Necromancy In D Minor ✔️

Deadlight Dissonance

Why am I still here? Octavia leaned her head against the freezing wall, the rough stone chaffing her skin—pleasant compared to the pinpricks assaulting her body.

Crashes, wails and screams resounded through the jailhouse, shaking dust and cobwebs from the walls. The netherborne were everything but subtle or quiet. They were like the drunk sailors that crashed through the streets in Avaly at the most ungodly hours, singing shanties. A nuisance, but one that ultimately refused to go away. Unless she got creative.

Though she doubted tossing cold water on them from a high window would do much good. Why do I care? The question popped into her mind several times while sitting in the cell with only the dark and the scent of her own waste to keep her company.

The temptation to break free and fly away was strong, but something kept her rooted in her cage. That something had escaped her mind when the bitterness set in. After everything she'd done for them, they'd thrown her in here to rot. And yet, every time she reached for the bars, something held her back. Something in a dark, forgotten corner of her mind told her she had to stay. But she didn't know how much more she could endure.

How long have I been here? Octavia wondered. It couldn't have been more than a few days, yet it felt as though she'd been sitting in her dank, dusty cell for years. There was no light to tell her what hour of the day or night it was. A guard would come in, and give her stale bread, chewy, dried meat and a glass of water during what she assumed was the day. It was just enough to stop the gnawing in her stomach, but not enough to satiate her.

But that guard hadn't shown up for ages. The last however many hours had been colder than usual, so much so that Octavia watched frost form on the bars and walls. Her wings did little to keep her warm and drained the little strength she had. The cold chilled her body. And froze her heart.

Hedalda could sink into the deepest darkest pits of the nether for all she cared. But a sinking feeling settled in her gut at the thought of it happening.

The screech of the metal door opening drifted down the passageway, startling her into alertness. It was followed by footfalls, more than Octavia was used to. And voices, ones she hadn't heard in a long time.

"It's right down here." Lantern light made the shadows waver, growing brighter as it reached her cell. Winslet and Pilar appeared on the other side of the bars, panting and sweaty with large bags on their shoulders.

"Octavia." Winslet grabbed the bars. "We need to get you out of here."

Octavia gave them a long look, but said nothing. Whatever was happening in Hedalda was no longer her problem. They'd made it plain as day that she was no longer welcomed here. The village and everyone in it being flattened would make leaving easier. A twinge of guilt settled in her chest at the thought, yet her mind still couldn't conjure a reason for it. Her head lulled to one side and her eyes closed of their own volition, her fatigue outweighing the shock of having guests other than the guards.

"Step back," Pilar said. A sharp bang resounded through the jailhouse, startling Octavia from semi-consciousness. She looked up in time to see Pilar's boot connect with the bars.

"You'd think after so many years of neglect it would fall apart at the first hit." The Elder woman took a breath before kicking the lock on the bars again. A crash from overhead shook the jailhouse and sent dust raining from the ceiling.

Winslet swore. "This is pointless. We need to find the key."

"Go away," Octavia said. She didn't recognize the low, rasping whisper masquerading as her voice.

Pilar stilled and exchanged a glance with Winslet."Listen, I know you were wronged, and you have every right to be upset. But without your help, Hedalda and everyone in it will be no more."