There was stone at her back and metal at her front, a box made for a singular purpose, and Erza was experiencing it first hand. It was not the first time, her fists much smaller the last time she had found herself in there, hammering on the thick metal door that hemmed her in. There was a slit above her head, too high to see out of as a child, and it seemed to have grown with her, still too far out of reach. It provided some small amount of light, enough to keep madness at bay, the edges of her knuckles scarcely visible in the low light as the pounding against the door took its toll, knuckles torn bloody.
The air was thick and heavy, nigh-on unbreathable, laden with a dust that seemed to fill her lungs, choke her. It was worse, in that space, the scent of decay nauseating and she could feel the swirl of panic in her chest. The only sound was that of her own rapid breathing and the constant clang of her knuckles as she fought to be free, desperate and frightened.
She wasn't sure, for the moment, what she had to be frightened of, yet Erza was utterly terrified. Her heart hammered in her chest, blood pounding in her ears as she fought against the gripping darkness of the upright tomb. It was small, large enough for perhaps an average-sized adult to fit into the tight space with some effort. For Erza though, small as she was at the time, she had room to move, to breathe, yet not to sit.
It had been hours since they had locked her in there, perhaps days, time stretching endlessly on. She should have needed food, water, yet Erza was aware of nothing other than her need to escape the small, torturous prison.
Footsteps, outside, and she shrank back away from the door. There were voices, yet she could not work out what they might be saying.
"No, please don't!" She knew that voice, recognised it instantly, blood running cold as the heavy thud of a body reverberated across the metal door in front of her, a cry of pain sounding far closer than it should have.
"Jellal!" She was back against the door, then, scratching and hitting and pounding against the metal, screaming desperately to be let out, for them to stop, for something.
"Erza." Jellal's gasp was one of pain, and there was the sickening crunch of bone. "Erza, help me, help me!" There was the sound of what she now knew to be rending flesh, a sickening gurgle, then nothing.
The door before her flew open, the light blinding in its intensity, and Erza raised an arm to shield herself from the impossible brightness. Something wet and heavy and warm was shoved in beside her, the door shut and locked as swiftly as it had been opened. No, not something, someone. The space was much tighter with two of them, and for a moment Erza thought she might be pleased for some company. "Jellal?" He wasn't moving, and as she waited Erza realised she could hear no sound save her own breathing.
Her screams were muted within the tiny room, arms wrapped around her friend, her love, as the heat slowly seeped from his mutilated corpse until he was cold and stiff against her. Still she cried, anguish and heartache turning her throat hoarse, the stench of blood and death overpowering.
"Erza." She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. She had nowhere to go in the tight space, as cold hands gripped at her.
"Erza."
Erza shot up in bed with a yell, hands fisted in the covers, an ice-cold sweat dragging shivers from her body as she hunched over herself, swallowing down the rising bile. Gentle yet strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, and she could not help but lean back into the comforting embrace.
"A nightmare?" Lips pressed against her left temple, and Erza sighed against the solid warmth, letting her eyes slide shut as her head fell back against Jellal's shoulder.
"A dream." She replied softly, feeling a bone-deep weariness overtake her. "It was just a dream." And perhaps, if she continued to repeat it, it might become the truth.
No, it had only been a dream, a twisted wreck of memories she would rather not hold. It had not been Jellal that day, had not been his body pressed against her own in that tiny space, heat slowly draining from the lifeless form. She had that much to hold onto, at least.