Poisoned Lips

8: Lydia

"Be confident," Cozbi said, "Or at least act like you know what you're doing even if all hell is about to break loose."

Freyja squeezed her fist, channeling all of her anger into it. She would've preferred to smash glass or even scream in her pillow but she had none of those items.

After the revelation came that she could not be executed, Freyja realized that her mother asked her to kill her to erase her Magi Marque. She sacrificed herself to save her from execution.

She knew that she should be happy and grateful but all she could feel was burning anger. Her mother made a decision for her, again. And this time, it was far more important than what hairstyle she wanted. Freyja appreciated the fact that she wanted to save her from execution but what difference did it make if she was going to die in this horrible cell? All she had was more blood on her hands.

She was suffocating in a cell, wondering what was next for her. Just a couple of hours ago, she was positive that she would die and had made her peace with it. Just when she thought that her suffering would end, reality slapped her in the face.

Freyja groaned and hugged herself. The cell was getting colder as the light dimmed. This place didn't have a bed, or a bench, or a bucket for personal business, and not even a blanket.

"I'm very cold." Azalea shivered, backing into the corner of the cell, like it was hotter. It wasn't, Freyja would know because she was in the corner.

"Get used to it. If the guards were nice they would've given us a blanket or two," Lila said, adjusting her eyepatch.

She wondered why she wore one but didn't ask. It could be for the same reason she wore her mask.

Azalea wobbled to her feet, the rattle of chains echoed. She banged on the door. "I'm dying! Help!"

"What are you doing Azalea?" Freyja whisper-shouted.

"Wanting to get their attention, obviously."

"Ok, what if they find out that you are in fact not dying?"

"Just watch. Come help me."

Freyja cocked her brow.

Azalea motioned Freyja to come forward with a loud laugh. "You hold me in your arms as if I'm dying and Lila, you yell for help. Got it?"

"No, I don't 'got it'." Freyja sighed.

"Yes, you do! Come."

Freyja crawled to the middle of the cell and Azalea positioned herself in Freyja's laps. She hated the way the chains felt against her ankles.

"Ok, all you need to do is look sad, Freyja."

"These children are crazy! They will get us killed!" The woman cried.

"You'll get killed anyway, so what's the difference?" Freyja shot back.

"Focus Freyja!"

"Sorry," she muttered. "I just need to act like I care that you're dying when in fact I...don't?"

"Rude but yes."

"Action!" Lila exclaimed. "Help! Help! Someone is dea-dying! Come help us! Guards!" She wailed, gripping the metal bars.

Freyja found herself in the same position she did when her mother was dying. Azalea wasn't in her lap anymore, her mother was. She could see her brown skin losing life and becoming paler with each second. She caressed her mother's hair and tried not to cry. Freyja ignored the painful feeling in her chest.

"Hey what's happening here?" A guard shouted.

Freyja sniffled and raised her head, making sure the tears in her eyes were visible. "My sister, she's dying! Please help us!"