the girl who lost it all [d.m]

ten: combustio

[trigger warning: assault]

combustio: burn, singe, scorch

———

ELARA could feel blood trickling down her throat.

The stone floor was freezing cold against her skin where she was curled up in the fetal position, her arms wrapped around her knees pulled to her chest.

It was so dark in the cell—there was no use in keeping her eyes open because she couldn't even see anything—and there was something wet and sticky pooling on the ground around her.

It had been so long since she'd seen anyone. Bellatrix's visits had been abruptly cut off and ever since Mulciber had descended on her, choking her out and smashing her head into the ground until it cracked, no one had come to see her.

How much time had passed? She couldn't even tell. It could've been anything from one day to one year.

No. No. She'd had meals.

Bread magically appeared in front of her cell door every day at the same time and she should've been able to use that fact to calculate how many days it had been but her mind was broken, shattered into pieces.

She couldn't make sense of anything—not where she was, how she'd ended up here, not even the scraps of memory that still lingered in her brain.

She could feel her physical self dying, slowly. Each day in this dark hellhole of a cell had her body getting weaker and weaker, her injuries beginning to overwhelm her. She would've been dead long ago if it hadn't been for the bread that gave her some sustenance.

Water appeared more frequently but she didn't know how many times in one day. She just knew that whenever she heard the magical pop, she would gather the last of her energy and crawl over to the door to gulp it down, never sparing a drop.

Her brain had seemed to sink into a place it couldn't return from. She wanted it to end—was she supposed to succumb to a lifetime of this never-ending torture?

It was better than a Death Eater coming back to torture her, she supposed.

The thought was cursed. As soon as it formed in her head, she could hear boots colliding with the steps leading down to her cell and wanted to cower away but couldn't find the energy to.

Someone was coming.

She couldn't even tell if her eyes were open or closed. Ever since Mulciber had cracked her skull, the sensations in her ears and eyes had been distorted and sometimes, she felt she saw things that couldn't be true.

Like a little girl with frizzy dark hair, grinning at her from across a library table. Or a taller one with long, golden hair done up in a braid, blushing at something a redhead boy said. Or another auburn-haired girl, lying limp in her arms, her eyes lifeless.