All right, I apologize for taking down the original version of this story, but I truly felt like I had done it wrong. I felt everything moved way too slowly, and there were some things that were unnecessary to the progression of the story.
Therefore I took it down... and reposted it. It was already a new story so I didn't feel bad about deleting it and posting the new version, but for those that had followed or favorited the story, my apologies.
I don't want to waste any more of you guys' time, so let's get right into it. Please read and review if you have the time; even something short is always motivating. And comment about whether you think that it was a good change to trim it down!
Here we go...
Oh, wait, before I forget, here is a warning:
This chapter may contain moderate child abuse, so if you're against that I recommend clicking away. I kept the story T though because the rest of the story will be pretty clean, with moderate violence and language.
Now, here we go...
When she awoke, the world was a blur of dull colors.
Her surroundings came slowly into focus. Several long moments passed; her eyes blinked, her breathing deepened, her lips parted and closed. It was only when the girl stretched the rest of her body - or attempted to - that she snapped fully into alertness.
The girl wished she hadn't, because when her vision cleared, she was greeted by the dark cell that had become her home.
It was a dingy room, with the smell of mold - undoubtedly growing in every crack and groove - clogging her senses. She recognized the scent from the abandoned houses she'd used to play in, and it was nauseating.
Still, even with the decay, most would probably see it as normal. A basement. Old, maybe, and in need of repairs, but nothing that couldn't be fixed.
It wasn't anything like that, though. Not for her.
The walls looked orange-red in color, like those of her bedroom. She knew they couldn't really be so vibrant, of course; that was the dyed fabric wrapped around her eyes. The cloth clung stickily to her skin, plastering across the upper half of her face. It felt very... gross, and wet, but it was the dampness of it that thinned the light cotton-like material, allowing her to see, so she couldn't complain - even if it was only vague shapes.
It should have made her more afraid, she thought. The blindfold. She was already vulnerable, sore and bare and chained to the wall - and to not even be able to really see?
Maybe it made her crazy, but to be honest... she preferred it this way. She knew that if you stared long enough and hard enough at things - like the sunset, or daffodils, or your mother's smile - you'd never forget them. And when her Daddy came to rescue her, and she was far away, the girl didn't want to remember this room. If not for the orange, she wouldn't have a choice.
Her head hung low, propped uncomfortably against her shoulder. Flickers of pain ignited across her body like tiny sparks when she shifted, even ever so slightly, lingering as a deep, resounding ache. No movement was painless; no position comfortable. She tried to ease the discomfort but her attempts resulted in little except to exhaust herself.
When the girl finally looked up, she winced. The brightness was blinding. It was instinct to try and shield her eyes, but the motion only sent spasms of agony down her thin arms. Her lids fluttered shut.
There was a crack in the roof of her chamber. It was small and too far away to be of real use, but it served to remind her of the days that passed. And whether it was morning or night - the girl drifted in and out of consciousness indeterminately, as if in the midst of fever, for periods she couldn't be certain of. It was impossible to tell how long she'd been here. A week? A month?
She knew it was day, now, at least.
Almost immediately at the thought, the girl tensed. It was always daytime, when she visited.
The girl strained her ears in the deafening silence, and faintly... in the distance... she heard something. Footsteps. They were far away, but she could sense their approach, a steady clack-clack that grew ever louder, moment by moment.
Tears welled in her eyes, tightening at her throat, but she quashed them. Firmly. You don't cry. You don't. You'll never stop...
Shackles were tied around her wrists and fetters around her ankles, chaining her to the hard, unyielding cement behind her and below her. The wall was freezing and rough against her bare back; the floor slick and chilling to her limbs; the restraints icy and smooth across her body. It was cold - always so, so cold - but suddenly her blood was pounding so fiercely through her veins she could hardly feel it.
The clicking of heels drew closer.
Not now... Where was her Daddy? There wasn't much time... He was supposed to find me by now, before... So just go away...
Before she realized she was even moving, the girl was struggling, her limbs fighting and thrashing in one last, desperate resistance. The cuffs bit viciously into her skin, gnawing at her flesh but she hardly noticed them.
It should've been painful, she knew. Paralyzing. Even to her - the wild girl, as her uncle used to call her, who swung from trees and buildings and threw herself into dares like a little force of nature. She'd had a broken arm; swollen ankles. Cuts and bruises of all shapes and sizes, certainly more than other children.
Most would cry, but she didn't. Her Dad said that made her strong, like her mother.
Cuts and bruises. Twisted ankles. She had them all, now, she was sure - but could she even feel them? The agony of the broken arm she remembered seemed fleeting and hazy in her mind - the feeling of her father's arms around her, numbing it all, far away and frozen in time.
You're stronger than anything, my Little Dragon, her father had whispered to her, what felt like a lifetime ago, if you only put your mind to it.
But her father was wrong, she thought, because no matter how hard she pulled, how recklessly she threw herself forward, the chains held. They felt strong and heavy as mountains as they dragged her down, the slack coiling to pin her tightly against the filthy stone, until she had no choice but to give in.
The girl didn't cry often. She wasn't the child who broke down and dissolved into tears - she was the one who puffed up in indignant fits and lashed out at everything and everyone. Dramatically, angrily, unreasonably... And it had always worked for her before. But now, in the eternity she had laid there in this room, on the freezing, blood-stained ground... Nothing worked.
Screaming, yelling, fighting, cursing... Nothing worked.
Even when she couldn't take it anymore, and begged... Gave her captor what she thought she'd wanted - what she thought every bully wanted, in the end... It didn't work. The lady would only laugh - a mad, high-pitched cackle - and then press her blade harder, and faster, and though she couldn't see the girl could practically feel the smile on the woman's face. It pleased her captor, but not in the way she wanted it to - it didn't sate the woman so much as spur her on, making her 'sessions' longer and more agonizing.
Still, she didn't cry.
Sometimes, after she visited, the girl would wake to find sticky trails across her cheeks, eyes as sore as the welts on her sides, the burns criss-crossing her limbs - but those were different. Those were unconscious lapses, and brief, and when her tormentor left the girl shuffled into the corner and wiped them away, never to be seen again. She built herself up, block by block, like her father after nights of sobbing and drinking, and she was fine.
This time, however, when the girl felt the pressure behind her lids she didn't have the energy to force them back. She could have, if she'd tried like she'd been trying all this time, but she wondered, suddenly... What was the point?
Who was she being strong for, really? She had always been so for her sister, but now she was very much alone... Who was she being so strong for, then? The walls? Herself? Her?
Her tormentor - the shadowy figure of her nightmares - certainly wouldn't care. Maybe it would spur the woman on, her cries - but it was always awful, and terrifying, so how much worse could it be?
Maybe that was what her torturer really wanted. For her to break down, and give in, and so maybe everything would stop...
And so, for the first time since her mother died, she let herself cry.
It was a quiet break, with tears trickling down and whimpers soft and breathless, but it was still a break, creating a fissure of cracks in its wake. It was as if her spirit were draining out of her from those two thin rivers, but it was too late to stem them. And though it was likely pointless and would only make her more miserable, she didn't want to.
The girl wasn't sure why. Because she hurt so badly, and though she never understood it before suddenly she wanted to die, and that would break her sister's heart? Because she had been waiting and holding on with everything she had, like her father would want her to, but he never came and that broke her heart?
That was how her abductor would find her, sprawled out as if dead on the icy concrete. Blackened and bleeding; the only sign that she was still alive was the way she trembled - ever so slightly - her body shaking with small, silent sobs.
There was the creaking screech of ancient hinges; the door opened. A chill crawled up up her spine.
She saw nothing; her eyes were closed. But she didn't need to see to know what would happen next. She knew little about her captor, but in spite of her enigmaty the woman was - if nothing else - predictable.
Pain.
Her head was wrenched up by her wiry mess of hair, impossibly high and then thrown violently against the wall. She tried to squirm free, but the woman's grip only grew harsher, more unforgiving, as she held her effortlessly in place. A radiating heat grazed the side of her face and she stifled a cry as it traveled upwards, cutting her blindfold loose.
When the crusty cloth fell from her eyes, the woman released her, leaving the fragile girl to collapse hard against the stone. Her scalp felt as if it were set on fire, but the crimson licking her dirtied locks was a dark red and carving slick trails down her face.
The girl wanted to curl tightly against the corner, block everything else in the world - like her sister when the storms came - but she couldn't even do that much; the restraints were short, and denied her that freedom. Instead she could only fall limp, sobbing noiselessly, a muddy curtain of hair her only defense against her tormentor.
She braced herself for another wave of pain, but none came.
Instead she heard a purposeful clack, and the toes of slim boots came into view. She stared at them for several moments as she gasped for breath at her torturer's feet, lost in the smooth, elegant black of the heels. The floor was washed-out and stained - she filthy and bloodied - but the woman's shoes were polished and spotless.
"Do you know why you're here, sweetheart?"
When the woman spoke, her voice was calm, almost tender, as if her lips caressed each syllable as they escaped her mouth. In any other situation, the girl would have found the tone comforting, but from this woman - this woman who smiled at her screams and drew hot lines of agony down her face - it sounded mockingly sweet.
Such a brave, adorable face... You're a fighter, aren't you, sweetheart? Well, don't you know how to make things more fun...
How long will you last, I wonder? I'm sure we're both waiting to see that same thing - isn't that right, sweetheart? Maybe it'll be today.
Healed again? And so quickly? Aww, you disappoint me, sweetheart.
Something in her snapped; the anger resurfaced.
"Because you're insane," she spat, though her voice came out only as a cracked whisper. And I'm not your sweetheart.
She expected the bite of a slap in reply - the burn of a flame - but all she heard in response was a low, hearty chuckle.
"That's true, I'm sure... but not quite what I meant." The woman sounded amused, but then her voice was suddenly closer - warm breath tickling the girl's ear - and darker. "Come now... You didn't think I would do all of this because I wanted to, did you?"
Could have fooled me.
She didn't respond, but then, she had little time to - before she even gathered enough breath to spit a reply the girl was slammed face first against the floor, the sharp prick of nails digging into her shoulders. She gasped as familiar cool steel ran teasingly along her jugular, before sharpening at a point, tip poised over the rapid pounding of her pulse.
"Although..."
Heat engulfed her throat, and it was as if the metal were aflame when its wielder skipped down and sliced a jagged line across her collar.
She screamed.
"... I have to say, I do enjoy this a lot." The woman said it so simply, so casually, as if she were remarking that she liked winter over summer - not flicking a molten knife along the shoulders of a little girl, listening to her cry in agony.
When the blade finally paused its assault - her captor's weight lifting from her back - the girl was gasping and writhing, warm wetness spilling onto her chest and forearms. She scrambled upwards, chains clattering, feeling weak and nauseous but desperate to get as far from her tormentor as possible - and that's when she saw her.
She froze.
She had only seen the woman's silhouette before - only known her as the dark, shadowy figure that loomed over her cell, insidious and full of malice. The girl had pictured her having fangs, or horns, like she were some nightmarish hybrid of Grimm; maybe bearing a hideous visage, fitting of an old witch or demon that stole children away for her amusement. But the girl's captor was none of these things - quite the opposite, in fact.
Her abductor was hauntingly young, and beautiful. She bore yellow eyes, glittering gold in the sunlight; straight hair tied back in silver bands, black as night and endless; pale skin, pulled ghostly over sharp features. The woman - from her feminine voice as well as her figure, now - favored all-black; her glossy garment was form-fitting and reflective in the light, blinding the girl's eyes when her captor shifted.
"So, my pet - would you like to take a guess?"
The woman stood over her for a moment, ruby red lips curling into a smirk, as if allowing the girl this glimpse of her. Her head tilted to the side, golden eyes dancing over hers; it seemed she expected an answer this time, but the girl felt at a loss for words.
Do you know why I brought you here, sweetheart?
No, she didn't. She didn't even know that a reason existed - could someone as insane as this woman have sane things like reasons?
Her uncle had always told her of people who snatched children away, far away and did terrible things to them. When asked why, however, he had no answer. Some people don't have reasons, Little Dragon - not ones that you or I can understand, he explained, Some people enjoy evil for the sake of evil - people more Grimm than human.
When she had nothing to say, the woman smiled. Quicker than she could react her tormentor was beside her, pinning her throat to the wall, the woman's other hand sweeping over her sides. It felt like nothing, at first; her hands were only firm, set to leave little more than superficial bruises. But she knew this game. The woman held her there for several long moments, breathing quietly, and just when the girl began to relax ever so slightly, that's when she struck.
"Hmm?" her abductor asked her as she shrieked, grin so wide it seemed her face might split in two, "What was that? I couldn't hear you."
It was as if the woman set her own hands alight - hungry flames licked the girl's sides, destroying the scabbed remains of her skin. Even when the actual fire had extinguished, the burning lingered, past the point where she no longer had the breath for screams.
"Please, oh... please..." Daddy... Mommy... Where are you?! Please!
"Well, since you asked so nicely, I'll give you a hint." The woman released her and then was standing over her once again, arms crossed and a finger at her own lips. Her golden eyes were considering; her stance relaxed and tone calm and steady, even as the girl writhed in agony, whimpering senseless pleas. "Why are you here? Well, you see... you're a strong little girl."
Her captor looked at her manicured nails, then back to the girl, as if she were an insignificant fly, but her next words betrayed her.
"Most would have broken days ago," the woman revealed, and glanced back to her nails - though there was a distinct lilt of approval in her voice. The girl felt herself slowly slipping away, the pain overwhelming - unconsciousness just within her reach - but her tormentor's words were piercing. "Not all auras are so... resilient. Especially young aura. But yours... Well, you're still here, aren't you?"
She gasped for breath and coughed, feeling as if she were choking. It was agonizing and her father's voice whispered in her ear, telling her to calm, to ride out the waves of searing pain but panic was thrumming in her veins, just under her skin.
"It's only to be expected, I suppose, from the daughter of a Xiao Long and a Branwen..."
Daddy...? Mommy...?
"Aww, don't cry," her captor cooed; the sound was disconcerting, and only brought another wave of tears to her eyes. "This is good news for you. It means that this is almost over..."
What was almost over? And that was the million lien question, she thought, because the two words that she had vowed to never utter so long as she was in this hellhole - because they weren't true, her father would come for her - were screaming at her to turn back now, while she had the chance, before her thoughts drifted to things they shouldn't.
"No hope no hope no hope..." It was so easy, wasn't it? Breaking a promise. First, Summer, then Taiyang, and Qrow. Now her...
"Aw, what did I do wrong? I thought you would have been ecstatic." A hiss passed through clenched teeth; it was supposed to be directed towards the malicious woman, but tears cascaded down her face for the second time today, and her vision was wholly blurred.
"Does the little girl need a tissue?"
The anger that dwelled within her found itself flaring once again, resurfacing at the mocking tone of her torturer.
"Stop it!" she yelled, and for once her voice parted from her lips in more than a whisper. "My daddy... When he finds me, you'll be sorry." It was a lie, and both of them knew it.
"Will I?" her captor toyed, smiling seductively with a hand placed over her heart. If she even has one. she thought, but the woman's face grew serious faster than the human eye could follow, and she leaned in less than an inch from the girl's face. "Your father is weak. He fell to something as trivial as love, pah. For your sake, I hope you aren't so pathetic."
I am... she thought. She was not strong; she could fake it, she always did. She was always strong because she didn't have a choice, because there was no time, not because there was something more underneath the broken shell that was her battered body.
And this wasn't one of those times. She would let her tormentor do whatever sick things she wanted to until she rotted away, and drifted to a better place - with her mother.
That was what she wanted to do. But it wasn't what she needed to do. Not for Ruby.
"I'm strong." It was said simply, calmly, without the begging, pained undertone that was commonplace in everything else she managed to get out.
"You have potential," she corrected, "I can see now - but is it enough?"
There was no response.
"Shall we find out?"
The girl grit her teeth in preparation for pain, and this time, it was not in vain. A sharp blade that materialized out of seemingly nowhere lacerated her left cheek; she could feel the tearing of the fleshy skin under her eye, as a cut almost deep enough to slice right through to the inside of her mouth decorated her face.
She screamed.
Louder than ever before. Not like the previous times. This had a raw quality to it, the realness of a person consumed by a pain that knew no end or limit. But she knew that this was just the beginning.
"Let's see, little girl... Will you bend under the fire, or will you-" The air was thick with anticipation. "-break?"
Anyway, as you can see that was shorter, but I hope you guys thought it went smoother as well.
Don't forget to read and review!