ᴀɴ ɪꜱᴇᴋᴀɪ ꜰᴀɴᴛᴀꜱʏ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ -: ̗̀➛
Awakening in a world beyond her own, she finds herself in a body she doesn't recognise - shattered, bruised, and bearing the name 𝒩𝒾𝓇𝓋𝒶𝓃𝒶 𝒱𝒶𝓁𝒹𝒾𝓈 𝒮𝒾𝓃𝒸𝓁𝒶𝒾𝓇. In this perilous new reality, survival...
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-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
The flickering torchlight casts eerie shadows on the damp stone walls as I navigate the labyrinthine passages. Each step is deliberate, calculated, as I remain ever vigilant to any potential threats. At least as best as I can in my current condition.
"Help."
The voice is faint, distorted by the cold embrace of the dungeon, but it cuts through the suffocating silence with a desperate plea. I stop, looking towards the cell near the stairs that lead to the outside. My eyes narrow at the sound, the soft voice registering as that of a woman. I can't see much of her in her cell, but as I walk closer, I hear her voice again.
"Please help me."
I look down at whoever is in the cell, making a choice as to whether or not I should even bother.
With a shake of my head, I return to the dead bodies and grab the keys hanging from one of their belts. I see no reason to let her stay a prisoner, especially if her captors are dead. The smell of blood and metal permeates my nose, burning me on the inside as I breathe before I walk back out.
I make my way through the dimly lit corridors, the steps of my bare feet echoing like loud stomps. Silent as my steps may be, even the smallest of water droplets ring like a bell when there's no other sound. My tattered dress clings to my body, barely hiding my bruised flesh as I continue forward.
It takes me barely a second to unlock the doors once I reach them.
"You're free to go. Your captors are dead," I tell her, attempting to look into the darkness but seeing nothing. My curiosity isn't piqued, and I have no reason to delve deeper into the room to get a good look.
"I..." A whimper reaches out. "I'm injured...I c-can't walk."
I think of my choices here. What exactly am I supposed to do with her? As pitiful as I may find the girl to be—her voice sounds too young to be an adult woman—I'm barely in a condition to be helping myself. Whilst ignoring the pain is easy for me, helping someone else out of here won't be an easy feat.
I choose to step deeper into the room.
As if to applaud me for helping, the small bars at the top of the cell cast the glow of the moon into the room. It shines a light on her, and I can't help taking everything about her in.
Cautiously approaching the cell, my heart aches at the sight. Is it with pity? I've never found myself feeling any emotion for anyone besides myself.
Within the confining walls, I find a noble girl, her once opulent attire reduced to tatters, her body bearing the marks of both physical and emotional torment. Pink strands of hair cascade down her shoulders, a stark contrast to her ruby-red eyes that shimmer with a glow of resilience amidst the pain.
Her delicate form is slumped against the cold stone floor, bruises marring her porcelain skin. Her eyes, I imagine once flickering with life, now reflect a profound weariness. Yet, there is an undeniable strength that emanates from her, a flicker of defiance that refuses to be extinguished.
