The Tour Of Hell
782 Words
Morning sunlight spilled across the room like a cruel trick. The walls gleamed with gold trim, toys lined the shelves, and silk curtains swayed in the breeze. For one trembling heartbeat, Tessa almost believed she was home—almost believed Mama would step through the door with warm hands and a smile.
Then a scream ripped the illusion apart. Distant. Raw. It slid through the walls and buried itself in her chest. Tessa froze, her breath shallow.
A maid entered with eyes cast down, moving like a shadow. She brushed Tessa’s tangled hair with stiff fingers. Bruises ringed her wrist, ugly purple against pale skin. When Tessa noticed them, the maid yanked her sleeve down, her face twisting as if even being seen might kill her. Neither spoke. The silence pressed heavy, thick as stone.
The door creaked again.
He came in.
Damien filled the room, sharp in a black suit, his polished shoes clicking against the marble. The maid vanished instantly, bowing low—too fast, too desperate.
His eyes landed on Tessa. She shrank back, but his voice cut through her fear like steel.
“On your feet, Theresa. It’s time you learn where you belong.”
Her knees trembled. She obeyed.
---
Outside, the palace brightness gave way to shadows. His hand clamped around hers—not warm, not kind, but like iron shackles.
The fortress opened before her: walls crowned with barbed wire, floodlights glaring, soldiers with rifles at every corner.
And beyond—misery.
Women staggered beneath buckets, backs bent. Children moved like little ghosts, too quiet, too controlled, their faces stripped of laughter. No one dared speak. The silence gnawed at her, louder than any scream.
Tessa’s chest ached. Her stomach turned. She wanted to hide, to run—but her feet moved only where he dragged them.
---
Then chaos.
Guards shoved a woman into the courtyard, wrists bound, face swollen from blows.
"Let me go!!!. I just want to see my children. Please! Let me go!"
She screamed, wild and broken, as they forced her to her knees.
Damien stopped. His grip on Tessa’s hand tightened. His voice was low, almost casual.
“You see what happens when they forget who rules them? Never forget, Theresa.”
The first lash cracked through the air. Flesh split.
"Ahhhhhhhh"
The woman’s scream tore across the courtyard. Tessa flinched, every muscle locking.
Another lash. Another scream.
Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her eyes burned, but no tears fell. She was too afraid—even her tears might anger him.
When the woman finally crumpled, a ruined heap, guards dragged her away. Blood streaked the stone behind her.
Damien didn’t look twice. He pulled Tessa forward as though nothing had happened, as though it were no more than a lesson.
---
They passed a courtyard of children. Tiny hands carried loads that bent their spines. One boy dared to lift his eyes. For a breath, Tessa saw something—something human, something alive.
Whip!!!!
The whip cracked across his back. He fell.
Damien smirked faintly. “Everything here—every child, every stone, every drop of blood—belongs to me. That includes you.”
Tessa dropped her gaze, her heart hammering so hard she thought it would crack her ribs.
---
Through iron gates, they entered a hidden garden. Roses bloomed red and perfect, fountains glittered in the sun, birds sang bright songs. Beauty, cruel and mocking.
Damien spread an arm, presenting it like a gift.
“This garden is yours. Their suffering pays for your comfort. Forget who you were, forget who they were. You breathe because I permit it.”
Tessa’s throat ached. Her body shook. She could only nod, tiny and silent, as the tears finally spilled down her cheeks.
Damien’s gaze lingered on her trembling form. His voice dropped, soft but edged with iron.
“One day, Theresa, you will stand beside me as mine. But not yet.” His hand brushed her hair back, almost tender, almost cruel. “I do not touch children. When you turn eighteen, you will belong to me. Entirely.”
The words sank into her bones, sealing her future like a curse.
---
That night, locked inside her golden cage, Tessa curled on the wide bed. The sheets smelled of lavender, but outside the walls the air still rang with screams. She pressed her face into the pillow.
“Mama… Papa…”
And still his words echoed, coiling around her like chains:
“You breathe because I permit it… When you turn eighteen, you will belong to me.”
Tears rushed out of her eyes. When would she be free?
Is this her new life?
- Writer
