Mohryia
They put us in a separate cell chained to the back wall. The light from the torches flickers in my face as I try to think of a way out of this. “Ricky, can you move at all?”
“No, there is some strange blue energy containing me,” he replies.
“Billy,” my sister says in a trembling voice, “I can’t feel my arms, hands or face. I’m scared.”
“Try to be calm,” I tell her. “It won’t help to be emotional. You’ll just use up your strength.”
“Quiet,” Ricky warns, “I hear someone coming.”
I look over by the stone stairs and watch a guard holding a torchlight proceed a hooded figure. As the guard steps aside, I see the person lower the hood and shake his long black hair.
“These are the prisoners,” the guard says, waving the torch in our direction.
“Open the doors,” Mohryia commands. He
