Chapter 32 Azahara
Azahara
“Separate them.” The voices around her seemed to fade in and out.
“He is royalty. Put him in his room. Idiots.” Amid the confusion, she could only focus on one voice.
“Her? In the dungeon with the rest of the criminals.” There was no mistaking that it was Anthurium.
“I don’t care. Put her down there. In the crusher. ”
Open your eyes. She tried to comply with her own thoughts but failed. “Why are you hesitant?!” Please help me. “Do you want to take this human’s place?” Her mind was torn, and she felt the burning behind her eyes. This is wrong. I didn’t do anything. “That is what I thought. Put her down there.”
Now that she was semi-conscious, she became fully aware of being dragged across a smooth, hard floor. The familiar taste of copper laced her tongue. Her throat was too dry to swallow, indicating she had been unconscious for some time.
Am I in Howl?
The ground became rugged, and soon her head was slamming against stairs that threatened to drag her back into unconsciousness.
The throbbing pain in her head paled in comparison to the constriction in her chest, which felt as though it was being squeezed by a tight rope.
Cold metal encircled her wrists, and she knew that even if she had the energy, attempting to move would be futile.
She desperately sought something, anything, to focus on other than the relentless “thump, thump, thump” of her head with each step.
What felt like an eternity of stairs later, they came to a halt.
The overwhelming stench of decay and filth assaulted her nose, and her throat constricted.
She fought back the urge to vomit, groaning and squeezing her eyes.
“Help... please...” Somehow, she managed to speak, her throat burning from the effort of uttering those two simple words.
“Shut it, witch,” one of her captors spat, and they continued to drag her forward, the sound of metal clanging against itself echoing in the eerie silence.
The floor grew wet, and she couldn’t help but fear what might be causing it.
Once again, she redirected her thoughts to the pain in her chest. Am I tied up?
Why do my lungs feel like someone is squeezing them, slowly tightening their grip?
She distracted herself from the odors and the agony by posing questions she knew she had no answers to.
Why did they take me? Why did the black aura around me reappear?
Why did they mistake it for black Magic?
As if she were weightless, the man lifted her body with ease. Her arms fell over her head, confirming that they were indeed bound together by metal. She could barely feel the movements, but she gathered that they were fastening something around her ankle and lifting her other leg to do the same.
Suddenly, ice-cold water stung her face, jolting her eyes open. They burned, as if someone were trying to scoop them out of their sockets.
At first, everything was a blur. The dark, contrasting background illuminated two figures upside down before her.
One of them held something in their hand, which she soon recognized as a bucket, while the other stood with hands on hips.
The space seemed vast, but in reality, it was quite confined.
The circular room had bars encircling it, casting dark shadows, and its stone floors offered no warmth in the damp surroundings.
Her body hung limp, slowly rotating to provide her with a full view of her surroundings. Everything appeared the same, except for a door leading to a hallway that terminated with a stairway. That must have been the path she was dragged through, the only way out.
Then, hands gripped her, turning her to face them. They roughly tore her shirt and discarded it, while a knife sliced through her pants. It felt deliberate, their lack of care, as they cut her skin and drew blood that ran up her body. She didn’t cry out, instead biting the inside of her cheek.
“Looks like we’ll have fun getting this one to talk,” one of them remarked with a laugh.
“They are always tough on the first day.” The one with the knife crouched before her, tapping the knife against her jaw. “Human females are considered the weakest—and some would argue the ugliest. But this one is an exception.” His gaze roamed from her lips to her body. “Certainly, an exception.”
“Down, dog,” Azahara muttered through her teeth.
He licked his lips and grinned. “What did you call me?”
“Elecite, that’s enough.” The other Fae pulled him away from her. “Anthurium has made it very clear that her beauty is a lure. Don’t be so tempted.” His tone was aggressive, almost angry, as if he, too, was fighting temptation.
Azahara couldn’t help but laugh with amusement. “Even Fae, who hold themselves high above us still perspire lust and sin like any mortal man.”
Her comment elicited laughter from those around her, but not from the Fae. They weren’t alone; other prisoners were confined within the nearby cells.
“Lustful like a mortal man—hah! The human speaks the truth,” a slithery voice echoed.
“That is no human,” another dark, grungy voice remarked. “Outside these walls, I would consume her like the lamb they slaughter. Delicious.”
“There will be no eating her. Or touching.” A less aggressive voice emerged from the closest cell to her right. They then conversed in the Fae tongue, and she only understood “be hunted” and “beware”.
“Shut your filthy mouths, all of you!” With a flick of the Fae’s wrist, lightning surged through the room, affecting anything in contact with metal, including her.
A sudden numbness washed over her skin, and an urge to tear at it to remove the sensation consumed her. The Magic reached her insides, and she let out a cry of pain, joining the chorus of screams from the other inmates around her.
As abruptly as it began, it ended. Yet, nearly a second felt like an eternity under the mighty god’s thunderbolt. She panted heavily, drool trickling into her nose and eye. The rush of blood to her head intensified as she struggled to stay conscious.
The Fae responsible for the torment wore a sinister smile as he casually slung her over his shoulder, giving her no time to think or protest. The metal binds that had held her aloft were now released, and her body went limp.
“Welcome home,” the Fae whispered as he tossed her to the floor, where her naked body hit the cold, wet stone with a thud.
She curled into a ball, her arms tucked between her thighs.
The sound of the metal bar door slamming shut reverberated in her brain.
Then, silence enveloped her. She didn’t even hear them walk away, and when she looked around, all she saw was darkness.
The only light filtered through the cracks of the boarded-up windows that encircled the room.
It offered just enough illumination to reveal nothing around her except for bars and stone.
When she could discern even the faintest details of her skin inches from her face, she wasn’t surprised by what she saw.
Her hands were scraped, and the skin peeled from every angle.
Several nails were broken, and two were entirely gone.
Her arms fared no better; they had scrapes and splinters of what appeared to be wood embedded in them.
She was grateful that she couldn’t see her face.
The left side felt swollen compared to the right, with the vision on that side slightly askew.
Her fingertips brushed along her neck, up to her ear. It was halfway gone, and she suspected that was where most of her blood loss had occurred. She dared to touch her face then and felt the bridge of her nose split open, along with several surface scratches on her forehead and cheeks.
She shifted to a sitting position, the wet floor beneath her intensifying the cold. With her head against the hard stone wall, she closed her eyes and breathed as steadily as possible.
How could they do this to her? Where was Illyan? What had they done to Kaed and Zhal? Why were they doing this?
There was too much mental and physical pain for her to maintain her consciousness. Her body gradually slumped to the ground as sleep enveloped her, the sounds of giggling monsters around her serving as a lullaby of impending nightmares.
“You need to wake up. Now!”
An unfamiliar voice woke her. Her breathing came in short gasps, and she felt pressure on top of her. The world around her seemed to collapse, and the walls closed in.
At first, she wondered if someone else was with her, but there was no warmth.
It wasn’t until her hand reached up that she understood what was happening.
Fear compelled her to press her body flat against the ground, her back now against the cold, wet stone.
Mere inches away, the ceiling crept closer to her.
Her arms shot up, but they didn’t have to go far.
Firm pressure met her forearms as she struggled to resist the downward force of the ceiling.
However, her efforts proved futile as the weight bore down on her.
When she attempted to withdraw her arms, she realized they were trapped, wedged between the ceiling and her chest.
That was when she understood that it was going to crush her. “No!” she screamed forcefully. “Please! Someone help me!” Her voice strained under the pressure.
Anxiety surged through her like a galloping horse. Her heart raced, and her breathing became rapid and shallow. Every inch of her body trembled, and she tried to lift her knees, but her feet couldn’t touch the ground.
The urge to escape was overwhelming, fueled by the sensation of her chest beginning to crack. Her shortened breaths turned into hyperventilation. “No! Stop!” Her head turned toward the opening of her cell, and she let out a scream. The guttural sound of pain and despair drowned out her cries.
Would there be anything left of her for Goddrick to bring back? Would he even bring her back after what happened? Was this the end?
Just as the pressure became too much for her to bear, it abruptly stopped.
The rumbling of the stone slab shifting caused fragments to fall to the ground at its corners.
Then, it began to move upward, relieving the pressure and allowing her to take in a deep gasp of air.
The subsequent coughing fits mingled with fiery tears.
She rolled onto her knees, buried her face in her hands, and screamed. Her sobs intermingled with the painful cries.
These were not quiet cries, and she knew it, but she didn’t care; she wanted everyone to hear her.
“Don’t cry. Please,” one of the prisoners said in a monotone voice. “Can I call you Sunshine?” It was the one before that had spoken in their Fae tongue.
Her hand trembled as she pressed her fingers hard into her head. “Leave me alone,” she warned, her words laced with anger. “Why the hell would you want to call me that?” Her frustration was evident.
“I’m not sure.” His voice remained flat, devoid of emotion, which only further infuriated her. “It just feels right to say.”
Another scream erupted from her throat as she sat up on her knees. The trembling coursing through her body made her uncertain whether it was from pain, fear, or the cold temperature.
“I wish I could help you.” He spoke again, but his tone didn’t convey sincerity about wanting to assist her. It was as if his tone were alien, something not from this world, or as if he were reading from a script.
“Just shut up.” She moved her hands between her thighs as she leaned forward into a fetal position.
“Be strong, Sunshine, please,” he persisted, but all she wanted was to silence him, one way or another.
“Fuck you.”
The quiet that followed those words felt like a heavy shroud.
She moved toward the back wall, placing herself as far from the bars of her prison as possible.
Her legs were pulled to her chest, her arms hooked around them, holding them tightly.
The unrelenting chains around her wrists made her feel even more trapped.
What am I going to do...? The burning in her eyes prompted her to blink rapidly, trying to hold back the impending tears. Her head already hurt enough, and she didn’t want to exacerbate it. Maybe Illyan will convince them I’m not... to be feared? Do they fear me?
Her hands shook as she recalled the moment when the black aura enveloped her.
They had attacked Illyan and Zhal and would have done the same to Kaed.
All she could see was red, a rage that wouldn’t subside until they were dead.
If she had lashed out, or if they had touched her, would they have died?
Kaed… When she looked at him, the fear in his eyes pulled her from the abyss. He was genuinely terrified, and could she blame him? The reek of decay had permeated from her and would have spread until no living thing was left. It would have taken all of them, not just the Fae.
At that moment, the realization dawned upon her that it was Death’s gift to her. It had granted her the power of demise. There was no doubt in her mind that it wasn’t a god’s power, but that of Death.
The Kiss of Death.
Such a thing shouldn’t exist, and the idea of what she could do with it terrified her. While a few Fae deaths wouldn’t keep her awake at night, the mere thought of it taking the life of someone she loved would have shattered her completely.
She was a monster.
Perhaps she did deserve to be locked in a cage.