet and days become noisy. I distinguish between them by using a stick to draw marks day after day.
The torture has been harsh and relentless. I can never predict what they want. When they fail to get it, they whip me until I collapse, their sinister whispers echoing in my ears.
"She doesn't have it."
"She is useless."
"It's been so long. She doesn't have it. Are you sure she's part of the prophecy?"
"Maybe we need the two to get it."
The whispers are never-ending, always accompanied by the crack of the whip and the sharp sting of flesh being cut. Just when I thought I might bleed to death, they healed me and then started all over again. I wish they would find what they're looking for to lessen the pain, but a part of me fears what might come next. What if it leads to an even worse form of torture?
I was let out and tossed near the grassland. a few months later
"Let her roam the wild for a while and see how it goes. But watch her—if she nears death, heal her and give her a little food. She is part of the prophecy. There's no way she doesn't have it. Or maybe she's not of age, so let her stay a week until then. Just make sure she's not dead yet so we can get it when the time comes."
Their sinister laughter has become a twisted form of music in my ears, but surviving in the wild is much better than enduring the tortures, right?
The grassland stretched out before me, a vast expanse of wild beauty I had not seen in a long time. The fresh air filled my lungs, but it was tinged with the scent of danger. I could hear the rustle of leaves and the distant calls of animals, each sound heightening my senses. Freedom, I thought. But I knew it was an illusion.
I stumbled forward, my legs weak from months of confinement. The wild was both a sanctuary and a trap. I had to keep moving to stay alive, but fear gnawed at me. The whispering echoes of my captors lingered in my mind, haunting me like a specter. They were still watching, waiting for the right moment to drag me back to that dark room.
Just how long would it take for me to come of age? How long would this illusory freedom last?
As I trudged through the underbrush, each rustle of leaves set my heart racing. The beauty of the grassland felt surreal, a cruel contrast to the pain I had endured. I kept glancing over my shoulder, half expecting to see the shadows of my captors creeping closer.
But it was then that I felt a shift in the air—a sudden tension that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I turned, instincts screaming that I was not alone.
It was him—the little boy from before. He seemed to have grown; his figure cloaked in shadows as if the very forest had breathed life into him. His expression was a perplexing blend of curiosity and something deeper, an enigma I couldn't quite decipher. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, illuminating the sharp angles of his face and the intensity flickering in his eyes. Handsome, I thought, in a way that stirred something unfamiliar within me.
"Are you lost?" he asked, his voice smooth and calm, a soothing balm against the sinister whispers that had haunted me.
I stiffened, instinct urging me to flee. "What do you want?" I croaked, my voice hoarse yet defiantly challenging.
He moved a step closer, and I felt a chill go down my spine as the air crackled with an invisible force. "I know what you've endured. You're stronger than you realize, but you need guidance. The path ahead won't be easy, but I can help you."
Mistrust tightened my chest. "Help? Why would you want to help me?"
"Just who are you?" I challenged, recalling how we had met before, yet he had never introduced himself.
"Oh, how rude of me," he said, stepping back and bowing slightly, a flicker of charm lighting up his face. "The name is Leo, my lady." He lifted his head with a smirk that felt both playful and unsettling.
"To answer your earlier question," he continued, his gaze piercing into mine, "you possess untapped potential. There's more at stake than you know. You're part of something greater—a prophecy that requires strength. I can train you and teach you how to harness your abilities so you can become someone they cannot control."
His words hung in the air, heavy with significance. A flicker of hope ignited within me, tempered by caution. Training? Could it truly be possible? But I had to tread carefully. Just before I was dragged into a nightmare of torture, he had seemed menacing. How could he now appear so loyal?
"Why should I trust you?" I challenged, taking a step back, the remnants of my defiance still clinging to me.
Leo smiled, a glimmer of understanding in his expression. "Trust is earned, Ivy. I'm not here to force you; I'm offering a choice. You can continue wandering in the shadows, hoping to survive, or you can learn and grow stronger. This is just the beginning."
His words resonated within me, stirring questions. How resilient must I become before I lose my ability to feel pain? They wouldn't let me die, so perhaps the only path was to grow stronger. Tentatively, I extended my hands to signify our tentative agreement. When his hands clasped mine firmly, a wave of comforting calm washed over me. It felt oddly familiar, as though it had always been waiting for me, just out of reach.