A Russian fugitive with power like no other. Though strong, powerful, and wickedly smart, secrets lie deep within her heart, mind, and soul, haunting her to this day. Those very secrets will chase her until they catch up to her. She may have thought...
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𝕶𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖆'𝖘 𝖕𝖔𝖛
The metal chains clank against each other as I walk down the steps of the dungeon, awaiting my punishment. The manacles they put on my wrists block my magic, and my small seven-year-old form can't fight anyone off , no matter how hard I try.
I've never been punished before. I don't know what awaits me in the dungeons. Something bad enough that they had to put manacles on my wrists to stop me from using magic to get away.
I clutch my black skirt in my gloved hands, scared of what is going to happen. I would ask, but I know that that isn't smart.
When the doors to the dungeon open, I see multiple students on the floor, screaming so loud that I flinch. Tears stream from their eyes as they scream, and their pale faces are red with pain. The veins in their necks and forehead bulge as they writhe in agony on the cold floors of the dungeon. I feel fear well up inside of me, and I move to run, but I am pulled back in less than a second by one of my guards. Screaming, I kick and thrash in his arms, but it is no use when I feel my other guard strike me. My face whips to the side, pain erupting on the left side.
"Tch tch tch. Bad girl," a familiar male voice says, and my blood goes cold. When the guard holding me turns around, I come face to face with the headteacher. The only person in this school that I am terrified of.
He walks over to a wall decorated with a series of paddles and canes, and I swallow. "You see, I would have gone easy on you if you wouldn't have tried to run but..." His hand trails over the wooden paddles and canes until it hand stops on a metal cane made of silver. "Now, you have left me no choice."
"No! Please! I'm sorry!" I yell, tears streaming from my face in fear of what is soon to come. The headteacher merely shakes his finger back and forth in displeasure. "Strap her down."
I feel myself being pulled into a separate room that is accessed by a wooden door with an old handle. The room is brightly lit with both candles and electricity. Toward the left of the room is a rack with various whips, canes, and paddles, all hanging from the metal hooks bolted into the rack. Toward the right of the room, against one of the walls, is a wooden bookshelf filled with vials, knives, needles, and other various objects that strike fear in my heart. Directly in front of me is a wooden table in the shape of a square. On the four corners of the square table are cuffs.
