𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙤𝙧 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙗𝙚 𝙪𝙣𝙡𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙙, 𝙞𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙤𝙢𝙚.
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A girl who is constantly at war with her past now faces humanity's greatest enemy, but she has not yet avoided he...
[TW: Mentions and descriptions of pregnancy, murder, blood, and death. Please be aware before reading.]
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|Year 850| The year of familiar tragedy. ━━━━━━━━━━━━
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"ARE YOU SCARED, KIRA?" He kept a hand on her upper back as he guided her down the large, spiral staircase. She turned to him as she took her last step down the stairs, looking upwards and nodding slowly. "Fear is something you can't feel anymore," He placed his large hand on top of her head, his calloused fingers brushing along her forehead as he turned her around. "Not here or anywhere."
The hallway was dark and humid. He'd taken her shoes along with her outer layers of clothes, leaving her in the thin pink dress she'd entered with as her bare feet pressed against the rigid edges of cobblestone underneath her. She wasn't sure how long she'd been there. Time wasn't something she was familiar with, but her brain could barely process the steps she was taking anyways.
"If I asked you to find your way back upstairs," Kira shivered as her small hands covered as much as they could of her arms and shoulders. The sounds of her feet splashing in puddles of unknown liquids echoed through the corridor. His boots were louder, their expensive design and sturdy heel overpowering her trembling steps. "Could you do it?"
Hadn't they just walked in a straight line? Furrowing her eyebrows, she turned to look over her shoulder. No. Already, she could see a choice between a dark left opening and a right hallway with just a flicker of orange light peeking through.
She didn't know.
"A shame," He tsked as he forcefully turned her back around and continued walking. "But that's exactly why you need to learn, and why you need me."
Kira's breathing began getting more erratic the farther they walked down the corridor. She could hear the sounds of pleading getting closer with every step. She shuffled to her left, scooting closer to the large man, and her frail hand reached up and gripped the edge of his suit jacket. He didn't shake away from her grip, allowing her to hold onto him as his steps slowed.
She stopped immediately, holding the edge of his suit as tightly as she could.
The bars were dirty, eroded with rust and grime that would most likely melt to the touch. The only light was coming from two torches on the outside of the cell, resting on holders placed on either side of the hallway.
