"No, no—no. That just won't do. More. We need more. Go to the chapel, beg there. The religious ones often have more of a heart to spare. Go now. Mind the cold, don't lose your toes. Bring me a flower if you could, would you? You know how I like those—the pretty ones. Yes... I love you."
Cold, ice in my bones. Bare feet, all my toes—still there, all accounted for. Scars, some I remembered, most I don't. Blood, rhythmic blood: traveling, streaming, through me. Days of endless darkness. No more sunlight. Get warm by the fire, but mind the flames.
Silence.
The creak of iron doors followed by careful steps. A gust of wind lapping at my toes. My toes—still there, all accounted for. Voices... all these voices. Talking, but about what? What are they saying? Strange tongues. A conversation between two girls—women.
"Oh, Empress." Apologetic. "I'm truly sorry for your situation, I don't understand why they insisted to keep you with... with that-" Accusatory
"I'm not an Empress anymore, am I?" A sneer, bitterness dripping from the words. A wall, old and worn. Witness to many horrors, but no innocent bystander; a silent enabler, more like—not unlike me.
"You'll always be my Empress, Your Majesty." Hesitation. "Someone of your stature should not be kept with such a monster... the things he's must have done to women..." A shudder in her tone. "...How many bastards he's fathered..."
"Psh! He's a virgin." A foot connected to my back, hitting my spine. "Mel," the name was spat at me in mockery, "did you hear what she just said? You going to take that, like the coward you are?"
I pulled my knees to my chest, trying to relieve the pain. Iron bars and flickering candles—words of hurt and fingers like blades.
"Empress, please, think of your safety," our visitor protested.
"Sister Yadav..." I muttered into my pillow, tired, "...How many more mouths to feed? Mother is exhausted, father away. Little sisters, with hair black and long, starving. To the Oracular, father says, away with you. One mouth less."
"That's all you've got, isn't it? Words. All you ever do is talk!"
"Empress, please! He could hurt you!" Sister Yadav cautioned.
"If only!" the Empress growled at my back. "Instead he just lays there, pretending to be innocent!"
"We all pretend, if only to cleanse us of ourselves," I croaked sardonically.
Hands grabbed me, forcing me to face the two women behind me, the Empress's angry face appearing above. She looked tired, too; dark circles framed her eyes, usually tan skin gone pallid.
"You kept me up all night," she sneered. "Pretending to have nightmares."
I blinked up at her in silence. I didn't recall falling asleep, or any nightmares.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Your Majesty." Sister Yadav was still there. I glanced at her, her dark skin sharply contrasted against her white uniform. She wore the blindfold typically associated with the Sisters of the Oracular Order around her face, covering her eyes—but I could feel her gaze on me, still. Was that not magic in and of itself? "You should eat... I have brought breakfast. My Sisters and Brothers will come for your daily cleansing soon. Then you'll be visited by the High Overseer himself."
The Empress moved out of my sight, followed by a clatter of plates. "I'm eating your food, Outsider. You can fight me over it."
No... no, no, no! All gone. Bruised skin and shoes taken, again. Again, again. Nothing to eat.
I sat up painfully, a set of loud cracks and pops traveling down my spine. I was dizzy, eyes finding it unusually hard to focus. I glanced at the barred windows above, where the ominous figure of the High Overseer still loomed, before remorsefully turning around, to where the Empress now sat on her cot, her face pulled into a bitter scowl.
We were being observed, but for what purpose? Sister Yadav had raised some legitimate concerns; I could have hurt the Empress, and she could have hurt me. They had purposefully framed us for adultery, they knew the lies they'd spread—so why take the risk of one of us not making it to our execution? The High Overseer had witnessed the Empress's temper, had seen her attack me multiple times now. What was he waiting for?
"Stop staring at me," the Empress complained, still eating my food.
Unless...
"You can't do that." I protested, frowning at the plate in her hands.
"Watch me," she said, taking another exaggerated bite.
What if...
I pulled words from the hidden corners of my mind, fragments of conversations I had gleaned once—words of hurt, exhumed only to reoffend. "'That's just what you do, isn't it Em?'" I returned her scowl, her movements freezing at the familiar accusation. "'You lash out, hurt others whenever you get hurt. All cutting words like the knives you so desperately obsess about.'"
"Stop that," the Empress warned, lowering her plate as her sharp gaze held mine, a dangerous warning flashing within those amber eyes.
I glanced at the door—two Overseers carrying music boxes kept watch—then at Sister Yadav, who was about to leave. "'You'll end up alone if you keep this up,'" I continued stonily, "'you force those who love you away, incapable of admitting to your own mistake-'"
"Stop!" she cut me off. "You can't do that."
"Watch me." I narrowed my eyes, glaring at the woman before me. I was playing with fire, I knew, intentionally heedless of the flames, and I wondered if she'd take the bait.
Her eyes widened, mouth falling open; she did. "You absolute-" She never got to finish what she was about to say, interrupted by the entry of more Sisters and Overseers, led by the statuesque figure of Sister Rosewyn.
"Stand," she commanded, watchful gaze glued to us as she aligned herself before an adjacent wall, motioning for the music to be readied in case it was needed. We obeyed, although the Empress sent me one final kick that had me stumbling a few steps ahead. Yes, this was a game—one we didn't know the rules of, but were forced to play nonetheless. "Undress." Rosewyn continued her commands.
I faced the Empress as I removed my shirt, eyes glued to hers in challenge. She held my gaze with a glare of her own, burning eyes spitting fire at me. She too lifted her shirt, revealing the expanse of olive skin that hid beneath—skin my hands had traversed once. I didn't shy away from her, eyes persistently boring into hers as I untied my pants, allowing the fabric to fall to the floor. I wouldn't allow for her to dominate me in this unspoken challenge we'd initiated. She repeated the gesture, long shapely legs stepping out of the plain article. She righted herself, now naked form mirrored by my own. Her chest rose with each breath she took, chin held high in defiance.
Overseers and Sisters came up to us, washing us with rough cloths. The Empress didn't curse this time, didn't protest the violations of her body. Instead she fully focused herself on me, the center of her hatred. Good; it was better that way. If that was what would get her through, then I'd give her something to hate. I glowered at her, an empty gesture on my part. There was a glint in her eyes, a passing thought. The truth didn't matter. I found truth to be subjective, pliable. She'd search for signs, for breaks of character. She'd convince herself of their worth, their proof—they were her truth. It was easier. Truth was, I'd played this game for as long as I remembered.
Scrubbing, my skin burned with the force; hers would too. Her sharp shoulders bobbed as quick hands dragged a wet cloth across, leaving behind a slippery path of shining curves and angles. Her collarbones moved with each stroke, dancing beneath her skin. I was keenly aware of the fact that I'd never seen them before, and found myself incapable of looking away. Her tan complexion sparkled with leftover droplets, like fragmented ice carried by cold winds.
Snow. Get inside. Get home. Once the blackness catches you it won't let you go, be careful. Get by the fire, fight the cold, fight the ink spilling beneath your skin. Count your toes. Burn more wood if needed.
She stared at me, a spark in her eyes. She was reading me still, gaze searching every change in my expression, every written line on my body. I felt entirely too present within the dark walls and corners of the room, pale skin painfully bright next to the dark uniforms of the men of the Abbey; I was a scream between muted whispers, a strange accent between common tongues. Old towels drying me, rubbing away the cold. The biting cold, always the cold. Cold that burned to the bones and left your skin blistered, torn, and scarred. I closed my eyes for a moment, a short moment; breathe for a bit. I was feeling strange. Old, I felt so incredibly old. I felt her eyes upon me as she studied me, my body laid bare before her critical gaze. Her stare burned a path wherever it roamed, the tempered heat of her hatred painfully tangible. My fault, always.
New clothes, stiff still, washed too many times; old blood scrubbed from the fabric. They dressed me, pulling my limbs with little care, joints popping painfully beneath my skin. I opened my eyes; she was dressed too, bones covered. Then they left, commanded by the sharp tones of Sister Rosewyn. In their place entered the man who'd been watching us ever since we made our arrival, presence palpable before he so much as stepped into view. The High Overseer himself—flanked by the two men that had kept watch near the door, large music boxes strapped to their chests—approached his two prisoners.
The Empress's hatred lifted off of me, directed elsewhere—at the High Overseer; the man who'd betrayed her rule as much as I'd betrayed her trust. His walk more closely resembled a prowl, opposed to the dignified strut of Sister Rosewyn. His black mask dangled from his waist, chiseled features exposed and decorated with a predatory smirk. His face bore scars I knew would make my cell-mate shudder with disgust, remnants of violence. He bore a strange likeness to a hound, broad nose framed by a narrow face. He possessed the common features of those hailing from Morley; much like Wyman, he was all blonde hair and blue eyes, yet the two couldn't be more opposite.
"Remove his shirt, then bind him to the chair," he ordered, before regarding the Empress with a poorly forged smile. "Ah, Empress Emily Kaldwin—or should I say... former Empress." He removed his gloves, briefly inspecting his nails as if to feign disinterest. "I regret our sparse interactions, although I must say I've never been a particular fan of your dynasty—not many in Morley have. Unlike Khulan," he spoke the name mockingly, "sentimental fool he was."
The two Overseers wearing music boxes came up to me, roughly pulling the shirt I'd just been given from my body. They grabbed me by the arms with more force than was necessary, their boxes thudding against their chests. Rubber gloves wrapped around me, dragging me towards the chair at the center of the room. I was abruptly thrown into the metal seat, bare skin hitting the cold surface with a force great enough to rattle my bones.
"High Overseer Khulan was a more honourable man than you'll ever be," the Empress growled behind me.
He chuckled. "Former High Overseer Khulan was blind to the greatest heretic of the Empire hiding right beneath his nose." His eyes glinted as they turned to me. "I have succeeded where he has failed. I have written history."
"Your sons have," I corrected as my arms and legs were contained by the iron shackles attached to the chair. "You merely reaped the benefits."
"Ah yes, my boys. They have served me well. Marcus and Darren were always a special pair… But of course you knew that. You know everything... Almost everything." A smug grin lifted his lips and bared his pointed teeth. He approached me like a wolf might approach their prey: hungering. "They say royalty are defined by their blood. I believe the same rings true for evil. One can tell a lot about someone from only a small droplet of blood." He stopped in front of me, breath hitting my skin in humid wafts, smelling like old, rancid coffee. "Blood soaks into everything, merges with the fabric it touches. I was surprised when my boys presented me with a small piece of carpet. Told me they'd cut it away from the hallways of the Empress herself," he snickered.
I glanced at the Empress who's expression progressively darkened.
"It had sung to them, they told me, notes they recognised from our music boxes. Notes they'd heard at Shindearey Quarry." He lifted a brow. "I'm sure you're familiar with the Eyeless—after all they pulled you from the streets of whatever shithole you were born in." He rested his hands on top of the shackles that bound me, leaning closer, every pore distinctly visible upon his oily skin.
Blisters, red and swollen. Slather them and starve a little more.
His eyes traveled my form, mild curiosity shining in their depths, before continuing on in a barely contained whisper. "We executed them all. The entire cult. The ones we could find, at least."
"And you never thought it wise to consult with your Empress before making such decisions?"
His head snapped towards his other prisoner. "The Abbey's work supersedes the rule of some mere Empress. But that's beside the point—I'm certain your schedule was tight enough, what with your failing economy." He moved back, lifting his hands from where they rested. "Tell me: how much of the Royal Reserves still remain, in light of the darkness that has swallowed your Empire," he taunted, before he turned to gesture at the two Overseers that had taken up post behind him. "One of you fetch my supplies and another chair; restrain her, make her watch—oh, and call for Doctor Kwon. We'll need him," he ordered swiftly before turning back to me, lowering his hands back onto the shackles, breath once more hitting my face in nauseating waves. He resumed his story, almost as if he'd never been interrupted. "We found their hideout, laid siege to their heretical playground. I'm sure the details would bore you." He waved a hand.
Corvo and Billie were headed there; what would they find within those frightful caverns, walls tinged red with spilled blood and cut into shape by piercing screams?
"No... the Eyeless were but obstacles for us to clear. It's what they were hiding that's truly important…"
The door creaked as one of the Overseers returned, carrying a chair on which a robust chest rested, followed by who I knew to be Doctor Kwon. He was a short man, dressed in attire typical to the Isle of Wei-Ghon. His hair was black and long, tied into a loose ponytail. I'd often observed this man as he discovered the world around him, and found he was refined in all the ways Anton Sokolov had never been—I knew his intellect was impressive, but the old Royal Physician's remained unmatched.
"Ah, Doctor Kwon, please, please; come here." The High Overseer motioned for the man to join him where he stood.
The doctor nodded meekly, clutching a leather bag to his frail chest as he walked to his superior. The chair and chest were both placed in front of me, the other Overseer directing the Empress towards the worn looking stool. I watched her tall form come into view, eyes pinned on me still. I supposed I made a satisfyingly pathetic sight; slender form contained by iron shackles, pale arms forced away from my exposed body. I was vulnerable, and for once I was unable to walk away.
"Bind her securely, she's a strong one," High Overseer Kenly ordered, hand coming to rest on Doctor Kwon's shoulder before turning to the short intellectual. "I take it you've been briefed properly, Doctor?"
Kwon nodded hesitantly, answered by a short, firm nod from Kenly.
The High Overseer turned to look at one of the men carrying the music boxes. "Did he eat?" He dipped his head at me.
"No sir, she took it from him," one of the Overseers answered, glancing at the seething Empress.
"Good, good," he muttered before returning his attention to the doctor. "I need you to check his vitals for me, before we commence."
The measly doctor gave another hesitant nod, eyes slowly traveling towards my face from where they'd been glued to the floor. I heard his erratic heartbeat, breathing unusually fast; he was afraid of me.
I looked towards the Empress, who kept her glare trained on me still. Yes, she was as stubborn as ever. She'd hold her grudge, which I hoped would be a good thing. Being sympathetic to me wouldn't help her in any way, shape, or form—that much had been proven already. Especially not if the High Overseer was watching our every interaction.
The leather bag was opened, revealing cold medical supplies I recognised to be the same as Sokolov's. Trembling hands wrapped around the intricate metalwork, approaching me carefully. He listened to my pulse, amongst other things. His hands never ceased their trembling, and I heard his racing heart stutter several times from where it beat in his chest. This man was absolutely terrified. My eyes observed his drawn features, thick eyebrows pulled into a concentrated frown, but his gaze avoided mine at all costs.
After a number of familiar tests, he removed his hand, putting away the cold tools before turning to address the High Overseer. "He's healthy, sir… A strong and steady heartbeat—although infected by subtle traces of magic. Still, I believe it won't interfere."
The High Overseer looked pleased to hear these results, a smug smile returning to his face. "Thank you, Doctor. You may take your place upstairs, come down if necessary."
The doctor nodded before scurrying out of the room, leather bag clutched to his chest. He had his reasons for being scared, misfortunes taken advantage of by the Abbey. He'd been an easy mind to bend to their will, all the foundations laid into place by a life too unfortunate for a good individual like him.
"Overseer Phillis, if you could fetch the hose." The High Overseer moved to retrieve some items from the chest, arranging them on a nearby table. Some of them were wrapped in cloth, as if he didn't want to reveal them just yet. When the spacious chest appeared to be empty, he glanced at the Empress, briefly, before directing his full attention back to me. "I'm going to give you a choice here, Outsider. Either you talk willingly, and live out the remaining two weeks in peace—or we make you talk. And trust me: two weeks can feel like 4000 years all over again."
I regarded the man with disinterest, unfazed by his threats. He could try me: I never talked, not if I didn't want to. So I remained silent, disinclined to waste my words on him.
He snickered at my lack of reaction. "Now, now, boy, don't do anything you'll come to regret," he sneered as he accepted the hose that was handed to him by Overseer Phillis. He grabbed one of the objects he'd retrieved from the chest: a worn looking bucket with measurements carved into the side.
I eyed the bucket warily, reclining into my chair and resting my head against the support as I raised my chin at the man in challenge.
"You're forcing my hand here," he warned, a glint in his eyes. "Turn it on," he instructed. Overseer Phillis was quick to obey as he moved towards the faucet, turning it with a loud squeak. Water started dripping from the hose, small droplets turned into a steady stream, splattering onto the metal flooring in wet drips. "You see, we uncovered a rather peculiar artefact within the mines of Shindearey. Something I'm sure you're very familiar with." The High Overseer rolled up his sleeves as he approached me, hose and bucket in hand. "The Eye of the Dead God." He grinned, the expression unbefitting his features. He slid the hose into the bucket, patiently filling it with water.
I didn't react to his words, eyes regarding him with unperturbed aloofness. What could he possibly want to know from me regarding the old God?
"Conveniently, the Eye led us straight into the place you once called home." His eyes traveled to the hose he still held clutched in his hand, watching the water as it spilled from the object. "What a place to be stuck in… terrifying, truly," he muttered as his eyes glazed over, still glued to the streaming liquid. "I can only imagine the horror of existing in such a dimension for long-stretching centuries…"
I felt my eyes drawn to the hose as well, the clear liquid danced before me, scattering into glitter.
"We were quick to find use of the place, however," he continued, eyes returning to me. "Without a deity there to control it, it's been… turbulent. Storms have been wreaking havoc, strong currents of energy are ravaging the place," he paused, that same glint returning to his eyes. "Electrical energy." He perched one of his feet on my chair, next to my leg, black boot bumping my limb. He leaned down, resting his elbow on top of his raised knee, lowering his face before he continued. "We wish to harness these forces. Drawing directly from the Void itself would negate the use of whale oil entirely. Our problems would be solved." He paused, wetting his lips, eyes moving as if through memories. "...Of course, things aren't that easy. There is much we don't know about the Void. Knowledge that has been obtained but laid to waste over the years, forgotten. But I'm certain… You could help us refresh our memories."
I raised my brows at the man before me, inching forward to meet his stare. "No," I said, tilting my head as I held his gaze.
He moved back, retrieving his boot from where it had been perched. "I'm sure you recall the Siege of Whitecliff, back in 1708. The Abbey suffered some terrible losses during the Rectification War, High Overseer Holger being one of them," he started. "I'm sure you remember the interrogation methods used on the heretics—those fools who thought you'd protect them." He smirked down at the running water. "Yes, they thought wrong. And now, you'll know what they felt; those unfortunate followers of yours."
I remembered them. The unhinged who'd committed murder in my name—sacrifices, they'd called it, to please the God. The God they spoke for, words that had never left my lips. Lies? Or just fabricated truths? They had been the makers of their own undoing, the cause of their own suffering. But if the man honestly thought he could torture me into talking, then he underestimated the true 'horror of my existence,' as he'd put it.
"Who sacrificed you," he asked, surprising me. That was what he was after? Why? I bit my tongue, eyes momentarily drawn to the Empress, who watched me with unconcealed interest. A kick, my knee cracking beneath the force. "Who ended your life 4000 years ago, Outsider?" the High Overseer asked again, more insistent this time. He took a step forward, the water that spilled from the bucket drawing another shiny path across the floor. I returned my gaze to him, regarding his towering height as he loomed over my seated form, dark boots wet from the fallen liquid. He tipped his head, waiting for me to respond.
I wouldn't. I held on to the information as would a mother to her babe—clutched within my cold grasp, this was the last shred of who I was, who I had been . I wouldn't give that away, I wouldn't have them mock me.
"Let's see if we can make those words... flow…" He lifted the hose, slowly, before throwing it across the table without bothering to turn it off. He grabbed a funnel from the same table, placing the bucket next to the hose to free his other hand. He turned back to me, fingers wrapping around my face in a bone-crunching hold. His nails twisted into my skin and forced my jaw to move, opening my mouth before shoving the funnel between my teeth—wrapping a pair of his digits around it to keep it in place. My eyes shot between his hand and the bucket it reached for, he retrieved the object as the water sloshed within. I felt my heart rate increase, the blood whizzing in my ears like constant static, deafening. My back pressed closer against the chair, until I was certain my spine might snap in two beneath the pressure.
I didn't even bother to fight the shackles placed around my arms, I knew there was no escape. I'd have to endure this. I'd have to survive, be tough—the weak ones never made it.
He raised the bucket with one hand, slowly tipping the container until its contents spilled over the edge. The water poured into my mouth—his other hand wrapped tightly around the funnel so two fingers could clutch my nose to snuff my breath, forcing me to drink the fluid in order to breathe again. Cold liquid streamed through me, caressed me from the inside out and filled the space of my body, seeping into every corner, every vein that branched within me as would a river. I choked on the constant stream, lungs burning, begging for air, begging for life instead of liquid death—but it was no use. I spasmed, followed by a string of coughs, feeling some of the fluid enter my wind-pipe, drawing more gasps from within me. The room danced before my eyes, the soft flicker of candles turned to bright, blinding flashes. I was drowning, again. Her face was there, sharp features watching me, eyes flashing too.
And then the water was gone, the funnel fell from my mouth and onto the floor with a loud clatter. I was left wheezing, gasping for air, disgorging fluid that had dripped into my lungs, into every inch of me. I felt bloated, sick, as if I might explode any minute. Everything ached, throat torn by the slicing rains that had drenched the inside of me. Air, I needed air, but it refused to come, refused to relieve me of my suffering. I wheezed some more, choking still on excess and residue. My entire body shook, ribcage forced outward by gasping coughs that trembled through every part of me, bounced off the walls and cut straight back into my ears.
"Let me help you with that," the High Overseer offered, a sadistic twist played on his lips as he bent to pick up the funnel and rested both objects back onto the table. Then, out of nowhere, his boot connected with my stomach, expelling all that had been poured into me in one sickening gasp. Water spilled across the floors, mixed with my own sick, a large puddle pooling at my feet, reaching the Empress's even. I spasmed even more, a shudder running through every inch of my being, feeling as if my gut had been torn into two, throat seared by acid. He calmly picked up the hose, carefully refilling the bucket before returning his attention to me.
"So… who sacrificed you?" His hand wrapped around my shoulder, shoving me back against the chair, my spine bemoaning the impact.
I fought to maintain my focus, to look the man in the eyes. I was panting, glistening chest dancing beneath my chin, pronounced ribs moving, pale skin wrapped around them too tightly. "Go fuck your dead wife again." I smirked weakly, lips quivering as they fought to maintain the expression. He had to be an absolute idiot if he thought he could get me to talk this way. I'd been sacrificed to the Void, I had been drowning within the uncaring abyss for centuries, constantly reliving my death, my existence only half a life. This was nothing new. This wouldn't break me.
The man nodded, lips pressed into a tight line, eyes refuge to the storm that brewed within him. He flew forward, cold fingers wrapping around my face, the pressure enough to dislocate my jaw if he wanted to, forcing it open another time. His other hand traveled to the table, roughly pulling the funnel from its surface. The metal material of the object clattered against my teeth as he shoved it back into place, then he retrieved the bucket and raised it to pour more water into me. I felt it bloat me, similar to a dead body after being left to rot. The room started flashing, the Empress's face springing in and out of view. I tried to force my eyes open, tried to keep them trained on her face, tried to hold onto my consciousness. But the more I drank the harder it became to remain cognizant. I was fading, my wit drifting further away from me.
The air was returned to me, shortly, before the hard heel of a boot connected with my gut and forced the contents of my stomach away from me again, splashing into the already formed puddle. I looked at the man responsible for my current pain, the funnel and bucket clasped between curling fingers, the cruel High Overseer who revelled in my suffering. As he'd revelled before, but with a victim more close to his heart.
"'No,' she said, 'don't hurt me, Altair. Think of our sons,'" I spoke in between gasps and chokes, voice fragile and hoarse, the sounds hard to produce. Another kick to my gut, this time it was personal, and I couldn't contain the smirk that pulled at my lips again.
I didn't say anything else, didn't answer his question, so the ritual started anew. Each time he filled me until I was close to passing out—sometimes I did and I had to be awakened by another kick of his boot. Acid was eating at the sensitive lining of my throat, burning through the flesh there. It hurt to breathe, lungs destroyed by the harsh waters, cutting away at the sensitive organs within me. I didn't want to breathe anymore, it ached too much, but I had to. I needed air. I needed to survive. I glanced at the Empress again, her features pulled into a horrified grimace.
More water, drowning the life out of me. More choking, more pain. All came in excess. All they ever wanted was excess. More things, more pleasures, more… I was suffering, but I refused to break. He could pry the flesh from my bones and I still wouldn't tell him. A boot, kicking the contents from my stomach, kicking the life out of me as it merged with the water, only to stream from my lips into the ever-growing puddle that soaked my bare feet, my toes—still there, all accounted for.
Again and again, he repeated the ritual—drowned me and then kicked me back to life. Seconds felt like hours, and I was certain hours must have passed. I grew weaker and weaker, my body destroyed by the invasive method.
"Who. Sacrificed. You?" he spat into my face, droplets of spittle hitting my cheeks. "What was their name?!"
Blood fell from my lips, onto my heaving chest, drawing red lines across white skin. "G… go f…ck yo…dead- wife," I breathed weakly, voice almost completely dissolved by the sting of acid. A boot, this time connecting to my chest, followed by a sharp crack. My rib; snapping beneath the force. I felt myself lurch forward, coughing up pieces of what might have been my gullet, my stomach completely empty.
"I see I'll have to use a different approach." The man in front of me shifted, shiny boots thudding before my blurry vision, turning towards the Empress. "I'm certain you aren't as tough to crack, are you? Your Majesty?" he purred, fingers combing through her hair, tugging errant strands behind her ear.
"You expect me to have your answers?" she asked incredulously, words bouncing off the walls, just a fraction too sharp. She wouldn't admit it, but I could tell she was frightened.
"No," the High Overseer drawled as he drew back, "but I'm sure he'll ask me to stop before long."
I felt the familiar sensation of laughter bubbling in my aching chest, the sounds dancing off my lips alongside the blood and sick—gurgling croaks that hauntingly rang off the surrounding metalwork. "W… why would-" I coughed up more blood.
"Oh, but you do care. For her, at least." He left the Empress's side and headed towards the table near me, unwrapping one of the bundles he'd retrieved from his pockets earlier.
"I don-"
"He doesn't," she cut in sharply.
"I have sufficient evidence that you do, so truly, you could either answer my question now and spare your little lady, or you submit her to even more suffering, dealt again by your hand." He tipped his head at me, fingers wrapped around a familiar object. "Truly the Surge was an atrocious sacrifice, but it ended up bringing us much more than we could have possibly hoped for."
I felt my heartbeat increase at the sight, the worn leather aged by the years. It didn't mean anything. I… It didn't mean anything. "Liar," I grunted weakly, to which the High Overseer smirked before revealing a yellowed letter tucked inside the worn book.
"Tell me if these words sound familiar," he started, simpering at the Empress before continuing. "Dated 1837;" he cleared his throat. "'Now that the painting is finished, I will sit in young lady Emily's skin and wear her face like a mummer's mask. Havelock and his lickspittles will put the child on the throne, but it is ME they will be crowning. Delilah.'" He raised an inquisitorial eyebrow at me, grin still broad enough to split his face into two. "And how about these," he continued, thumbing through the book. "'The problem is that I don't know enough. There are missing pieces. I can't imagine how or why Delilah is linked to the death of the Empress, but the Outsider wouldn't bother saying it unless it contained some grain of truth. Now it's driving me mad, like a puzzle I can't get out of my head. A riddle in pigment and blood. No doubt that black-eyed bastard takes delight in watching me twist into knots. He knows I can't abide a mystery.'" He snapped the old diary shut, holding it out before my face as if he was waiting for me to bite down on it, like a hungering hagfish.
"Do…doesn-" I tried to speak, but the words stuck to the bloody walls of my throat.
"You broke the one rule we know you consistently lived by, a rule you had steadily upheld for over 4000 years, according to our records. For a girl, an Empress. Coincidence is it then, that you happen to end up with her?" he questioned, but I knew he meant it to be rhetorical. "Someone in her position must know at least something."
"What are you talking about?" the Empress's voice was raw, with what I couldn't quite tell. My eyes found hers in the dim light of the room, the sight of her unrecognisable in my failing vision.
"It means he saved you from the witch Delilah, 15 years ago," High Overseer Kenly explained. "Let's see if he'll save you now, too." With a fast sweep his hand captured her face, forcing her back against her chair, neck bent at an awkward angle.
I couldn't. I couldn't give her this. I couldn't give them this information. I couldn't...
"No, please!" she shrieked. "No! I don't know anythin-" The funnel cut her off as her hands fought against the restraints, tried to escape their hold. The chair wobbled, moved by the force of her protests. I looked away, down to the floor covered in pools stained red. Covered in me.
I heard the gurgling sounds she made as the High Overseer flooded her body with liquid agony. She was screaming, but the sound was muffled by the constant stream—still the noise hurt me. The chair scraped against the floor, squeaked as she used her weight to fight the assault, to try and escape. She couldn't, for once she couldn't.
It felt like hours before the gurgling screams ceased, the funnel removed from her bruised lips. I could hear the impact his boot made, before the water, along with her breakfast—my breakfast—poured from her mouth in wrenching waves. Tears streamed down her face, chest heaving as she tried to breathe, tried to fill her flooded lungs with air instead of fluid.
"Please…" she whimpered, body gone slack and gaze directed at the floor beneath.
The High Overseer turned to me, brows raised in question. I looked away. I just couldn't give her this. He took my passiveness as an answer, hand pulling the Empress upright again, her features contorted in pain. Her chest heaved with the panicked breaths she took, accompanied by the sound of her wheezing. "Please…" she whimpered again, eyes drawn to the nearing funnel. I heard the water that spilled from the bucket hit her chair, splatter against the wood; moving to her face. "No…" she protested, panic raising her pitch until she shrieked with fear. "No! No! His throat! That's his weakness! His throat!"
The High Overseer halted his movements, gaze drawn to my shocked form, my wide eyes staring at the cowering Empress. He chuckled darkly, dropping the bucket and funnel into the puddle below with a loud clatter. "Turn it off," he commanded one of the Overseers, before closing in on me. "Seems she's of good use after all," he purred, bending over in front of me, face inches away.
She met my gaze then, and I understood. An eye for an eye. Now she had betrayed me in return, but torture wasn't quite as high a price as death—still, death would have been more merciful.
The shape of the Overseer's hand came into view, headed for the place from which my life had spilled, the tear that had taken my humanity away from me. I caught the movement of his other hand in the corner of my eye, the glint of a scalpel reaching my gaze. My fingers wrapped around the armrests with all their might, knuckles white. I pressed my aching spine against the back of the chair—the action causing a searing pain to shoot through me, the kind of pain I welcomed—the discomfort that made me feel more at home. Each breath I took was agony, my broken rib threatening to pierce my lung like a pointed blade. His hand wrapped around the left side of my neck, pressing into my skin.
Nails, blackened with grime. Nails, blackened with grime. Nails, blackened with grime. Nails, blackened with grime. Nails, blackened with grime.
The scalpel neared, its surface catching the flickers of the nearby flames. "Let's see," the High Overseer started, "if you're willing to talk now." His voice dripped with sickening intrigue, chest raised with the breath he held.
Nails, blackened with grime. Nails, blackened with grime. Nails, blackened with grime. Don't cry now, boy. Don't weep.
The cold metal pressed into my skin, drawing blood. "No..." I heard myself beg, vision leaving me, eyes gone unseeing—all had disappeared as they rolled back into my skull. Another cut, and the darkness consumed more of me. "No..." I didn't recognise my voice, couldn't place the primal tones that mixed in between.
He was going to kill me. He was going to kill me. He was going to kill me. He was going to kill me. He was going to kill me.
Another small cut, blood trailing down, tenderly—a warning. "Don't. Don't. Don't. Don't. Don't. Don't... " I felt my body squirm involuntarily as it started to fight, feet hitting the floor, hitting the puddle and splashing into the waters. I rocked within my chair, as if trying to escape, but the more I moved the more the ropes cut into my skin. It hurt. It hurt so bad. Adrenaline shot through me, elevating my heartbeat until I was sure it'd break more of my ribs with its force.
Bring me a flower if you could, would you? You know how I like those—the pretty ones.
Stinging pain, another cut, enough to send me over the edge—enough to make me forget where I was and when. I started screaming, started shrieking within the chair. The force of the sound tore at my vocal chords; a shrill, grating noise. "NO!" I screeched at the top my lungs, the world spinning around me, a hand wrapped around my throat—nails blackened with grime . "NO! NO! NO! NO! NET! " Tears stung my eyes, bulging with fright. I writhed within the chair, fought the restraint that kept me down, but there was no escape, nowhere I could go.
He'd betrayed me. He'd betrayed us both. He'd brought me here to kill, to slaughter. He'd betrayed me.
The sounds I produced were no longer intelligible, fast sentences uttered beneath my breath, pleas for mercy. I could hear someone speak, but the words made no sense to me. Strange tongues. I was surrounded by strange tongues. I was crying, weeping. But I shouldn't. Don't cry, don't weep.
Bring me a flower if you could, would you? You know how I like those—the pretty ones.
Pain stung my chest, wrapped my heart in a vice like grip, squeezed until I writhed in agony. Gone. Gone. All gone. I didn't understand, didn't know why this would happen. Why me? I didn't want this, I hadn't asked for this—but I had no choice. My freedom was compromised by tight ropes and my choice cut away by the cold touch of a twin-bladed knife. Blood seeped down my throat, and I vaguely registered the sharp pain that burst through my chest as I fought the constraints. Panic. I was terrified. I had to escape, I had to run, but I couldn't. There was no escape. There were no more choices left.
Yes... I love you.
No... too soon. It had died again. Why did they always wilt so soon? I'd bring back another, surely—I'd find another. I moved to collect my boots and shrugged on my thick layers of leathers and furs. I dreaded leaving my makeshift shelter, but... I had to find another. Spring was on its way—the long slumbers of winter come to an end—it shouldn't be hard. The cold bit into my skin as soon as I left the safe warmth of the fire. It'd been snowing, blanketing the landscape in layers upon layers of white powder. I'd have to go to the forest; the town was an unlikely place to find what I was looking for.
My feet sunk into the deep heaps of snow, swallowing my legs to the knees. I felt the cold wrap around my limbs, pinching me with icy fingers. It was late, the sun would go down soon. I'd have to hurry, lest I be trapped in the darkness. The walk wouldn't be long. I knew a patch of woods that stood near the sea, on the rising slopes of a cliff. I ran, feet made heavy by the icy pull, white matter stuck to my pants and boots. Tendrils of steam curled around me as I breathed, the warmth of it caressing my face. Each gulp of crisp air cooled my lungs, stung my throat—but the strain of exertion warmed my muscles, ignited my core as my heart worked to keep up with the demands of my limbs. I left the barren outskirts of the silent town behind me, turning my back towards the safety of brick buildings that housed warm fires and expelled black smoke.
There on the horizon, peaked a row of bristly pine, their needles covered in white flakes. They glittered in the light of the afternoon sun, fragmented colours spread across unsoiled down. My eyes searched for hints of green amongst the crystal-covered landscape—from beneath the snow, white buds would emerge carried by emerald stems.
My body was easily swallowed by the surrounding trees, the pines engulfing me with their shadows, their tops barely visible from directly below. Birds sang their last tunes of the day; their farewells to the departing sun, before safely turning in for the night. They knew better than to dare chirp once darkness had fallen—predators would crawl from their dens, hungry after a long hibernation.
My run had slowed to a walk, feet wading through a lake of powdery ice, treading carefully in case of hidden holes or trenches. My ears burned, the sensitive skin crying out for warmth, for the fire I'd left behind. I paid no mind to my body's complaints; I'd learned not to. Be strong, toughen up, the weak ones never make it through here. I could hear the sea clearly now, the burst of waves hitting the shore echoed through the eerily silent woods. The birds had quieted, I noticed. My heart still raced, blood howling in my ears—sounds that resembled the rhythmic song of curling waters nearby. I felt myself drawn to those melodies, to the powerful crashes that beat against the rocky shores. There was an undertone of something there, something other. It called my name, begged me to come.
Orange light illuminated the trees, outlined their ever-growing arms that branched all around me—held me in their shadowy embrace. Beams of sunlight were splintered by those prickly limbs, leaving only thin golden strands, threading through the forest with their evanescent presence. The air had an ethereal feel to it, as if I'd stumbled into another plane of existence altogether, hauled from the harsh reality I'd been birthed into. It became increasingly harder to distinguish the sound of my own heartbeat from the sounds of the sloshing waves, breath stilling as I grew enthralled within my own shadowy realm. Time slowed to a halt and each step I took felt unnaturally brisk. I knew the edges of the cliff lay obscured just behind the greenery that surrounded me, their whispers growing louder the more I traversed. Almost there. Still no pearly buds carried on vibrant stems, better keep going. Better keep searching.
There, a clearing, bathed in golden light—dressed in the glow of the setting sun; I felt the fabric rub against my skin, warming me, shielding me from the hands of ice that tried to pull me down, tried to lead me back to the city. There, on the nearing edge, my eyes found what I'd been searching for—the first hints of spring. The white flowers stood absorbing the life-giving rays, basking in their heat. I picked up my pace as I trekked towards the small florets, unaware of the dissipating light, the sinking sun that made way for the silver moon. They loomed before me, just out of reach. I stretched out my arm, tried to take one of them. But as soon as I reached the small patch of greenery I was confronted by the large drop that lay beyond the edge of frozen rocks.
There, beneath the plummet, the waves wrote my name in foam and salt.
I froze, confused. The last rays of sunlight illuminated the waters, turned them into a sea of amber whence the music came. I retrieved my hand, momentarily distracted, forgetting about the pretty flowers. I held my breath, daring myself to lean forward, to look closer—I must have been imagining things. I rested my hand atop the cold rocks, inching forward as my eyes searched the swirling mass of water. Surely, I must have been mistaken? Just a little closer. Almost there. Lean down...
And before I could make a sound, I fell.
My body hit something cold and hard, leaving me winded, gasping for air. Where was I? What happened? My arms tried to grasp onto something, anything. I could hear someone speaking, their words strange and distant. I thrashed within the darkness as I searched for support, for anything to hold onto—but the air was empty. Where was I?
My fingers wrapped around something warm; hands, I realised. Those hands steadied me, pulled me away from the hard surface and back to the place I fell from. I tried to open my eyes, but each time the light hit them I was urged to close them by a splitting headache. I groaned, my body hurt with a strangely dull pain; like the lingering burn after being hit. What happened?
More words, words that made absolutely no sense to me. I retracted my hands from the ones that held them, using them to rub my face and try and open my eyes within the darkness of my palms. Although it still stung, the pain was less searing without the burning light. A warm hand rested on my back—thin fingers, narrow palm. I carefully tried to pry my protective shield away, hands moving to allow the light to hit my eyes. It hurt for a moment, eliciting another hiss from me, but soon my blurred vision started to focus.
A room... lit only by candlelight. What had happened? Panic surged within me, my breaths steadily becoming shorter and faster. Where was I? Where was the snow? The cliff? The sun had been setting, I'd have to get back soon, I had to return. I glanced around me, at the strange shining structures. I didn't recognise any of this. I quickly turned to my feet, my boots gone... All my things were gone.
A voice, again that voice. Strange words, spoken questioningly. I finally turned towards it, eyes locking onto a young woman. My heart raced, breathing fast and panicked. Who was she? Where was I? What happened? I reluctantly met her gaze, two amber eyes regarded me with unexplainable familiarity. Her lips moved, asking a question, that I could discern.
"Outsider?"
Outsider? What did that mean? What was an 'Outsider'?
My heart stilled, cold sweat breaking out across my skin. Outsider... I knew that name... I knew those amber eyes...
"Outsider? Are you..."
I knew those words, had spoken the same, had learned them from my own lonely plane. I had died. He'd betrayed me. And I'd died, only to remain—forever. Until now. Until… I flew back, back connecting to the wall behind me. I looked around the room, heart racing again, dizzying me with an overload of adrenaline. The surrounding air chilled me, choked me.
The Abbey of the Everyman. High Overseer Altair Kenly. Scalpel cutting into my throat... I remembered it all. Remembered the hours of excruciating torture, the slender fingers that had wrapped around my throat as she cursed me for my betrayal, the long walk that had brought us here, my promises, centuries that echoed within my mind—whispers of dead people. I looked back to the Empress, her features set with worry. I remembered now, we'd been playing a game—and I'd lost.
I quickly became aware of my strange lack of stabbing pain, and my hands reached for my rib, the one I'd been sure had been broken. I prodded the space beneath my shirt, tried to find the one that had cracked beneath the High Overseer's boot. There was nothing, just some lingering discomfort.
"You healed."
My eyes snapped back to the Empress, who kneeled before me, looking more haggard than I remembered her being. I quickly turned to the windows, the barred up glass from where we'd been watched.
"He's not there, stopped coming yesterday."
Yesterday? How… What day was it?
She seemed to sense my questions. "You've been out for three days, healed after only one. Kwon thought it was a miracle."
I turned back to the woman before me, breath stuck in my throat. Three days? I'd been out for three whole days? What time was it now? The lack of windows made it impossible to tell, had the sun set?
A soft frown appeared on the Empress's face. "It's night." Her eyes darted away for a moment, before returning to mine, studying me again. She appeared to contemplate something, frown deepening. I watched her in silence, feeling distant and confused. She moved then, hand reaching for my face. I flinched, panicked. I tried to make sense of my feelings, tried to understand why she frightened me. Something told me not to trust her. Was it because she'd turned on me? Or because I was too much of a coward to admit I'd deserved it? She read my fear, gaze darkening for a moment.
My throat felt dry, parched. My tongue darted out to wet my lips, I realised I was thirsty. The Empress was quick to react again, handing me a cup of water intuitively. I hesitantly accepted the offered object, eyeing her warily, before gratefully gulping down the stale fluid.
"You're braver than I…" I heard her mutter, noticing for the first time how hoarse she sounded, "I haven't been able to drink since…"
I looked at her then, truly looked at her—realising 'haggard' had been an understatement. Her skin appeared dry and bleak, once silken hair frizzed, eyes and cheeks sickly sunken… Everything about her screamed dehydration.
Three days. That meant three days without water. Experience taught me three days was a general maximum—after that, you'd die. I looked down at the empty cup, I'd drank it all… She'd need some too. She had no choice, I had no choice. I glanced around the room, eyes searching for a source, somewhere to draw the liquid from. I spotted the hose, neatly stored away after its use. I lifted myself from my cot, at least, I attempted to. I soon discovered moving was a lot more difficult than I'd hoped. I fell forward, legs unable to carry my weight. The Empress reacted with shock.
"What are you-"
I ignored her, crawling towards the hose with what little strength I still possessed. My fingers clutched the emptied cup, holding onto it securely. I quickly took the hose from where it had been stashed, turning the faucet with my other hand. Water spilled from the object, and I was unpleasantly reminded of the torture I'd had to endure—the constant drowning. I felt the water rise within my lungs as it rose within the cup, but I stubbornly fought the creeping sensations.
I effectively snuffed those feelings as quickly as I could. Ignore your body's complaints—be strong, toughen up, the weak ones never make it. I filled the cup before cutting the water off, leaving the hose discarded on the floor. I dragged myself back to my cot, some of the water spilling over the edge of the cup, splattering onto the floor. The Empress regarded me with a strange look, lips parted in an attempt to breath easier, weakened body already faltering. I returned to where I'd sat, directly in front of her, before offering her the cup.
"You… I- I can't." She shook her head, a tortured look in her eyes.
I tried to speak, tried to convince her that she'd die if she didn't. No sounds came from my throat, vocal cords still torn from the overtax they'd been subjected to. I took a shuddery breath, casting my eyes down to my lap, attempting to temper the panic that still clawed at my gut. I had to collect myself, had to focus. Survival was more important than anything. I'd bend myself to the beatings, I'd adapt. Like the truth, I too was pliable.
"Was it true?" she questioned then, hands wringing nervously in the corner of my vision, fingers stiff and trembling.
I looked up, confused, eyes meeting hers in a clash of cool green and burning amber.
"You helped stop Delilah?"
I didn't acknowledge her question, instead I held out the cup once more. Her eyes flitted between my outstretched hand and face, a contemplative look on hers. She took the drink, carefully, as if it might bite her. The water sloshed within its container; shaken by her trembling limb. She raised it to her lips, but didn't sip just yet. Instead she continued staring at me, as if she didn't recognise the person before her.
"You didn't heal on your own before… Sokolov did something," she spoke into the water, breath sending ripples across its surface.
I cocked my head at the words, eyeing her curiously. She glanced down at her drink, chapped lips still hovering at the rim. I wondered if she was still angry at me, aware that part of me sincerely hoped she was. Anger I could deal with, it was easier to distance oneself from. Tomorrow would dish out more torment, more experiences she'd carry with her for the remainder of her life. I found the thought hurt me more than I wanted it to, heart clenching within my chest.
She remained there, frozen in time, body incapable of finishing the gesture she'd attempted—the barriers of her mind stilling her limbs, binding her within herself. I did something I knew I'd regret, hand moving on its own accord: I reached out, finger pressing against the bottom of the cup, gently lifting it until it tipped enough to allow a small stream to trickle between her waiting lips.
Her eyes widened at first, the flicker of memories passing through her stare—as if she wasn't there anymore but back in her chair, drowning. I lowered myself onto the floor beside her, my other hand moving to rest on her back, to offer the least bit if comfort I knew how to give. My touch pulled her away from her delusions, bringing her back into the now. She glanced at me, confused, before she moved her trembling hands to pour more of the liquid into her mouth, down her throat. She drank, hesitantly, eyes never leaving my face. Tomorrow we could pretend again. Pretend this never happened, pretend we hated each other. The day would wash away the night again, would relieve us of these strange moments shared in the cover of darkness. Tomorrow all would be as usual, I would be hated, and all would be my fault. My fault. My mistakes.