OMG! I haven't updated in SOOO long! I am so sorry…

I'm almost out of school so I'll upload more. I AM SOOOO SORRY I haven't uploaded much lately. I promise, the story ain't dead after the prologue! Here's chapter 1, Hurt and Alone.

Enjoy!

In that tiny cell, with nothing but the walls for company, Zidane thought. He thought of Dagger; he thought of how she felt now. With a deep sigh, he tired not to imagine her upon her bed, alone and afraid for him. She's already gone through this before, Zidane thought; I have no right to put her though this again.

Silently, Zidane lay down upon the cold ground, trying to ignore the pain in his wrists. Kylima had tied him excruciatingly tightly. With nothing else to do, he tried to sleep.

Sleep did not come for Zidane. Constantly in pain from the beating Kylima had given him earlier, he couldn't lay comfortably. His bound wrists made it difficult to reposition himself.

At length, with nothing else to do, Zidane began to sing. He had only gotten through a few consoling verses when the door to his dungeon opened. In the doorway stood the person Zidane had prayed fervently would have allowed him just a few hours' rest.

Kylima stood in the door, bearing a cruel smile and an even crueler iron collar. Zidane tried to roll over so that she wouldn't yank him up so harshly this time. Unfortunately, he couldn't move fast enough.

With one swift jerk, Kylima grabbed his tail and dragged him over to the door. Being as quiet as a mouse, he sat still as she placed the collar around his throat. She gave it one stiff tug and pulled Zidane forward ruthlessly. Zidane followed without complaint.

She dragged him into a large room; it was dank and dimly lit with torches. A crowd, dirty, angry, jeering, and sadistic, moved out of the way in time for Kylima to lead Zidane towards the center of the room.

Once in the center, she let him drop the ground in exhaustion. He clung to the cold floor pathetically. Kylima took one of his wrists and bound it tightly. Why isn't she binding both of my wrists?

She tossed the rope to a guard before moving to his other wrist. She bound it and then tossed the rope to the guard on the other side of the room. Then Zidane knew. She only allowed him a few seconds' rest before giving the guards the cue to pull.

Pull they did. They pulled him very taut, so taut that he was quite literally lifted off the ground. Once bound in this painful position, Kylima walked around him. She motioned for the guards to tie the rope to the little rings set in the wall on opposite sides of the room.

She walked in front of him. Zidane, with no strength or will to struggle, merely looked her in the eyes. She smiled a cruel, sadistic smile not unlike Cyra's.

"Do you know why I dragged you down here?" Kylima asked. Zidane could hardly breathe in the position he was in, but he forced himself to speak.

"Because of Kalika?" he asked, "Am I being prepared for the wedding ceremony?" Kylima looked thoughtful.

"Well, I suppose that too. But the reason you're in this room right now is because of them." She pointed to the angry throng surrounding them. "They want a reason why their queen is dead."

She smiled as Zidane looked helplessly into the crowd, desperately looking for a friendly face. There were none.

"Now, while it was Malica who killed Cyra, and not you, it was your fault. She wouldn't have done so if it weren't for you." She leaned in close. "But we can't exactly pull Malica down here, now can we?"

"But what will you do with me?" he asked softly. Kylima removed the collar, which made breathing just a little easier. "Since we can't kill you," Kylima whispered against his ear, "We're going to make you wish you were dead."

All hope vanished. Zidane could only now stare as Kylima moved out of his line of vision to retrieve something. Unable to control it, Zidane spoke quietly.

"But haven't I suffered enough? Cyra did kill me…" Kylima turned and charged straight up to him, so close he could feel her cold breath upon his skin. "Not good enough." she whispered in a sickly sweet voice. She placed her hands upon his chest and ripped his shirt, tearing it off his chest. He hung now, with a new sense of humiliation.

Zidane shuddered as she held up a whip. She walked around behind him and stared at his already injured back for a moment. She smiled.

The whip hurt. Zidane counted 24 strikes before he lost consciousness. The soothing darkness let him forget about the pain for just a little bit before he was hauled back into the torturous world of awareness.

Wearily, he opened his eyes, just in time to see to his surprise, Dagger at the edge of the crowd. At first, he thought he was hallucinating. Why would she be here? Despite the thought, he couldn't stop the tiny whisper that escaped his lips, "Dagger…" It was a soft, desperate plea.

However, the second the word escaped his lips, he regretted it. Kylima heard him. She followed his gaze to Dagger. So did the rest of the crowd. Kylima turned towards Dagger and began to walk towards her.

"And how did a fair maiden like you find yourself down here?" Dagger looked slightly intimidated by the pressing crowd. "Please," she whispered, "What are you doing to him?" The sickly sweet tone of voice disappeared. "What does it look like we're doing to him?" she asked, growling. Dagger shivered. "Please….Cyra already killed him. He doesn't deserve this." From across the room, Zidane met and kept her eye contact. He pleaded with her silently to leave. He really didn't want her to have to watch this.

Dagger stared at him and shook her head. Somehow it was comforting to know she wasn't about to leave him.

Kylima, however, wasn't impressed. "Blindfold him," she said. Dagger leaned forward as Kylima returned to him. She heartlessly caressed the side of his face with the back of her hand. "Please…" he pleaded meekly, "I thirst."

Kylima turned to the crowd. "Shall I get him some water?" taunts and angry cries met her ears. She turned back to Zidane. "Oh, now," she said, still softly stroking Zidane's cheek, "He's been so quiet and submissive." Zidane flinched from her touch instinctively. Still, the collective cry of "He doesn't deserve it! Let him die of thirst!" met her ears. She smiled. "Silence," she commanded to the crowd. They quieted.

Kylima turned back to Zidane. "I'm thirsty too," she said in a spiteful voice. She lifted his drooping head and stared into his blindfolded features for a moment. "I'll let you have the water," she whispered, "If you give me your blood."

Zidane heard Dagger gasp. He was terribly thirsty though. He lifted his head to bear his throat to Kylima's teeth. He felt her cold breath upon his neck and tried to resist the urge to shudder.

It was a soft prick at first, just the tiniest of touches. The tiny prick grew to an unbearable hurt, throbbing, aching and stinging all at once. Zidane gave himself over to the urge to scream. Kylima slipped her cold fingers around the back of Zidane's neck, holding him still.

Finally she let go of him. He fell limply against his bonds, hardly conscious, unable to do much else.

Dagger pushed past the crowd and ran to Zidane's side. She touched his face tenderly, stroking it back and forth. Zidane flinched away from her. "Please…" he pleaded intensely, "please don't do that to me again." Dagger stroked his face lightly. "It's me," she whispered. "Dagger?" Zidane asked, struggling slightly against his bonds to reach her. She leaned forward to touch his face. "It's me," she whispered again.

"Water," he choked faintly. "Please…" Dagger turned to Kylima. "You promised him water," she whispered.

"They don't want him to have water, and so he shan't." Dagger felt Zidane fall back against his bonds in quiet distress. "Please," she pleaded, "He's dying of thirst…" Kylima laughed. "Then let him die!" She nodded to a guard who pulled Dagger back and away from Zidane. Dagger, in her horror of seeing Zidane treated in such a manner, couldn't resist.

Dagger watched as the blindfolded genome was beaten, cruelly. Once Kylima was done with that, she cut him down and kicked him. The entire crowd began to attack him, fiercely and without end, cruelly and sadistically. Dagger could hear him crying out softly, his pained gasps and whimpers more than she could stand. She struggled against the burly guard; however, he held her tightly.

At length, as she caught brief and tiny catches of Zidane in the angry crowd, Kylima spoke again. "Stop!" she said, and they stopped. The crowd pulled back. Dagger gasped.

Zidane was lying on the ground, his blood flowing profusely. He lay very still; Dagger feared he had died in the assault. Kylima walked around him for a moment before pulling out another rope. She bound his ankles together, letting the excess rope trail out of the cruelly tight knot she had pulled. As Dagger leaned in closer, she could just see Zidane's chest heaving a little. How did he survive that?

In one swift moment, Kylima lifted the rope to a small ring attached to the ceiling and pulled it through, thus pulling Zidane into another hanging position, only this time upside-down. Dagger struggled yet again as Kylima bound his wrists tightly, and then drew the remaining rope from his bound wrists up to his ankles, tying him so that his upper-body curled back in a most painful way. He whimpered softly; Kylima paid no attention.

Moving around back of him, she picked up his tail in one hand. Again, he whimpered pleadingly as from her belt, she pulled a knife and laid the blade upon his delicate tail. Before she broke his skin, she whispered one phrase: "Gag him."

Once gagged, the knife was laid upon his tail. Kylima caressed his skin with it with the softness of a lover's touch. Kylima smiled before beckoning to one of the guards. She whispered something in his ear, something that none of them in the room could make out, before turning back to Zidane.

A few seconds later, the guard left and returned with a bowl. Kylima nodded. Dagger couldn't imagine it was something desirable for Zidane.

Dipping the blade of the knife into the bowl, she again lifted it to his tail. She pulled it across slowly, savoring Zidane's muffled screams. She lifted the blade, dipped it in the bowl once more before laying it upon his tail and pulling slowly, just like the first time.

At length, she cut him down. "Take him to the room that has been prepared for him," she said. The guards lifted the bruised and bleeding genome off the ground and dragged him off.

AN/ ;; poor Zidane…I promise I'll upload more. I really do! No! Don't throw rotten tomatoes at me!