She felt blessed, like the Stars themselves had granted her this. There was no limit, no rules or constraints. She was boundless; she was home, safe and secure in his unbreakable embrace.
~
Shackled in an abrupt and demanding upbringing, Althera is...
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Zephyra bit back a deafening cry as the guard struck her again, the bruised skin of her sore body growing red once more. He sneered in enjoyment, the deathly glimmer of hatred and such delighting satisfaction glowing in his eyes. She held onto the bars of the cell when the next crack of the whip resounded around the dungeon. She'd endured this awful treatment for days, maybe even a week, but it was only a small fraction of all the pain she had been through; a mere reminder of how terribly she had let her people down.
"Stupid rebel," the guard said viciously, his lips curling back into a scowl. Zephyra hissed through her teeth, her knuckles bone-white in the darkness. "I'll show you what happens when you mess with me."
She hadn't actually committed a sin against anyone, but in the dungeon where all the nasty and brutal guards enclosed around her, even the slightest mistake, like talking back when they called her ugly names or spat at their feet when they howled in laughter at her cowering pretense, would lead to her being pinned against the wall and whipped and beaten.
She should have told someone – told Althera – about her suffering, but she couldn't bring herself to. All that agony and stinging of the leather against the flesh of her back was welcoming and reassuring. She liked it, because it paid back for what she'd done to Daeto, to her family. Though it hurt, it was a pleasant sort of hurt, and she reveled in the silent, cruel pleasure it gave her.
Another snap echoed in her ears, and the strain her arms and back drowned out all the little prickly burning of the makeshift whip. Blood – her blood – stained the hay that covered the floor of the cell, a splash of liquid crimson that dripped down her spine.
"Speak out of turn again, and I will make sure you won't see the light of the next day," the ruthless man behind her growled.
She snorted, choking on the bile and metallic liquid that rose up her throat. As if she could see the light of the next day; as if she would be able to live it out in this empty dungeon, her wounds always bound by the healers and then cut open again.
The fifth lash, knifing through her skin and making a fresh line of burgundy blood pool out onto the ground. Her hands tightened their hold on the bars. The sixth lash, slashing straight through one of the previous scars on her bare back and causing Zephyra to bite down on her tongue to stop the scream that would resonate around the dungeon.
If anyone heard, her personal drug, her comfort, would all be taken away from her. She needed that pain, that icy cold feeling to slowly seep its way inside of her, to distract her but also remind her. And the guards had warned her too, that if she were to say one word about their beatings, they would break her limb by limb and turn her inside out.
She prepared herself for the next devastating blow when the whip stopped, slinking to the ground, defeated. Zephyra gasped, her grip loosening on the bars and hanging limply from her deflated shoulders. The guard swore and exited through the cell doors, but not before throwing one last dirty glance her way, glowering. She returned it, showing two rows of blood-smeared teeth.
