Summary: A guard's point of view. (I tried something new aka writing in the present tense. Let's see how it goes.)
They don't listen. They never do. And now there's a child in the dungeon.
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You take his goggles and apron, the gloves as well, even though you are not sure what to do with them.
With more force than necessary, they shove him inside the barred cell. Like a doll whose strings have been severed, he falls to the ground. Still and motionless, he lies there, gazing off into the distance. He is so painfully young.
Hours pass. He's still in the same position as they left him, and you doubt that will change soon.
Gradually, the damp stone takes its toll. He doesn't seem to notice, but the raccoon shivers so he moves - sits up for the critter to snuggle down into his lap like it belongs there.
Your heart clenches as you watch them, their sadness being contagious.
The next day you call in sick. And the day after too, just to be sure.
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In a way, it's the easiest shift. Nice food, nothing much to do or to complain about. You've got your deck of cards and a comfy chair. Things could be worse. You take the untouched food and force a smile on your lips when the queen arrives. Idly, her chatter bounces off the walls while you munch on the baked goods she brought.
In a way, it's the hardest shift. It makes you question what you stand for. Trapped in this dark hole, he slowly withers away, his skin pale, his hair dull. As a guard, you swore to save and protect. To help. You promised to be just and good, to do right. The truth is now a lie. You continue your watch over the dying child and take another bite.
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They say the dungeons eventually break you. It's only a matter of time. You almost laugh. Surprisingly, that's not the problem. You know better. He was broken to begin with, dead before his arrival. It's hilarious - they brought in a damn corpse. What they don't understand is that just because the kid is breathing doesn't mean he's alive.
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Sometimes you imagine taking him home, wrapping him in thick blankets till the warmth comes back to his eyes. It's a nice fantasy, makes you feel special to be the one able to resurrect his paralyzed heart - to heal him, and put the pieces back together. In the end, you never take the key. Never open the door. Your games of make-believe are over as soon as your shift is finished and you never feel more ashamed.
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Today is different. There is a nervous energy. It spreads throughout the whole dungeon. As you step into the corridor and greet the waiting guards, they hand you the keys without a single word. You switch places, waiting for the ball to drop.
The raccoon is not in his lap and the boy is back on the floor, curling in on himself. The animal keeps its distance. You do too.
You can hear his shaky breathing, smell the faint scent of copper clinging to the air, see his trembling fingers.
He studies you with weary eyes. You are not sure what happened, yet your gaze drifts back to the bruises around his delicate wrists. You should say something but you don't.
You've done your time and hand back the keys. They jiggle and the boy's whole body flinches. It makes your stomach turn.
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Three days in a row it smells of copper. On those days there is no tray of food to remove. He gets more and more terrified whenever someone approaches. When the queen finds out she is livid. Finally, you think.
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You still don't know what they did. But you notice how quiet the captain got, his eyes beg not to ask and you don't really want to know.
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He is not in his usual spot under the window. For a second you think he escaped. You don't know what to do with the sudden feeling of relief that washes over you, but then your eyes adjust and you find him - a small shadow in the furthest corner. For the first time, he looks like he doesn't want to be here. Not sure if this is good or bad, you just know that you don't want him to be here either.
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The nightmares start. Whimpers and quiet moans were nothing new, but now there are screams. You come to dread sleep as much as he does.
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Things slowly return to normal. Again he sits in the embrace of the moonlight. The raccoon is allowed back in his lap - allowed to touch him again. The familiarity of the scene lets you relax, though his eyes remain empty. You're like two ships passing in the night, aware of each other and their lives, nothing more.
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One of the days the captain comes down and the air shifts. The apathy in his eyes is gone, replaced by sheer panic. He follows his every move, while the older man goes to great lengths not to look at him. He exhales when the captain is gone, and so do you.
You watch as he pulls his knees up and buries his face into soft gray fur. Never in your whole life did you want to hug someone so badly. Of course, you don't. But you vow to never have children of your own.
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It has been months and you have only heard him speak once. To say it left you kinda dumbstruck when you hear him ask the queen about the maid that fell out of a tree two weeks ago is an understatement.
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They send you away when the storm hit and after. Fixing the dungeons takes priority.
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The next time you stand guard, you find yourself watching over the entrance of a tower. Your eyes narrow, as the little raccoon on your feet claws at the heavy wood. The captain is gone. You can't hear anything. Sometimes you imagine a silhouette at the bars of the window high on top. You stretch your arms up, fingers spreading toward the sun. Ultimately, you have to look away from the sky. It makes no difference.
The queen enters and something has changed inside her. She wears a smile as she takes the endless steps up. You feel the dread in your bones when she comes down and it's still there. The door snaps close. She locks it so very naturally while the plate she carries is empty.
You still have the key. It sits heavily over your heart. It's not too late, you think. You could still do it. Just do it!
You never use it.
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You decide you can't be part of this any longer, not because it's true but because it's right. You quit the guard and leave the cursed lands of Corona. It's for the best.