Pain. That was all she felt other than the hot tears stinging her face and for every tear there was more pain. Never ending pain.
"Stop your crying girl! I told you I won't have any childish behaviour!" The voice, belonging to her tutor shouted at her as Constance trembled, trying in vain to stop the flow of tears as her tutor continued shouting things she didn't register.
"Y-yes, M-Mistress B-Broomhead." She stuttered out, her voice weak and trembling as much as her body was. Sharply her arm was twisted behind her, almost to the point of breaking and Constance couldn't hold back her scream she emitted, catching the look of pure satisfaction on Mistress Heckitty Broomhead's face at the sound as more pain shot through her.
"Scream all you want Connie, no one will hear you, you're mine girl and you will learn your lesson!" A harder twist and Constance could hear the sickening sound of her bones cracking. She didn't want to give in but if she didn't, the pain wouldn't stop.
"I-I'm sorry Mistress Broomhead, I won't do it again!" She gasped out, struggling to conceal the stutter and tremor in her voice that her tutor despised. She was not even able to recall what it was she'd done this time.
"You have too much potential Constance, to waste it on useless things like poetry!" She spat the last word venomously in the young girl's face, as if the act itself were a crime. She swallowed the whimper bubbling in her throat as Mistress Broomhead released her arm. An act she most more than grateful for.
"Perhaps some time in solitude darkness will serve as a reminder as to why you are here?" It wasn't a question Constance dare answer as a cruel smile spread across the thin painted lips of Heckitty Broomhead and Constance bit her lip until she drew blood to remain silent. Like every other eight year old, she was terrified of the dark and her tutor knew this all too well. Within a moment, she grabbed Constance by her dress collar and dragged her down a set of stairs as the brunette pleaded for her to stop.
"P-please Mistress Broomhead, I-I'll behave, I'll perfect that vanishing spell just please don't…" Her pleas fell silent as she was tossed into a dark cell, the cold concrete chilling her as she came in contact with it. She let out a petrified shriek as the heavy metal door closed shut, deliberately slow to draw out her fate before the lock on the door turned and Constance was left in the dark, her nails scratching helplessly at the door still pleading with her tutor. "No! Please Mistress B-Broomhead! Please don't leave me here again! Please!"
Constance awoke screaming, her dark hair plastered to her face by the sheen of sweat covering it. She gasped for air as she took in where she was. She wasn't in the dark cell; she was in her bedchamber at Cackle's. As relief flowed through her, slowly her fingers released their vice-like grip they had on the purple bedclothes. As she turned her head to sweep the hair and tears off her face she was met with a concerned pair of green eyes. Imogen.
"Constance? Constance are you alright?" The blonde asked the trembling witch.
The Potions Mistress and Gym Mistress has admitted their less than professional feelings for each other around two months ago after a sudden kiss between the two, that to Constance's utter dismay occurred on Valentine's day, breaking down some of the barriers and tension between the two. Of course they had gone to great lengths to hide their affections for one another from everyone, including Headmistress of the Academy, Amelia Cackle, which was partly, if not wholly through the aid of a soundproofing spell on Constance's bedchamber where the two had mutually and secretively moved in with one another and shared the same bed. Now that soundproofing spell served its initial purpose, blocking out the brunette's screams of terror whenever a nightmare caught hold of her. Imogen Drill knew the curt response she would receive from the Potions Mistress before she had finished her question.
"I'm fine." Constance replied emotionlessly even though from the tear trails on her face it was evident to the non-witch, that she was anything but fine.
By now Imogen knew better than to question further, it was not the first time she had awoken to Constance screaming and clutching the sheets in terror only to be told she was 'fine'. The blonde wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms reassuringly around the witch beside her, but knew such an act would be unwelcome and likely end in argument between the two of them, so she lay still. She gazed forlornly at Constance's back, as she had turned away, her eyes tracing the delicate waves of her dark hair as the fell across the purple satin of her nightdress.
Constance lay facing the concrete wall, willing the tears to stop flowing down her cheeks, finding that much like in her nightmare, it was a futile attempt. She hated Imogen seeing her like this, so vulnerable and scared, but she couldn't bring herself to open up to her about her past, it was something that aside from the nightmares she could forget or at least try to. More than anything she hated how easily Heckitty Broomhead could slip into her sub consciousness like a snake. Something tugged at her however about this particular nightmare, it had been so real and vivid she half expected to find her wrist broken when she awoke. She was certain there was a reason for it and whether she knew it or not, as she lay staring wide eyed at the wall; Constance Hardbroom was about to receive her answer.