The Tragic and the Pure - DreamNotFound

Chapter 8

George POV

This can't be real... it just can't....

"Drista...?" His voice broke, mouth agape in astonishment.

She rolled her eyes. "So I was right. That was you up there."

George threaded his hands through his wet hair. He tugged the strands, wishing he could squeeze logical thoughts from his brain. "You're supposed to be dead!"

Drista, the sole female heir of Kinoko's dragon royalty, and the wild younger sister of his ex. Dream never spoke of his sister, the girl having died of sickness when she was ten years old. The grief had hit the dirty blond hard, and young George remembers numerous nights attempting to calm his heartbroken sobs. 

The whole Kingdom grieved, George's family heavily assisting in Drista's burial in an attempt to help the family. Standing outside the grave of someone so young had felt wrong, and he didn't blame Dream's parents for never trying at another child. Later, their mother passed from poor health suspected to be caused by grief.

"Obviously not." Drista stared at him as though he'd the intelligence of a fly. "Do I look dead to you?"

George studied her condition, unable to laugh at the bloodstained clothing and purple bruising. Her body seemed to be made entirely of scars, cuts, and bruises. Heat rose in his throat, and he swallowed his anger. "What happened to you?"

"What do you think happened?"

"Drista." George took a deep breath. "Please, whatever happened, I'm sorry. I really don't know."

She blinked at him from beautiful emerald lined with shadows. Her stubbornness and sharp tongue reminded him painfully of her brother, he doubted Dream knew his sister was alive.

"Well... obviously I didn't die." Drista sighed, and the energy seeped out her battered body. "The whole 'sickness' thing was actually deliberate poisoning. It didn't kill me, but it allowed my death to be faked."

He pictured her bright smile, the gaps between her fangs and her unkempt braids. Her pout when Dream told her she couldn't come to sword practice, and how she'd get in trouble following him anyways. The thought of someone targeting such an aspiring and spirited girl made him sick.

"Who would poison you? We all loved you." George searched her eyes, silently begging her not to say it.

To her credit, Drista's face softened with sympathy. "Who else? Where do you think I am, George?"

His name. 

She used his name, not 'your highness' or 'prince George'. After all this time, she still called him by his name, and the familiarity hurt all the worse. 

"What would anyone gain from hurting you?" George argued. He gestured to her chains, unable to look too closely at her wounds.

"Research." Drista tried to shrug, but winced in agony as her restraints put pressure on her injuries. "They are working on a drug to suppress our dragon forms, and second-form dragons too."

"R-research?" In other words... she was a lab rat?! 

The girl lifted her chin, and he slowly followed her pointed direction. Sure enough, beyond the final rows of cells were closed doors. He didn't think he wanted to know what sort of horror lab was behind those slabs of wood.

"You shouldn't stay down here long you know, they will be back soon." Drista interrupted his train of thought. "If you hide and wait for them to be busy with us, you can sneak out the way they came in, since my well idea clearly worked."