I was in trouble. Of course, it didn't surprise me.
"Do you know what this is?" he asked me once again, waving the tiny glass vial in my face. I struggled to recede from the pale green liquid, but I couldn't run. I was, after all, in a tiny cell and chained to the wall. I still refused to address the man with the dark cloak and the seemingly innocent bottle in his hand. On his forehead was the tattoo of the Brethren, wizard who had taken a mortal vow to their master and in exchange received a wallop of powerful spells and curses.
"This, my friend," the wizard said to me, "is a special little serum. Surely, you know of its effects? You have studied this in your school, no?" I glanced over at my friend. I wish I hadn't brought him into this. Instead of just me, both of us would die. Knowing him, though, he wouldn't have it any other way. He and I both knew what the serum was, but we weren't about to talk. The man continued his monologue.
"This is known as a truth serum," he said as he stroked the bottle gently with his pale white fingers. "A few drops of this, and you are forced to tell the truth in a matter of mere moments. What is so effective about this liquid is that one dose lasts for ten minutes. Of course, it can be administered again as needed. All we need is a test run…" He then began advancing towards the nearest of his two victims, me. What else could I do? I kicked, bit, scratched, and did anything else that could stop him from using me as a lab rat.
"Leave her alone!" my friend cried out bravely in protest, to no avail. I had to admire his courage; during this whole course of events, he had never lost focus. Then he said something that put a temporary end to my struggling.
"It's not her you want," he said, his voice low in shame. "It's me." I was shocked to hear him say those words. Him, involved with the Brethren? He was too quiet, too… normal to be mixed up with them. I, however, had an excuse. One thing separated me and everyone else my age, including wizards: I possessed an immense amount of magic. My friend was just like everyone else… wasn't he?
"My master knows of your presence here," the man replied in his dry flaky voice. He sounded exactly like a snake, the symbol of the Brethren. "However, your friend is just as valuable to our cause as you are." He then continued his advance. I could only struggle with the fingers that pried my mouth open. Mumbling a spell to levitate the bottle in mid-air, a few drops of the doomed liquid fell onto my unwilling tongue. I was about to spit it back into his face, but the wizard suddenly threw my head back against the wall. I swallowed on instinct, and it was then that I knew that the masquerade was over.
"Do you know what this is?" he asked me once again, waving the tiny glass vial in my face. I struggled to recede from the pale green liquid, but I couldn't run. I was, after all, in a tiny cell and chained to the wall. I still refused to address the man with the dark cloak and the seemingly innocent bottle in his hand. On his forehead was the tattoo of the Brethren, wizard who had taken a mortal vow to their master and in exchange received a wallop of powerful spells and curses.
"This, my friend," the wizard said to me, "is a special little serum. Surely, you know of its effects? You have studied this in your school, no?" I glanced over at my friend. I wish I hadn't brought him into this. Instead of just me, both of us would die. Knowing him, though, he wouldn't have it any other way. He and I both knew what the serum was, but we weren't about to talk. The man continued his monologue.
"This is known as a truth serum," he said as he stroked the bottle gently with his pale white fingers. "A few drops of this, and you are forced to tell the truth in a matter of mere moments. What is so effective about this liquid is that one dose lasts for ten minutes. Of course, it can be administered again as needed. All we need is a test run…" He then began advancing towards the nearest of his two victims, me. What else could I do? I kicked, bit, scratched, and did anything else that could stop him from using me as a lab rat.
"Leave her alone!" my friend cried out bravely in protest, to no avail. I had to admire his courage; during this whole course of events, he had never lost focus. Then he said something that put a temporary end to my struggling.
"It's not her you want," he said, his voice low in shame. "It's me." I was shocked to hear him say those words. Him, involved with the Brethren? He was too quiet, too… normal to be mixed up with them. I, however, had an excuse. One thing separated me and everyone else my age, including wizards: I possessed an immense amount of magic. My friend was just like everyone else… wasn't he?
"My master knows of your presence here," the man replied in his dry flaky voice. He sounded exactly like a snake, the symbol of the Brethren. "However, your friend is just as valuable to our cause as you are." He then continued his advance. I could only struggle with the fingers that pried my mouth open. Mumbling a spell to levitate the bottle in mid-air, a few drops of the doomed liquid fell onto my unwilling tongue. I was about to spit it back into his face, but the wizard suddenly threw my head back against the wall. I swallowed on instinct, and it was then that I knew that the masquerade was over.