Sea Spell

Chapter Eleven

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She had lost track of the days passed inside The Widower's cave, as there were no indicators of time or of day and night. It slipped by in whirs, the dense feeling of foul breath and itching thirst nearly unbearable. The Widower never slept, never ceased its frittering about the corridors, like an unrested insect. There wasn't a moments break for her to slip away, although this didn't waver her determination to do so.
She'd carved diagonal scratches into the rock bars, so that they might bust at the right opportunity, though they prevailed in holding her back. Life, and the continuum of existence came to a halt here, the grains of sand in the hourglass perched midair. It was under a spell, of some kind, she thought, for she could be certain of nothing in this place.
Her lungs had gradually adapted, pumping water so fluidly, she could scarcely remember how they'd once worked. The whirring feeling of water rushing in and out felt habitual, as if she'd been born underwater.
Spiraling towards her with a medieval bucket, The Widower scattered shreds of meat through a hatch at the right-hand corner of her cell. Arteries and veins glided past in slow-motion, resembling shuttles in outer space as they ventured onward, arching down to be nestled in her lap.
She was strained, but she was too restless to sleep. She was starving, but she couldn't bring herself to swallow what lay in front of her. Finding reasons to delay what you know you want most in the world. Sounded like something that belonged on the list.

Other captives moped from their cells, and her ears rung sharply in the purplish hues of the cave. Her eyes, bloodshot, darted upwards.
Hissing faintly against the glass ripples of the water, her capturer waggled a pruned finger at her.

"Now you, you stay right here, missus. No escapin', we'll see ta that."

It's worlds fumbled breathlessly, stuttering against a clacking tongue. A tiny twinge of hope plucked at her chest, strumming chords on an out-of-tune guitar until she could almost taste it, could almost touch a boundary beyond these walls.
Gingerly locking up the cupboards, The Widower swatted at bottles threatening to careen off the ledges, a look of what could be angst on its face.
After it had made a through roundabout, The Widower turned its neck at a 360 degree angle, surveying the room in an owlish demeanor. It slinked outside the entrance, each tentacle waning light until she was truly alone.
Her stomach surged with anticipation and dread, for here was her golden opportunity to escape, but for how long? How much of a time frame did she have, before the curtains drew shut and it was over? The promise of not spending a second more in this sunken hell was here, but she needed to be clever. Something told her that, she couldn't act on impulse. Needed to be... strategic.
An effortless escape would be too theatrical, too high-winded. There was no hidden passageway, no gate left untied, no clue left uncovered. Arching her back and pressing her chest to the coral, she stretched her arm like a rubber band towards the cell handle. It was held steadfast to the caged walls by a sturdy lock, the keyhole none like she had seen. Pawning her fingers at the lock, her impatience grew at its difficulty to reach.
Lanakila tried to pick the lock with a pointed bit of meat, which failed. Nothing she to mention inaccessible.
Crouching on the scabrous, chunky floor, she settled her stomach against it, unnerved by the mini bullet holes imprinted in her skin. Coasting with a boost from her forearms, she waved her tail and swooped to the far, backward wall.
Crumbling, weathering bits of rock gave way to her chisel, the avalanche sending up a flurry of chalk. She clawed at the wall endlessly, for weighted, drooping seconds that could have been hours. Every second was costing her instantaneously, time was precious, vital now. The tips of her nails felt soft, folding forwards on the rocky ledges until cracks and ridges formed, busting off into the water. Sifting through the rubble that was piled around her, she searched for something, anything pointed and lengthy enough to unlock the cell.
Centuries of aging underwater had shrunk them, shortened them like sea glass. These rocks wouldn't reach far enough to set her free.
For the umpteenth time, she checked to make sure her eyes weren't glitching, she hadn't overlooked a stray of light that showed a knife, a weapon, a boulder. All that littered these caves were bones, all she saw in this moment, in the violet, echoing cave were bones, dirty brown seeping from the edges.
As if on cue, The Widower's earsplitting voice replayed itself in her mind.

I will take the bones from you. I will take the bones from you...

Lana bowed her head down, focusing as she tried to decipher the message, because anything can have a twisted meaning. It became a mantra to her, a broken record. There had to be something veiled, something omitted.

Her realization wasn't the fortunate, sudden type. It didn't hit her out of nowhere like a freight train. It was the gradual, rising repulse- for she knew, she knew there was no backing down, for she had a stubborn mind that refused to stray from a path.
Mustering what little willpower she had left, she selected the sharpest rock she could, flipping it over three times in her palm to delay. The mermaid was just about to pierce her skin when she looked into the corner where the flesh lay, and played her ace.
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Lanakila swung the door of the bulb-shaped cage open, nearly losing her gravity as she slouched into the open.
Trails of red blood accented the room, trailing behind her hands before dissipating.
Smirking to herself, she flung the bone into the cauldron. The Widower could keep it, that was fine by her.
Now, she saw clearly the other prisoners, strange, vaguely life-like. A noble creature, with fan shaped head and slanted, alien eyes stared ruthlessly at her, as if it was trying not to appear pitiful. Grey and blue fins, cloudy like an upset sea, framed its body on the arms, hips and webbed feet. It looked agile and athletically intimidating, with bulging neck veins and slender posture.
Upon noticing her returning, brief gaze, it flared out its muscled jaw and crossed its arms, turning away.
It wanted her help, but was merely too boastful, too prideful to ask. So she recollected the fragile artery bone from the cauldron and placed it lightly underneath the creatures cell door, swimming briskly away. She would leave the decision to the creature, for it was clever enough to unlock the cage independently.

As she treaded water in the room's mouthy entrance, the golden chain once again caught her eye. It seemed to beckon her, ensnared in the clench of the box so worn by water. Wary not to mangle her head on the ceiling ribs, she darted to the shelves, sweeping the box up and cradling it in her arms.
Winding daintily at the corner of her ear, a far-off hissing, scarcely tangible against her interrupting thoughts, was a sound- a dreadful sound, the last possible sound she needed to hear right now. She needed to get out, now, she'd wasted too much time, so much time...

Cutting against the rock, she was about to make a break to the outer caves when she came face to face with The Widower.
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For those of you freaking out thinking Lana chopped off her finger, THE BLOOD WAS RED therefore it could not be her blood because mermaid blood is blue.
Sorry for the eternal update wait- but this is the longest chapter so far, hopefully you're satisfied.
Might be a little while till Chap Twelve because I need to do brainstorming. Thanks for reading, commenting, whatever.
xoxo
payton.