Enslaved ..
1073 Words
I tried to move, but my limbs felt weighted, impossibly tired. It was as if every ounce of my energy had been siphoned away just by breaking through that barrier. This was not the familiar, vibrant realm of magic I’d encountered before. This was something else. Something… wrong.
Slowly, painfully, I managed to push myself upright, my back hitting a rough, cold stone wall. The room was tiny, claustrophobic, pressing in on me from all sides. My eyes, still adjusting to the profound darkness, strained to make out any detail.
Then I saw it: a tiny, grimy window, barely more than a slit, far above me. It was so small, so high up, offering only a sliver of sight to the world outside. Summoning every last scrap of strength, I dragged myself toward it, my hands scraping against the rough stone. Each movement felt like lifting mountains.
I reached the window, pressing my face against the cold, damp stone. And then I looked out.
My breath hitched.
It was the same place, same strange place.
A landscape of desolate, twisted structures stretched into the oppressive gloom. And everywhere, scuttling through the shadows, were the creatures from my previous 'nightmare' visions. Their forms were vaguely humanoid, but grotesque, emaciated. Long, pointed ears twitched, constantly scanning. Their eyes were dark, hollow pits, devoid of light, yet somehow intensely observant. And the veins—black, thick, and repulsive—crawled visibly beneath their pale, decaying skin. They moved with a disturbing, disjointed gait, as if their bones were brittle, their flesh diseased. They looked… sick. Like a plague had rolled through them, leaving only corruption in its wake. Was this some kind of supernatural illness? Or the true nature of evil?
Panic began to coil in my gut. Was I trapped in some twisted illusion? Or was this a reality far more terrifying than anything I could have imagined? Why was I here? And why was I so incredibly, profoundly tired?
I pulled away from the window, the faint sight of those creatures cementing a horrifying dread. My gaze swept around the small, dark room once more. It was bare, save for what felt like a thin, straw mat on the floor. The stale, unwholesome smell filled my lungs, making me feel sicker.
I stumbled toward where I sensed the door might be, my hand reaching out, sliding along the cold stone. Finally, my fingers brushed against cold metal. A handle. I twisted it, pushed. Locked. Of course.
A desperate, guttural sound escaped me, half-whimper, half-growl. "Hello?" I croaked, knocking weakly on the unyielding door. "Is anyone there? I need water!" My voice cracked, raw from disuse and dehydration.
The silence that followed was suffocating, mocking. I knocked again, harder this time, a desperate, frantic rhythm against the unresponding wood. "Please! I’m thirsty! Just water!"
A few agonizing minutes later, a heavy bolt scraped back, and the door creaked open. A figure stepped into the doorway, silhouetted against the dim light of a corridor outside. My eyes widened in terror. It was one of them. A woman, but grotesque. Her skin was a sickly, decaying pallor, her clothes ragged and torn, barely clinging to her emaciated frame. Her ears were long and pointed, and her eyes—dark, hollow voids—stared at me with chilling indifference.
"What is it that you want?" she rasped, her voice dry and devoid of emotion, like rustling leaves. "It's not food time yet. Why have you knocked?"
My stomach clenched. "I’m thirsty," I managed, my own voice trembling. "I need water."
She tilted her head, her dark eyes narrowing. "It's not food time, so no water until then. You know the rules."
"Where am I?" I demanded, a surge of frantic energy overriding my exhaustion.
Her lips, thin and cracked, curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "You are very chatty today. You remember what happened last time you asked so many questions? Do you want to go hungry for a week again? Just shut up and sit down."
My heart hammered against my ribs. Last time? What was she talking about? The memories from this place were hazy, fragmented. Was this why I was so tired, so broken every time I tried to break through? I felt weaker by the second, the effort of even speaking an immense drain. I needed to know where I was, what this place was. But the words were stuck in my throat, stifled by the overwhelming fatigue.
...I pushed myself back to the window, forcing my gaze outside again. It was still dark, a perpetual twilight that offered no clue to the time of day. I squeezed my eyes shut, a desperate urge to see, to understand, clawing at me.
Light, I willed, pushing a tiny fragment of my power into my palm. Just a small flame. Give me light.
It was an immense effort, a monumental struggle against the crushing exhaustion. Emma's borrowed Alpha power, still faintly lingering within me, strained against the suffocating darkness of this place. Slowly, agonizingly, a tiny flicker of golden light ignited in my hand, no bigger than a firefly.
The feeble glow barely illuminated the grimy pane of the window. But it was enough.
Just enough to see my reflection.
My blood ran cold.
Staring back at me from the windowpane were hollow, sunken eyes. They were a vivid, impossible blue, framed by strands of matted, dull gold hair. The face was gaunt, broken, a shadow of its former self, yet undeniably familiar beneath the decay.
Sarena.
The shock of it was a physical blow, ripping through the haze of exhaustion and pain. This wasn't my reflection. This was her. This was Sarena. Trapped. Broken. The bizarre, nightmarish reality of where I was, what I was seeing, what she was becoming, slammed into me with sickening force.
My eyes snapped open.
And I was back.
Lying sprawled on the cold stone floor of Dominic’s mansion, panting, a cold sweat plastering my hair to my forehead, the taste of stale iron in my mouth. The air here, though still carrying the subtle scent of ancient stone, felt impossibly clean. My muscles ached, and my head hammered, but the crushing despair of that place was gone.
The only remaining trace was the chilling image burned into my mind: the reflection of hollow blue eyes and matted gold hair – the living nightmare of Sarena's imprisoned soul.
- Writer
