Misty
Drip. Drip. Drip.
I open my eyes to darkness, blinking it away. My body aches like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, but I’m alive. I’m alive, and in a dungeon.
I rise to my knees, crawling to the bars that separate me from a dingy, damp hallway lit by flickering torches.
I hesitate before gripping the bars, but it’s iron, not silver, thank the Goddess. I’m not sure how much more I can take… wait a minute.
I lift my wrists to the torchlight. Twin silver bands–wide, and seamless–hug each wrist. They’re no chains between them. Nothing keeping me bound to the wall. Manacles. I immediately try to pull them off, but I can’t. It doesn’t hurt, though. I wedge a pinky between my skin and the manacle on my left wrist and feel… leather? Some type of barrier between the silver and
