The Echoes of Forgotten

The mood inside the cottage was stiff, faint groans of wood could be heard as the wooden walls shook slightly due to the heavy wind that howled through the gaps of weathered and mismatched planks that didn't quite fit together. Long distorted shadows were dancing across the uneven floor, casted by a single lantern that was perched precariously on a crooked table, sputtering weakly. The roof of the cottage sagged slightly, its weight pressing down on the dim, suffocating space, while the chill of the night seeped in through every c***k. There, in the middle of the room, sat a bloodied figure, slumped in an old, battered chair barely holding its weight. The girl was tied securely to the chair with thick, coarse ropes. Her head hung low, and her face was cascaded by long curtains of icy black strands, though from the cracks one could see the red on her pale skin. The girl was still, if not for the faint rise and fall of her chest, people would believe her to be dead. The stillness finally broke as the girl moved, her arms twitching slightly against the ropes, revealing the raw abrasions on them under the flickering light. A groan left her mouth from the pain that was wracking her body. The tattered sleeve of her once-sturdy coat revealed a gash along her forearm, the edges of the wound angry and swollen. The girl's head tilted slightly, and the light caught the edge of her jaw- the sharp line that seemed defiant even under the dark patch of blood that was trailing from her forehead to her neck. Her left cheek bore a darkening bruise, and a torn fabric at her shoulder exposed the faint outline of another. From outside the cottage, muffled voices were carried through the thin walls, their tones agitated. "She took down five of us alone and fought against another fifteen," One man growled, his words, though harsh and clipped, were filled with astonishment. "How the hell is she still breathing?" A snort followed. "You're asking the wrong question. What I want to know is what the boss plans to do with her. That girl is dangerous." "Not so dangerous now, is she?" a third voice jeered. "Tied up like that, she is nothing but a corpse now." Another snort followed the man's remark "Says a man with his nose broken by the same girl tied up inside." "That's because she caught me off guard- I can take care of her anytime-" "Enough!" a fourth voice barked, cutting through the din. It was sharper, more commanding. "She's worth more to the boss alive than dead. Unless you want to answer to him, keep your mouths shut." Inside the cottage, the girl stirred again, this time, lifting her head rather slowly. Stands of dark hair parted, revealing a sliver of her face- angled cheekbones streaked with dirt and blood, and her chapped lips pressed into a tight, grim line. Her eyes, still hidden in shadow, snapped open, but she remained still, listening. Suddenly, the door swung open, making way for a gust of cold air, accompanied by the heavy tread of boots. A massive figure clogged the doorway, his presence almost too large for the cramped space. Carrying himself with the confidence of someone who knew he had nothing to fear from his surroundings, he swept his sharp eyes over the girl like she was nothing more than a broken tool. "Is she awake?" he muttered, stepping closer to take a better look. The girl shifted, noticing the man coming closer to her. She tilted her head to meet the man's gaze. Her eyes, a startling shade of turquoise blue, gleamed like fractured ice in the flickering light, unyielding despite the pain etched into her features. "You have caused us a lot of trouble," he said, crouching until his face was level with hers. His breath was sour, but she didn't flinch. "Five of my men won't walk straight for weeks. Fenn's still spitting teeth while Derick's nose is bent at a strange angle. You must be proud of yourself." The girl's lips twitched- not quite a smile, but close enough to make his expression darken. "Not proud," she said, her voice hoarse but steady. "Disappointed. Twenty men and none of you could do the job right." The man's fist clenched, and for a moment, she thought he might strike her. Instead, he leaned closer, the malice in his eyes sharp enough to cut. "Keep talking, girl," he growled. "The boss won't care what shape you're in when he gets here." The girl scoffs, making the man agitate and step closer but the sound of footsteps outside the door caught his attention, and he straightened, muttering something under his breath. Without another word, he turned and left, the door slamming shut behind him. The moment the door clicked into place, Elara exhaled slowly, immediately testing the ropes that were binding her hands on the armrests of the chair. Her injuries throbbed with every movement, but she welcomed the pain. It was better than the hollow feeling in her chest, the one she had no time to confront right now. Her gaze flickered to the high window, where the faintest sliver of moonlight seeped through a c***k in the boards. The odds weren't in her favor, but they stopped being in her favor since 5 years ago. Elara shook her head slightly, there was no time to think about other things, she needed to get out of this place. Elara twisted and turned her arms against the ropes, testing the resistance. Her wrists aching from the rough fibers biting into her skin, but she didn't stop, she couldn't afford to, but then, her heart skipped a beat, and she felt a faint give in the knots on her left hand. It was not as tight on that side. A flicker of hope ignited as she adjusted her grip, flexing her fingers to reach the rope. She stretched and twisted her wrist, her nails scraping against the rough surface, seeking leverage. The sensation of the loose strands sliding slightly against her skin made her pulse quicken. She shot a quick glance toward the door, for any sign of opening, but thankfully, her captors were conveniently busy outside, the muffled voices indicated some important conversation. She could feel the fibers starting to shift, but she knew every second counted. The man that had entered previously talked about some boss, she could feel that supposed boss could be here any moment now, and then, she finally stopped. She stopped resisting the ropes, now that she knew the ropes on her left hand were loose, instead of unbinding herself, she waited patiently. She must meet this boss if there is even a sliver of hope of getting the answers she infiltrated their warehouse for.... and there was something else too. Now that Elara was calm and thought back, the loose ropes on her left hand felt deliberate. Was it really a coincidence that the ropes, specifically on her left hand were loose, could it be that someone who knew that she was left-handed did it on purpose? There was only one way to find out and that was to let them come to her. The muffled voices outside had quit down, whatever they were discussing about had come to an end. The sound of shoes clicked against the creaky wooden floor just outside the door and came to a halt. Elara waited for the person to enter, deliberating how to get the information out of them and it seemed like to her that the person outside was thinking of the same thing. Finally, the door swung open, this time without the brute force of before, but with a controlled precision that seemed at odds with the dilapidated cottage.