2
Voices beat off the walls of the cavern, and Raoul awakens to a world he had not planned on seeing again. Chains still weigh his body down, but his throat is free to breathe, and water laps gentle waves upon his shivering frame. He gasps, and life reenters him as a force that reaches every corner of him. He can see now, a little, in the dim light, and there is not much to look at. Rocky walls and the glow of candles, voices howling outside. Pounding. Desperation.
Raoul struggles, and the water he sets in ripples hollowly around him. His arms burn, and are useless to aid him, so he arches against the metal rusted poles he is fettered to. He cannot escape, but he knows the voices are the only out. He cries out, loud, and it would echo as a dying prayer throughout his prison walls.
"Here!" he screams, deep in his chest. "I'm here!" Through the raucous cries outside the little dungeon, he picks up the low murmur of a chuckle. It is Erik, unmasked, and perched like a vulture at the rocky bank.
"They are coming," he says, and tilts his head to study Raoul thoughtfully. "I have sealed this place off. Pray they cannot come through, your life depends on it."
Raoul shudders, in cold and fear. His wet hair clings to his sweat-slicked face, and he regards Erik irrationally. "You are mad – you said you would kill me!" It occurs to him that what he has just spat at his captor was no more than a pained, hoarse whisper. As his screams were. The rope has bruised his throat, and he chokes the price of speech.
Erik watches him, and raises a brow. "Madness, dear one? Always."
