Something's wrong today, worse, she knows. She feels colder than before, in a way that she hadn't even thought possible. She feel cold under her skin, in her very bones. Her body is numb to Drakath's torture, her mind hazy. Sweat drips in rivulets, smearing with the blood. So much blood, in a watered down pool around her. She can see things in so much detail, the sudden brightness of the single ray of sunlight on the floor in front of her painfully bright. She can hear disjointed sentences in her head, like lines from a story but they make no sense to her.
Drakath notices.
"Getting close, are we?" He kicks her.
"Don't think you'll last much longer." He croons happily. "I'm sure master will forgive me if I kill you. He never was one to get his hands dirty." She doesn't respond. She's drifting in and out of consciousness.
"Oh! Looks like I've finally broken you! Have you learned some manners, little girl?" He holds his dagger to her throat. "You're no fun anymore. Maybe I liked you better when you talked back." He lifts her by the hair and plunges his dagger into her stomach repeatedly, twisting it viciously. She screams – a muted, spluttering, pathetic thing. He drops her back onto the floor. "Have fun in your final moments."
The door slams shut behind him.
She's lying there, bleeding, and she barely even registers it. The acid from her stomach leaks from the wound, burning her skin.
A fleeting memory; she was told that she had screamed something awful when Tomix had fished her out of the rubble after the first air raid, she was so delirious with pain. God only knows how they managed to fix her up, must have used so much magic. Twilly, probably. And Aegis. And Tomix. And Warlic. And Lady Celestia.
Her mind is swirling with memories of her friends all of a sudden, and she's sobbing for the first time since being in this godforsaken place. She doesn't hear the hurried footsteps reaching her. When the shackles come loose, she just falls to the floor, shaking. They won't even remember me, they hate me, they think I betrayed them Oh God they hate me just let me die please let me die they hate me they hate me theyhateme
Sepulchure's eyes are wide as he quickly pulls her into his arms, smoothing the hair away from her face, feeling the fresh, warm blood soaking her tattered clothes. He places a hand over the wound, pressing tightly and closing it with magic, but Misaki doesn't stop crying and it's too late he thinks, she may not be bleeding anymore but she's not just injured now she's sick and he just picks her up and runs.