CHAINS AND STONE
931 Words
Chapter Three
Splash!
Cold water crashed against Velvela’s face.
Her body jerked violently as she sucked in air, choking as the water ran down her neck and soaked into her already-torn clothes. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused, heavy with exhaustion.
She hung there, lifeless.
A thick chain was locked around her neck, attached to an ankle shackle that kept her barely upright. Her throat burned, dry and cracked. She tried to push her tongue out, desperate for even a drop of water, but nothing came.
The dungeon was pitch-black.
Stone walls closed in around her, damp and ancient. The air smelled of rust, mold, and something far worse. She had overheard guards once, laughing, telling a new recruit that this place was meant for traitors.
That it was where hope went to die.
It had been three days.
Three days of hell.
No food. No water.
Every morning, they poured water on her, not out of mercy, but to check if she was still alive. They had expected her dead by now. After all, what human could survive this?
Velvela didn’t know how she was still breathing.
A guard stepped closer, boots scraping stone.
“Pl… please,” she whispered, her voice barely a sound. “Water…”
The guard laughed harshly. “Ahhh, the b***h wants water.”
Her knees shook.
“Please,” she begged again, fear curling tight in her chest. She didn’t know if she could survive another day.
“Oh, you want water?” the guard sneered, stepping closer. “You’ll get it.”
His hand moved to loosen the rope at his trousers.
Velvela’s breath hitched.
Her body trembled violently as panic flooded her mind.
Then,
The dungeon door slammed open.
“The mistress needs the slave at the mine,” another guard announced flatly.
The first guard cursed under his breath, stepping back.
The second guard glanced at Velvela with open disgust. “Get her dressed.”
A rough piece of cloth was thrown onto the floor, as if getting too close to her might contaminate him.
The first guard grabbed her roughly.
Velvela barely had the strength to resist. She whimpered as her torn clothes were stripped away, her body shaking uncontrollably.
Soon, she was left exposed, her arms wrapped weakly around herself.
The guards’ eyes roamed her without shame.
“Ugly,” one of them hissed.
Tears streamed down Velvela’s face as she struggled to pull on the slave garment. It was nothing more than sack cloth, rough, thin, humiliating. It barely covered her wide hips, hanging awkwardly, leaving her feeling naked and stripped of dignity.
Her pride shattered.
A guard seized the chain on her wrists and yanked.
She stumbled forward and fell hard, her knees scraping against stone. Pain shot through her legs as blood trickled down.
“Get up, slave!” he barked.
She struggled to her feet, swaying.
The guards dragged her through long corridors lined with torches. Guards stood everywhere. Maids passed by, their eyes sharp with hatred. Whispers followed her like knives.
“White witch.”
Her long white hair flowed freely behind her.
She wanted to lower her head but she didn’t.
Her mother had raised her differently. Her posture, her walk, regal, proud. Even in chains, she carried herself like a queen.
It angered them.
“Stop.”
The command sliced through the hallway.
Everyone bowed instantly.
Velvela looked up.
The woman from before stood there, the mistress. Her presence alone pressed heavily against the air.
“You dare look directly at the mistress?” a guard barked.
A sharp slap cracked across Velvela’s face.
Pain exploded as her head snapped to the side. She dropped to her knees, dizzy, her cheek burning.
“So,” the mistress said coolly, “you’re still alive, witch.”
Velvela stayed silent.
She had learned something here, speaking only brought pain.
“You will join the other slaves at the mine today,” the mistress continued, her tone final.
I haven’t eaten, Velvela thought bitterly. How am I supposed to work in a mine?
“Did you say something?” the mistress snapped.
Panic flared.
“No, Mistress,” Velvela said quickly.
“Good. Take her.”
The mistress turned and walked away, her maids following. Velvela watched her back with quiet hatred burning in her chest.
The guards dragged her again.
Minutes passed, maybe longer, before they reached the mine.
“The new slave will work here,” the guard announced.
A man stepped forward, holding a whip. His eyes lingered on Velvela far too long.
“So this is the Alpha’s slave,” he smirked. “The human witch.”
“She works harder than the rest,” the guard said. “Mistress’s orders.”
Velvela was shoved forward.
The guards left.
The man smiled slowly. “I’m Gregory. Head of slaves here.” His gaze crawled over her. “Don’t worry. I’ll take special care of you.”
Velvela clenched her jaw in disgust.
“That way,” he said, pointing. “Join the others.”
She walked shakily along the path. The other slaves stared at her with open resentment. Some spat on the ground as she passed.
As if she were the reason they were here.
Then,
Her steps faltered.
She froze.
Across the mine, a girl stood upright, gripping a hoe. Her clothes were the same rough sackcloth. Her face thinner. Her eyes dull, but unmistakable.
Velvela’s breath broke.
“Crystal,” she whispered.
Tears spilled freely as their eyes met.
And in that moment, the darkness felt heavier than ever.
- Writer
