Enamore was locked away in the deepest, darkest bowels of the dungeon. Gray shackles clung to him, the frost of the cold steel on his wrist seeping through his skin and into his veins. His muscles, knotted in strain from being stretched taut behind him, ached, and burned as if his blood had suddenly become acid. The air felt artic, and he had no shirt. His tattered pants did little to shield his exposed knees from rubbing raw on the broken concrete floor. He could not stand for the ceilings were too low. He had only been in his cell for a few hours, and every hour would sap a little more of his strength, energy, and will to survive. He felt as if an invisible presence was invading his cell, invading his body, his spirit, and sucking it all into itself. The only thing that kept him alive, fighting with every last drop of strength that he contained, was faith in the prophecy that foretold he would rekindle a love in Hera that had once existed, but had been extinguished a long time ago.
But the passing hours took unmerciful stabs at his faith, causing tremendous wounds that would slowly snuff out his faith like a blown out candle. He had no visitors from even the guards as they had heard of the incident with the guard who tried to kiss him, and rumors of his supposed 'magic.' And no guards meant no food, no water. It was obvious that he would perish here. And even then, they would most likely let his skeleton sit in place until his bony wrists slipped from the shackles and he tumbled forward and crumbled to dust on the shattered floor.
His throat burned dry. His stomach groaned. His vision blurred, then doubled, then began to sway as his head lazily lolled side to side. He felt Deaths grimy fingers reaching still him from his peripheral, and though he felt the icy feeling of realization that his life was actually coming to an end, he made no attempt to move. He couldn't if he had wanted too. It hurt too much. He felt the world fade away, the broken floor broke completely, and he fell into a freezing stream of unconscious that swiftly carried him away.
Upstairs, the only two guards on duty for the night, had nearly fallen asleep after indulging their stomachs sufficiently on fruits, meats, and water that had been meant for many of the prisoners that were currently imprisoned in the jail. "They don't eat the food anyway," one guard rationed.
"And it's a shame to waste good food," the other guard agreed.
This conversation had been held many years ago, and a silent, unspoken pact had been made that the guards could eat as much as the food that belonged to the prisoners as they wanted. The number one cause of deaths amongst prisoners in their jail, unsurprisingly, had been starvation. Some of the stronger, crazier inmates had turned to eating each other instead. The only inmates who actually received their food were the ones with connections to some of the major gods in one way or the other. And if they did, then they probably wouldnt be in that jail for long anyway.
After their bellies were filled, they talked a little about the new inmate, the only one locked in the dungeons at the moment.
"What do you think his story is?" one guard asked.
"Who knows? Who cares? It's a shame, though."
"What is?"
"He was a real looker. I wouldn't have minded having a 'go' at him, you know what I mean?"
The other guard turned his head away, a bit embarrassed. He knew his pal wasn't in the closest, and was an equal opportunist, but it still made him feel a bit awkward hearing him talk like that. But he also felt a bit embarrassed because he felt the same way, a little at least. He didn't know what magic the prisoner had, but it sure must've been strong to have such a strong effect after only a short time.
Both guards fell silent, one on the brink of the sleep, and the other trying to cope with his newfound feelings.
The night passed on, an action in place just waiting to happen.