𝕱𝖎𝖗𝖊 𝖔𝖓 𝕱𝖎𝖗𝖊 | 𝔹𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕞𝕪 𝔹𝕝𝕒𝕜𝕖

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

Everything is numb.

Her brain, her heart, the bruises littering her body. There is no physical pain, no mental pain. She should be scared, she knows she should be scared; her life is coming to an end in mere days. The date set for her death has already passed. Eyes tracing over the dull concrete walls littered with tallies surrounding her, she can't find it within herself to care.

832 tallies line the cold grey walls perfectly, etched into the stone with a loose screw. 832 days since she has seen the outside world.

Eventually, she grew used to the routine. Twice a week guards would enter the cell, ensuring she remembers why she is in solitary. But they've never spoken. As far as the guards are aware, neither has she.

The routine is comforting. It's something she never quite had outside of the skybox; stability. Besides, a little pain never hurt anyone. The pain was familiar at first. Until that pain went away too. When she no longer cried out when a punch landed just right, the guards grew bored. They tried something new. Guards no longer visited her cell. Food was brought less often. It didn't take them long to realize she enjoyed the solitude. The visits continued like clockwork, food was brought as scheduled. Everything remained the same until the 264th day.

When they moved a boy into the cell next to her, she heard everything. The cell had been vacant until then, the guard's footsteps being the only sound she had heard for 264 days. She had noticed the air vent on the floor of her cell leading into the cell neighboring hers. What she didn't realize is how easily sound carried through it. The boy quickly realized it too. His voice was the first and last voice she has heard in over two years. He was moved on the 356th day. The silence was back.

Nothing has changed since his move. For 398 days, the routine was the same. After 754 days of her sentence, 398 days in her silence, there was change. Three guards entered the solitary cell 36 days after her death date. Stacks of papers held in their hands. She sat on her bunk, watching them silently. Together, they taped the papers to the ceiling. They left after 17 minutes and have not been back.

For 42 days she's stared at her ceiling, the ceiling lined with papers filled with information she already knows. 42 days of solitary. No more footsteps passing the door, she doesn't even hear them when they deliver food anymore.

Until now. Now there are dozens, hundreds, of footsteps outside the door. They never stop. The occasional scream sends a chill up her spine, Still, she does not move. She lies on her bunk, focusing on the footsteps. Preparing for when they come for her.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14- no, too many. They aren't for her.

Over and over, she counts the steps. For 43 minutes, the number is off. They're taking too many or too few steps.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11. They've stopped. There they are. A small smile tugged at her lips when the sound of the door unlocking confirmed the guard's arrival. She remains still, unsure of what they needed, eyes staying set on the ceiling above her.

"Xylina?"

She froze. The lump in her throat was an unfamiliar feeling, she swallowed hard in an attempt to get rid of it. Sitting up from her bunk, she turns her head to meet brown eyes. "Marcus?" She questioned, ignoring the waver in her voice.

He smiled in return, opening his arms. Without hesitation she ran to him, burying her head in the crook of his neck. She felt the sigh of relief he let out as he wrapped his arms around her, kissing the side of her head. "We need to talk."

The warmth spreading through her chest promptly died out as she remembers who she is speaking to. Marcus Kane. Chancellor pro tempore. The head of the guard and executions. Pulling away, she sniffled. "About time, huh?" She gave him a reassuring smile, his slipped from his face.