Keep Breathing
Another loud scream echoed through the dark recesses of the dungeon. The stone walls rumbling with the agony deep within the tone. The screams were not constant. After every scream there would be silence, the only sound the dripping of the damp down the stone walls, the shuffling of rats and the heavy breathing of the prisoners waiting to hear another scream. They were not malicious. Each prisoner was one of their own, one to feel a sense of camaraderie with until the food came or the hope of freedom. They wanted to hear a scream because it meant the victim was still alive. In pain but still alive. They had stopped making bets hours ago. Each time they had thought she was dead another scream would sound shaking them to their core and making dread and sorrow settle on their bones. They were used to it though, knowing that there was no way she would come out of there the sane. No one ever did and silently each prisoner thanked the lord that they were not the ones in the demon's lair as they called it.
She was lasting longer then they expected. When they had first seen the guards bring her in, they had grabbed at her hungrily. A woman, one that was not smelling like the dungeons they were stuck in. She was clean, she was soft and they all wanted a go with her. She had not been brought to them. They knew where she was being taken and they instantly backed away feeling pity. She had not been scared though, a novelty to them, one that made them watch with trepidation and confusion. She had not struggled as she was taken. Her face had been covered in blood, only her sharp green eyes being clear, her jaw at an odd angle and her hair a wild halo around her head. She had not cried instead she held her head high, stared straight into the abyss she was being led too and a defiant smile had pulled at her lips, her teeth also covered in blood. They all knew that her pride would not last long. It never did. Even the most brutal of men, barbarians who had eaten children had cried and screamed in that abyss coming back mumbling idiots their minds broken.
At first they had heard nothing remarkable. There had been the usual heavy thuds of boots hitting a body, they could hear gasps of pain but that was it. They heard the grunting of body on body, they knew the men were having fun with the woman. Then had come the smell they hated. Flesh was burning, a smell that made some of the female prisoners vomit in the corner. It was a smell that stuck to the hairs in their nose, their faces grimacing. They would not forget that smell. The demon was using fire. It was his preferred choice of torture. Their pity grew. She had been a pretty girl, they had been sure of it and now she would be disfigured. She would be burned and forever marked. The impressive part of it was she did not scream. They could hear grunts and hisses if they listened close enough but no screams. Yet as the smell grew stronger the silence did not last much longer. The smell disappeared for a little while and for a strange moment there was a tense atmosphere in the air. Everyone held their breath, the hair on the back of their necks prickled and even the guards had turned their heads wondering what was going to happen. That was when the screaming started.
To begin with it had been light, short and punctured. It was pained but not so bad that made them long for her death so she would no longer feel the pain. As the minutes passed, the screams lasted longer, the tone becoming rougher and the pain becoming clear. The pain she was feeling was getting worse. They could hear it in her tone. It was then they bowed their heads and prayed for her soul. She would die, they were sure of it. They only wished that it didn't have be so.
Lily screamed, her head flying backwards as she closed her eyes, the pain unbearable. Her spirit destroyed. He had done everything to her that would break her down, make her cry and scream. At first he had not succeeded, but now she was at her limit and wishing for death. She did not like screaming. It was pitiful, it was something to be mocked and she had always prided herself in the fact that no matter what she never screamed.
When they had first dragged her in here, she had pressed her lips tightly together, held her chin high and looked him in the eye daring him to do his worst. He had not touched her first. He had stepped backwards, a look of consideration on his face as he motioned to the men holding her. She had no time to struggle, to fight and try to escape, the men had thrown her to the ground, ripped her clothing off her body and one by one they forced themselves onto and into her. She had bit her tongue, hard enough to draw blood, so she did not scream. They had laughed cruelly, they had called her a whore and said that she deserved it. They had ripped her, they marked her and each watched the other.
It was humiliating, it was terrifying and it was all she could do to keep herself from crying in shame. She had never been intimate with a man. She had never known a man's touch and she knew she never would. These men were animals. They bit her, they marked her they branded her and she could do nothing. She had always been in control, the one who they boys would not touch because she was as tough as them. Now she was just like every other woman. She was used, she was disgusting but she did not close her eyes. When they finished they had stepped back, looking down at her with sneers on their faces. She did not look away. She stared them in the eye until each one started to shift uncomfortably. Standing she had pulled her clothes on, inwardly screaming at the pain in places she never knew could hurt, her spirit was damaged, her heart blackened and in that moment when they grabbed her once more, to shackle her to the wall she swore revenge.
She vowed to any entity that would listen she would hunt them down, she would make them scream and beg for mercy. If she went to hell so be it. She would get her revenge and they would die with her face in their minds and her laughter in their ears.
They shackled her to the wall, her wrists high in the air so she had to stand on her toes. As the minutes ticked by her feet hurt, her shoulders burned and the more she tried to get her wrists to slip free from the bindings, the more blood was spilt.
"Interesting. Many women would be crying and begging for mercy by now," the weasel, for that was the best way to describe him, said. He walked forward, his hands cupping her chin so he could look at her properly. She glared at him.
"Well I am not like most women." She replied. She looked him in the eye, she hid the self loathing behind her hatred. She could not allow her emotions to hinder her. She allowed her hatred to grow to a raging inferno.
"We shall see." He said.
He did as he promised. At first he had whipped her, the leather having sharp bone on the ends to dig into her skin and tear it open. She winced, she hissed in pain but she did not scream. She kept visions of having her revenge in her mind. With every hit, she added another hour of torture to his death. He would fear her, he would not be laughing. He had then had her taken to the rack and pulled her bones out of their sockets. She had not screamed, she continued to grimace, to wince and hiss only a small groan escaping her lips. She would not scream.
He had brought a lit torch to her face. The flame was close to her skin, her eyes not closing though they watered and became blurred with sweat. She could feel the skin start to bubble, to burn and her hair singe. She did not want her face to be ruined, if it was she could not use her looks to her own advantage.
The Weasel had pulled back.
"It is rare I have such a beauty in my midsts. I shall not ruin it," he muttered. That was the only reprieve he would give her for he burned the rest of her body, allowed the skin to bubble and melt. It hurt, she wanted to close her eyes, she didn't. The smell got under her nose, and the pain became unbearable. She was nearing her limit. She knew and she was sure he had started to realise also.
He stopped and did nothing. Instead he stared. He watched as she closed her eyes and tried to cringe. It was silent, except for the damp dripping down the walls. Slowly she opened her eyes, and noticed him walk forwards two guards with him. Their hands reaching for her. Were they going to touch her in this state? They pulled her arms down, they slammed her shoulders back into their rightful place and her body arched. She closed her eyes, she grit her teeth so hard her jaw moved further out of place. It hurt so much. Breathing heavily through her mouth, she tried to brace herself for what would happen next. Tried to keep her mind strong. The nerves soon arrived.
There was a tense electric atmosphere, her hairs stood on end and her muscles trembled. She knew as the moments ticked by and her gut clenched tightly that the next round would break her. Lily had always trusted her instincts. They usually saved her life. Now they just made her miserable. She wished she could be stupid, mindless and optimistic. She was a pessimist. She would die down here, she was sure of it and as she lifted her head wearily she tried to hold it together so at least she dies with some form of dignity.
With only a look at the guards, the weasel commanded them to place her back on the wall. Her tender shoulders screaming out in agony as her arms were forced above her head. Lily's legs were trembling but she forced herself to stay standing should she fall or slip her shoulders would once more slip out of their sockets and she would lose use in her arms as it was not possible to heal a dislocated shoulder twice. She had never known it to be done.
Staring at the weasel as he wheeled in a tray of instruments her eyes widened. Her heart beat heavily and she started to struggle. It was at the sight of the needles on the tray that made her break down and caused fear to show on her face for the first time. He had broken her wall.
He had started off easily enough. Lightly dragging a burning needle over he skin. The flesh only slightly burning. As the moments wore on he started to dig the needle in harder, tearing at the muscle straining to get away from the instrument. It was as she looked down and saw the words she was searing into her skin that her last vestige of pride disappeared. As she watched him finally finish the e with a flourish she allowed a scream to rip from her throat.
It was the word that she remembered in her nightmares. It was the word thrown and screamed at her mother as she was burned at the stake. It was the word that made her remember. From now on she was branded. Everyone would know her as they knew her mother.
WHORE.