s.v's note to readers: Now I never ever put warnings before my chapters. However, I do feel like this chapter deserves one such warning. So… be warned folks :D . But first of all huge thanks and shout outs to BeastyFalls for inspiring Tia. The name Tia was partly taken from part of the word Innocentiae, which is Latin for innocence, and partly because I needed a dark version of Krotia and.. and I just ducking took the last three letters of her name to create her alter-ego. RIP. An apt name, considering her personality.

Chapter 9: Broken

These days, the hot buns were as alien to her as the sight of light.

Emilia stared blankly at them for a full minute. Just as Igor leaned over the table and showed the first sign of wanting to give her a friendly swat, the… woman? It was definitely a woman. The woman at his side put up a restraining hand to stay his blow.

'No.'

Emilia's gaze flickered to the female Fallen. There was nothing particularly outstanding about her. Purple robes, face mostly hidden by a hood. Petite. No weapons to speak of, although concealed ones were not to be discounted. Female. Twirling a pencil in her little hands.

'She's mine.'

If Emilia reacted at all to that statement, she did not show it. She continued staring blankly at the steaming hot bun in front of her, one eye twitching just ever so slightly.

A short moment of silence followed. Igor's hand dropped back to his side. Even without looking, she could feel the brute's eyes tracking, mentally-undressing… ravishing her body. A palpable tension hung in the still air of the room. The female Fallen continued twirling her pencil, as if oblivious to all.

Tia raised one eyebrow at Igor, expectant. He did not get the hint, eyes too intent on trying to pierce the prisoner's tattered robes to get a better look at her shriveled breasts. It was almost cringe-y to the point of being painful to watch. Really, why did the quality of wardens have to be so embarrassing; even the wretched Sefiro's prison wardens were better than this- Tia reflected from experience.

A more observant person would have commented that Igor was a necrophiliac; each day the former Sefiran medic inched closer to the world of the dead than the living and yet he showed no qualms about rutting in the shell that was once Emilia.

'Leave us', Tia said at last, as she stopped playing with her pencil. Begrudgingly; almost reluctantly, even, Igor got up to leave.

'And do me a favor- tell Plunos to bring me my tools,' she said before Igor was out of the door. With a grunt, he was gone.

The door closed loudly.

Emilia's eyes did not leave the tasty-looking bundle of food in front of her. It was almost within reach. All she would have to do was shoot out her hands, grab it, shove it in her face and take one huge bite before the female Fallen could stop her. Then she might get slapped, beaten, having her ribs kicked in; but she would at least get to swallow the food. It would only take her one second…

'Eat.'

What?

For the first time, Emilia met her captor's eyes. Or tried to; it was impossible to see where the eyes were under the shadow of that purple hood. Tia huffed impatiently; she was not used to having to repeat herself.

'I said eat.'

Not one to question her good fortune, Emilia's hands were onto the bun, dirt-grimed fingers gripping the white soft substance so hard she almost tore it in half and immediately brought it to her mouth. Just as she was about to take one bite- recognition set in, followed by doubt, then suspicion.

She held the bun away from her face, examining.

Before she could voice her thoughts, Tia spoke once more:

'It's not poisoned.'

For one moment whatever was left of her rationality debated whether or not she could trust the Fallen's words. Then her instincts won out and she shoved her face into the bun; tongue battling the food fiercely, aided by a few straggling teeth as she attempted to force the whole bun down her throat in one serving- spurred by the irrational fear that at the last second some dark force would descend upon her and snatch the food away.

Tia watched her prisoner eat with indifference. Unlike Emilia, whose eardrums had both bled and were now less than optimal due to the caked blood in them, her own ears were very much functional. As such, she could hear the rattling of her various assorted tools on a trolley as Plunos no doubt pushed it down the hallway outside their room. That settled, Igor would bring the bed; while it was easily five times as heavy as her she had no doubt the brute would manage that just fine.

Before long, there was nothing left before her but a somewhat-satisfied yet uneasy Sefiran before her, fidgeting nervously in its seat. No doubt it was wondering what businesses it had being brought before her at all. Tia smiled, despite herself.

Emilia did not like the way the female was smiling at her. It was a smile she identified as 'I have some surprises for you and you will love it'. For one, Emilia did not like surprises; never did, never would. Secondly, she was quite sure the Fallen before her would not do her a favor even if her life depended on it.

'W-vat a-ah ye smiling about-t ?', she asked, instantly regretting it. Her voice sounded terrible; a lack of speaking to anyone outside of grunts, screams, moans and whimpers for two debilitating months coupled with the screwed up state of her teeth resulted in raspy, stuttered speech. But if her captor noticed, she decided not to comment on it.

'Oh', her captor's smile widened, causing Emilia's gut to flop, 'you'll find out soon enough.'

She was about to question further, but stopped as the door opened. Her eyes widened with dread as in walked Igor, hefting a huge bed with manacles and chains hanging off the sides; clearly, someone was meant to be restrained on said bed.

It didn't take a genius to figure out who.

Blissfully ignorant of Emilia's growing trepidation, he turned to Tia, grinned a buck-toothed grin, and asked happily;

'So when do I get to strap her in?'

(break)

Twenty minutes later…

'V-vat ah you doing?', she asked finally, unable to bear the silence any longer. Usually, Emilia was great at playing the waiting game; silence kept her company in her lonely little cell just as much as her friend the darkness. However, this silence was not at all like the one she was used to; despite being blindfolded she could very well sense the presence of the others in the room- helped somewhat by the fact that Igor's breathing was about as subtle as a war herald bashing gongs, and by the Gods it was oppressive.

'Thank you for your service.'

Igor shuffled uneasily in place. His eyes darted from four-o-three, back to the hooded Dark Templar in front of him, then back to four-o-three. Tia was just about done with the brute's thick-headedness.

'Leave.'

She did not even bother with saying please.

The door closed with an even louder bang this time , causing Emilia to flinch in her restrained position.

…

She soon felt a presence right beside her.

Despite herself, Emilia quivered.

A hand found its way onto her left cheek. It stayed there, gentle, unmoving, then trailed up over her nose; over her blindfold, to her matted, dirty hair with the delicate touch of what she might even call a lover's caress.

It trailed down her jawline to her throat. Emilia gulped audibly. This… soft touch, it was more unnerving than all the times she had been touched in the past weeks; Igor was rough, brusque, and thus her skin never as much tingled as it did now. The hand lingered at her neck, as if wondering what it was doing…

And then, in a flash it was joined by the Fallen's other hand, both squeezing together, squashing her throat. Emilia's gag died before it could come out; the pressure in her lungs had suddenly multiplied tenfold as the Fallen began strangling her.

'U-ugh hg-h..'

Tia tightened her grip. Its face was turning an intriguing shade of red. Strange, she thought, I didn't know they broke so easily…

'Nuhg.. No-' Emilia flopped against her restraints to no avail. But of course; the leather was as unyielding as the rocks of Ashbourne, and they bound her to the bed hand and foot.

'Shhh….', Tia husked besides the struggling girl's ears. Its struggle had begun to cease almost as soon as it started, and for good reasons; the pressure she was applying on its slim throat would have killed it in under twenty seconds.

At the eighteenth second, just as Emilia's face went purple and she took in one last, vain gasp, the pressure was released. The bed stopped shaking.

For one moment, it did not breath and Tia was touched by the slightest hint of worry that it had died.

And then, a huge lung bursting inhalation.

Ah… so it lives, after all…

Emilia's vision was white. Her lungs felt like she had a gallon of water in it; burning. The stale, sickly air inside the prison had never felt so sweet to inhale- but it did now. Amazing how much one appreciated life only when brought to the brink of death.

The Fallen's hands were back on her cheeks, caressing her softly, gently… almost absentmindedly.

But without her vision- due to her blindfold- Emilia had no way of knowing what her captor's facial expressions were, and that scared her. She trembled with fear and anticipation underneath the female's touch. There was no telling if she would have the life squeezed out of her again. Not one to fear death under most circumstances, especially not after Igor had roughed her up these past duration, Emilia suddenly found her mind strangely vulnerable. Like an open book.

'Ah.'

'Worry not. I shall not do that to you anymore.'

Emilia knew better than to take the Fallen's word at face value.

'And please. Stop thinking of me as 'The Fallen'. I have a name', the not-Fallen whispered. Emilia could swear she felt the moistness of saliva against her earlobes. It was making her insides churn in all sorts of way. Why is she so close to me…And then it struck her. How does she know what I am thinking ?!

'I am Tia.'

'Yes. I can read your thoughts', 'Tia' supplied the answer. It was disturbing.

'No it's not', Tia chided as she brushed her lips against the quivering Emilia's ear lobe again. And again. On the third pass she flicked her tongue out onto one bruised cheek. She was delighted to see the thing flinch from her touch and attempt to jerk away. In vain, of course.

Someone please help me…

'No one's here to help you… Emilia.'

Hearing the word was like a mental slap to the face. It had been so long since someone had called her that. It was… her name. And yet it sounded so alien. Four-o-three's mind froze with wonderment as the name bounced in her head. Emilia…?

Memories came back. Of her childhood. Growing up on the outskirts of Citadel beyond the city's great walls. Being six years old. Meeting her baby brother Michael for the first time. Playing in the fields, chasing some stupid lambs that somehow always outran both of them. Falling off a tree and shrieking; Michael running off to get help. Her leg fully healed by the time her worried mother came running to her aid. Family picnics by some lake. That one time they visited the Palace and Judicator Arianna smiled at her.

Her first fight with an older girl; she lost.

Her father leaving for the war. Her mother leaving for the war soon after…

Being enrolled at the Institute. Her first time holding a broadsword; that clumsy, stupid weapon that was too big for her and oh-so-impractical. Her affinity for healing magic. Being taken on as an apprentice healer. Transfer to… somewhere. Then somewhere again. And then somewhere. Healers were needed everywhere; she never held a post for long on any front the Sefiran held against the Fallen scourge. Until Irongate.

Irongate…

'That's where we are now, if your faculties are decent enough to recall, yes', spoke an amused-sounding Tia. Emilia blanched. Tia had said she could read her mind, so did that mean that the entire time her memories was runni-

'Yes.'

'I saw everything.'

Oh no…

'Aww…', Emilia could hear the pout on Tia's face, 'there's nothing to hide, sweetie.' She said this with her left hand sliding over Emilia's chest, down to her solar plexus, pushing her down.

It hurt; her wings were terribly crushed up against her back- even unfurled and missing a lot of their feathers it was not like they were nothing. Another insistent press drove the bones of her wings into her back. Her spine ached.

Emilia bit back a groan. Her lips were soon going out of commission; they had been used to bite back so many screams and groans that most of the flesh was feeling pulpy- as good as gone- and chewing on bone was not in her agenda. Pretty sure there isn't bone in my lips…

'Oh', Tia apologized with the sincerity of a Sorry.'

The hand lifted from her solar plexus. She was about to sigh a sigh of relief when her ribs caved in and she huffed one painful gasp, then tried to double over with pain.

'Hug-h!'

Actually, her ribs didn't cave in, but it had sure felt like it. Tia had delivered a solid punch right between her rib cages and Emilia's panic began to mount frighteningly fast as she realized that she could not breathe. Even though her throat, nose and mouth were working just fine, she could not breathe! No! This is not how it ends!

Desperate, her feet thrashed against the unyielding constraints. Her mouth opened and closed uselessly. It felt like a ton of rocks were pressed down onto her bosom; making all attempts at drawing air simply impossible. She felt like a fish stuck on dry land, gills flapping desperately to no avail. A more apt parallel would be hard to find. Emilia was in her death throes and she knew it.

'Huh-g.. h-huh-g huu huh hu….'

Meanwhile Tia continued to watch, impassive, her face not betraying the slightest hint of interest as she could physically see the soul beginning to detach itself from the wretched Sefiran before her.

Not yet.

With a sigh she punched its solar plexus again, but to fix it this time. A pained scream reverberated in the room; screeching with the intensity of a thousand nails raking over a chalkboard. The restraints shook. If they were off, Tia was quite sure the Sefiro's back would arch in impossible ways as it received mind-numbing pain. Debilitating pain. Hellishly torturous pain. It would be quite the show; she was sure the Sefiran would began writhing all over the floor like a possessed rag doll. Honestly, it hurt her a little, too; probing its mind gave her a weak link into its emotions and right now all it felt could be summed up in one four-letter word.

…

Down the hallway, Plunos squeezed his eyes shut. His hands were already over his ears; however the higher pitched shrieks that females make when they were tortured easily pierced his ear drums- higher decibels and all, not that he had the mind to care about the specifics. He knew his attempts were in vain but, what else was he to do; make small talk with Igor? Perhaps sound travelled by sight, and darkness would help drown out the screams that were not going to stop for a long, long time.

(break)

Emilia…

Cold.

I feel so cold.

I don't really know… why? I feel that way; the room was supposed to be hot and stifling- and indeed it was- with the fact that it lacked any kind of proper ventilation.

A fine sheen of sweat covered my forehead. Dry, dead hair clung –plastered- to my neck. My throat was parched and my voice guttural and hoarse. Cracked lips were dabbed at by my tongue but… it helped little; my whole mouth felt like a bucket of sand, pray the Lord.

Despite it all, I was cold. Trembling, my half-lidded, swollen eyes trailed her warily.

Abject terror claimed me as she raised a hand, beautiful, smooth digits caressing the air near my cheek. I had learnt to fear her touch; punishment came with no warning every time she hit me. Chills ran up and down my spine and I could not control the trembling of my tattered wings. I was… afraid.

'I won't hit you', she said.

I had learnt to trust the opposite of her words. She knew as much. And, I suspected, took great pleasure in it. Lies and truths lost their meaning to me; how can one discern what is real and what is not when everything ended in pain? I was as transparent to her as she was to me. She enjoyed inflicting pain; relished every second of it. I just happened to be the hapless victim.

Poor me…

Igor's cruelty paled in comparison to Tia's ministrations.

She was quite possibly the most sadistic person I have ever met.

Her hand closed around my throat gently and I could hold it back no more. My eyes were puffy, sore; spent. But tears still came streaming out, the very act of crying itself sending stabs through the nerves in my eyes. I sobbed softly, body quivering as Tia's hand continued to linger on my throat.

I knew i… I-I knew I should be brave.

…

I knew that as a Sefiro I had to have hope. Hope. It was something we could always have even in the darkest of times. Hope; at the end of the day, it would be my saving grace- it would ensure my survival. I just had to believe.

I wanted to. I really did.

But I was just so… so scared. It was hard to think straight.

'Huh-g, huh…hu…huh-g-', I hiccupped. My vision was blurry. Tia's hand did not move. I was not fooled. She had played with me so much I knew the second I believed her gentleness was the second she would squeeze the life out of me.

'Huh…h-'

I was just so cold.

I stared at her. But defiance was not in my stare. She had made her scream for hours until I could scream no more.

Tia got bored quickly.

She took off the restraints and left. Tia needed not worry about me trying to escape; she knew that I knew I was too scared of her to try anything like that. It took me a long time; something in the order of half an hour, if not an eternity, but I finally managed to pull my broken body into a fetal position and covered my head with my hands as I made quiet, frightened animal noises under the sterile white light of the torture chamber. My inert wings splayed out behind me; slack.

I begged Divinity to end me for my sake; I had not the strength to reach over to the tray of bloodied tools nearby to take one and plunge it into my own heart.

I was scared that if I got hold of a sharp object Tia would somehow know and barge in at the last second to take my hope away. Then I would have to remain in this chamber forever. No…the tray was within arm's reach, there was still hope.

The door creaked and my eyes widened in panic. Was she back again so soon? Why was she back again? Oh no, please, no more gentle caresses, no more loving touches, no more kind words. They were lies, lies, and lies.

No more.

I prayed to Divinity.

Please. No more. Just end me.

…

Let me go…

(break)

Ranked games have tilted me to the point I am thinking of suicide. Don't expect a new chapter soon. If I write anything now it will just be more Emilia P.O.V and torture/pain/death/suicide/rape and all the negative things I can pour my emotions into. I probably need to go eat sugar; that might perk up my mood. Until next time. Folks.