Eva's New Hermitcraft and Dream SMP Oneshots

My Knight- (Angst - Grian)

AN: I barely even remember what this is about tbh. I wrote it during a week in December when I was alone in Canada with nothing else to do.

Song by Beth Crowley! Called Close the Door.

TW: Blood (like always), suggestions of torture, panic attacks, self harm

Grian POV-

Pain. Agony. Torment.

Always heard about how cruel the world could be

That was pretty much all I knew at this point. It's all I'd ever known ever since my parents had dropped me outside of this crazy prison. Each breathe brought bouts of coughing as my sore and bruise neck stiffened at the movement. Coughing is agony. My broken ribs scream as my side flares up, searing hot knives seem to tear at the flesh.

Guess I had to see it for myself

"He's awake."

I hear a call from outside. But I don't have the energy to sit up. So, I stay lying on my back, where they had thrown me the day before. My shackled hands numb against the cobbled floor. Rocks dip into my tattered wings, the feathers all but gone.

I hear the cell door creak open and footsteps come towards me as I fight the urge to cower further into a ball. It just made the torture that much worse, because they believed I was closer to breaking.

"Eat."

Got too swept up in false ideas of destiny

That was all. The footsteps retreated. I carefully crack open an eye and the light from the hallway disappears as the door closes again, but not before I catch a pair of knight boots walking away. I swallow roughly, as I glace at the food in front of me. It's nothing crazy, but it's fresh and doesn't look or smell drugged.

Struggling against the pain and stiffness in my body, I pull myself to the food and greedily scarf it down, before chugging the water, feeling the freshness taking away a bit of the bitter bloody taste in my mouth.

Time to put this dream back on the shelf

The torture never stopped. Every day, the crazy cowboy would show up and drag me to the white room where he had his fun. Sometimes a bald man would join them. When he was there, I almost always ended up passed out. The cowboy said he preferred to watch me writhe in pain when he tossed me back in the cell.

But how do you reconcile

But something changed.

What you feel with what you know?

Every day, the black booted man, would give me food and sometimes he would help someone of the worse wounds heal. He never stitched me nor bandaged me. But he'd carefully stop the bleeding, often dabbing at it with a rag or even his own shirt.

I never looked higher than his boots, but the stranger never talked more than necessary so I never had a reason to.

How do you force the heart

Then one day, he came in with the cowboy. Just like every time before, the cowboy grabbed my chin, pulling my up to look into his eyes. Just behind him stood a knight in all black guarding the entrance, fingers fiddling with his sword. My heart fell at the same time as the cowboy dropped me. The pain in my heart more unbearable than that of my head, which had just made contact with the cold stone.