Endless Torture
1147 Words
Chapter 5
Endless Torture
I was left to die in the inferno.
No alarms. No screams. Just flames licking closer, devouring everything in their path.
I should’ve perished there—just another forgotten body reduced to ash.
But somehow, whether by fate or sheer will, I found a way out. Crawling through smoke-blind corridors, dragging my broken body across searing stone, I escaped before the fire could reach me.
Queen Zara didn’t care. Neither did her children.
They never asked if I survived. If I burned. If I screamed.
Their cruelty only deepened, sharpened by the knowledge that I had endured what should have destroyed me. It was as if my survival offended them. As if they hated that I wouldn’t break.
The darkness became a living thing.
It wasn’t just the absence of light—it was a force. Heavy. Suffocating.
Pressed against my skin, against my soul. It whispered to me in the silence. Told me to give up. That I was nothing. That I would always be nothing.
They dragged me past the high arches, past the windows with glass too fine for someone like me to ever touch again. I caught my reflection in one—a flicker of someone I barely recognize. My face is thinner. Eyes heavier. But still mine. Still Duskthorn.
Down the stairs. Down and down and down, where the air turned thick with rot and forgotten screams. They want me to be afraid. But I’ve met fear before. I’ve dined with it in silence and stared it dead in the eye.
When they threw me into the cell, I didn’t fall. My knee buckled, but I caught myself. I always catch myself.
The iron gate slammed shut. That sound—final, cruel—echoed inside my ribs.
And now I sit here, breathing in stone and shadows, letting the quiet settle around me like a second skin. They think this will break me. That darkness will starve me.
Queen Zara’s cruelty wasn’t loud. It didn’t shout. It eroded.
Each day chipped away at my will, smoothed the edges of my spirit until I was almost hollow. A ghost in my own skin. A body that moved, that obeyed—but didn't live.
My only companion was the flickering torch embedded in the damp stone wall of my cell. It cast shadows that danced and laughed, as if mocking the broken girl on the floor.
Then—a sound.
Not the expected stomp of boots or the jangle of keys.
A hesitant footstep. A soft, shocked intake of breath.
“Gods... what is this?”
Kael.
Aziel’s half-brother. The quiet one. The one the court rarely noticed, who drifted through the halls like a forgotten thought. He was a seeker of shadows, a wanderer of the palace’s silent places.
And now he had found me.
“Samantha?” His voice cracked around my name, choked with disbelief and horror. He stepped forward like the room might devour him too. His hand reached out, trembling, brushing the bruises on my arm like they burned him.
I tried to speak. My throat was raw, a wound that wouldn’t heal. All I could do was look at him, eyes wide, pleading. Screaming without sound.
Kael’s face twisted with fury. A storm broke behind his eyes—quiet rage, deeper than words. “What have they done to you?” he whispered.
He didn’t wait for answers.
He ran.
The echo of his footsteps faded into silence—but the silence felt different now. Not as empty. Not as final.
Hope, fragile and trembling, stirred in my chest.
And then—the door crashed open.
The King. Aziel’s father.
His presence swallowed the room. He was usually a mask of power and indifference, but now, that mask cracked. His face was thunder. His voice was lightning.
“What is the meaning of this?” His voice rolled through the dungeon like a quake. The guards behind him stood frozen.
His gaze swept the cell. Landed on me.
My broken body.
The chains.
The stench.
The silence.
His jaw clenched. For a moment, something passed over his face. Pity? Regret? I didn’t know. But it was real.
“Release her.”
The words cut through the air like a blade.
The guards obeyed, their touch oddly gentle as they lifted me from the stone floor. I could barely hold my weight. My body trembled violently, every bone feeling shattered, every breath a scream.
As they carried me out, I turned my head.
Queen Zara stood in the shadows, her eyes gleaming with restrained fury. Her lips pressed into a cruel, silent snarl.
Kael stood behind the King. His pale face was set with quiet defiance.
They had seen enough. For now.
No. I was saved by a half-brother who still had a soul, and a king who finally couldn’t ignore the rot beneath his throne.
The shift from dungeon to palace was overwhelming. The dry warmth scraped against my skin like sandpaper. The flicker of light stabbed at my eyes. Perfume and candle wax flooded my nose. Too much. Too fast.
Voices buzzed around me. The King’s voice is low, commanding. Kael’s soft with concern. But their words were smudges. I couldn’t hold them.
The world spun.
And then—blackness.
I let go.
In the dark, I drifted.
Not the dungeon’s cold darkness—this was softer, like velvet over the skin. Here, pain throbbed like distant thunder, but I was floating above it.
Memories stirred.
Stone. Chains. Screams that never left my throat.
Then something changed.
A bed. Softness. The scent of herbs and warmth. A woman’s hands, gentle and patient, touched my skin. Cleaned my wounds. Whispered lullabies I couldn’t understand.
I tried to move. My muscles screamed.
A groan escaped me.
“She’s waking,” someone said.
The voice was kind. Female. Steady. Not a court whisper or a cruel sneer.
I opened my eyes.
The light stung, but I saw it—a small room bathed in soft amber. A woman sat beside the bed, her face kind, her hands steady. She wore healer’s robes, her eyes tired but warm.
“Rest, child,” she said, brushing damp hair from my forehead. “You’re safe now.”
Safe.
But the word felt thin. Fragile. Like glass that could shatter at the softest breath.
Because I knew the truth.
Queen Zara wasn’t done.
She would come.
She would smile her poison smile and whisper her lies.
And this moment—this illusion of peace—would not last.
I wanted to believe it. That I was free. That I had escaped her claws.
But even now, even in this quiet room—
I could feel her watching.
Waiting.
And somewhere far above us—
a door creaked open.
Boots echoed on stone.
A shadow moved down the hall.
Coming closer.
- Writer
