Lady Death

TWO

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The heavy iron door of cell 513 swung open. The metal slammed against the stone wall of the small cell with a deafening boom. The sound echoed through the cold moss-covered room. Small fragments of dust and stone showered down from the ceiling. The dust reflected in the torchlight, making the already dark space difficult to see into.

The cell was not a large space — only measuring six by four strides. A mixture of dried piss, mud, sweat, and blood covered the stone floors, causing a foul odor to fill the air. As the dust settled, the torchlight of the hall flooded into the darkest corners of the cell, highlighting the filthy state of the prison. An empty stone plate, that once held stale bread and molded cheese, lay discarded on the floor next to an overturned wooden cup.

With the toe of his boot, the prison guard kicked the cup, sending it bouncing further into the cell. The cup ceased its bouncing, rolling the remaining distance to the back wall of the cell before coming to a stop.

The cell looked to be abandoned if it were not for the thin statue-like girl sitting amongst the dirt and grime, half-hidden in the shadows. There was a stillness to her that would convince anyone that she was in fact made of stone. With the grey dirt caked on her skin, she looked as if she had been carved from the wall behind her. She looked to be no more than twenty years of age. Her eyes were sunken in, and her cheeks hollow. Dirt covered the sharp features of her face. Her collarbone stuck out above the rags she wore. Despite her haggard appearance, she looked almost peaceful sitting with her back pressed against the cold stone wall and her legs crossed. Her midnight blue hair, matted with dirt and oil, fell over her shoulders, almost reaching her waist. Despite her gaunt appearance she was beautiful by all human standards, save for the two delicately pointed ears poked out from her hair, marking her as fae.

A monster.

Rae blinked against the flickering torchlight that leaked in from the hall. The light was now much brighter than the small amount that leaked through the small window in the door of her cell. The years held in this prison had taught her just how much she hated torchlight. It was nothing but a mockery of the sun, with the limited amount of light and warmth it gave. All it did was make her long for the real thing. Though it had been so long, the memory of wha the sun felt like on her skin was beginning to fade.

She wondered if the living even remembered she had once walked among them. Now she was far closer to the dead than those who still drew breath. Rae no longer had her freedom. She was nobody; nothing more than the prison number permanently inked on the nape of her neck. 513.

Rae had come to expect the daily guard visits. She had grown used to hearing screams of other prisoners echoing through the corridors of the compound. Some were screams of pain, while others were of madness. Arden was built to break its prisoners. There was iron in everything. It was built into the walls of the prison. Iron dust was even sprinkled into the food and water. In high enough concentrations, it killed the Etherie.

Iron poisoning was a slow and painful way to die. The victims were driven mad as the iron slowly ate away at their magic and blocked them from accessing it. Unable to replenish their magic as fast as it was being consumed, death soon followed — if the madness did not kill them first.

What no one talked about was the pain. Enough iron would burn to the touch, creating almost glowing red marks called iron burn. But after a while, the pain spread to the blood as the iron began to eat away at the magic flowing through it. It felt like your blood was on fire. There was no escaping the pain, no reprieve. It lasted day and night until there was no magic left.