The Wilting Ballad

16

Behind the three conjoined stones where the Masters live was a room made by the first sailors who landed on the ever slippery soils of Moss Island and in that room was a dampen aphotic abyss with the foot of its tail unknown.

On its ceiling were tiny bits of rocks upon rocks sealed, united to bound chains that can break men's will by hanging them inverted. The air was stale as cow's waste in the hole where Jlyn was hung.

The peak of his head was pressurized, had it not been for his ability to feel the roots of the Ballad spread through its branches to the tip of its leaf to balance himself, he feels his brain would've, by now, exploded. Spattered, smeared on the soggy side or one drop at a time will his blood fall, like right now, to the water or whatever liquid was down below.

He heard the secret door open as it trembles the devilry of a room. He can hear the sounds of footstep, tapping, echoing down the well that has made men descent to madness.

Jlyn has been through a journey most fascinating since he left home. He's been tortured, he's had conversations with his torturer and the Masters who instructed his torturer to torture him. And now, he was, again, tortured.

Although this time he has to admit that they've up the level to a certain extent. He didn't know how many days have passed since he awakes being hung upside down. He has to learn how to drink water pouring from cracks in the ceiling without it coming out of your nose.

And on the few rare occasions when he can't fight the drowsiness, he dreamt of himself seeing a man, who has the very same hair like him, dragging a woman by her hair, besides the Neat Gate, doing all manner of foul unspeakable things to her, and when he tried to stop, four figures roses, withholding him from interfering, making, forcing him to watch.

He would then jolt awake, then he'd cry for hours or days. Then he would fight the need to sleep until he could no longer. And the process shall resume itself.

"Tsk tsk tsk... is baby Jlynoiryana going to weep again? How distress am I to see you so this way." The yellow-eyed Master had come, for the first time. Hearing her voice was like hearing a caterwauling cat in the middle of a good night's rest. It's annoying and painful for the ears but there's nothing you can do about it unless you kill it.

"Who exactly are you, cunt?" Asked Jlyn, though he cannot see her, he can feel her provoked at being called 'cunt'. All niceties taught to him had vanished. Leaving only hatred and the craving for answers.

"Careful with the words you say to me, boy. One swing of my sword and you fell into Gift Pantainys. Now, you do know what Gift Pantainys is, don't you?" Jlyn remains silent, the name does ring bells but for the life of him, he can't recall what it was. What it does. He didn't want to risk answering. And he didn't feel, at the moment, like falling into an unfamiliar poisonous fluid. "Oh." She made a disdainful noise of pure loathing, "I've presumed the princesses son to have depth knowledge beyond measure. How low have we sunken, eh? A child born out of rape with the mind of a simpleton. The shame..."

Images from his unsanctified nightmare return, anger boiling. "Who are you?" Jlyn asks through gritted teeth.

"Ah, for Mosses sake. Where's the fun in you gone to, eh? No foreplay? Where's that fiery energy days before? Aren't you going to... struggle?" She asked, tapping her boots obnoxiously loud. Waiting for a reply, not getting any. "Ugh! Fine! But first, why don't you have those sweet entertaining dream of yours once more."

"No!" Jlyn shouted, throat almost torn. He flinches and struggles but he nevertheless felt a sting on his thumb, being barefoot was suddenly not that great of an idea. The woman had reached, pricking him with a one-hit poison that can make a charging lion sleep quicker than it wakes. He felt its effect. Sluggishness sensation morphed with languidness reign over him.