antebellum [t. riddle]

lxxviii

april 1945
depictions of violence

it was an incomparable pain, for sicaria. ambiguous, in the sense that she could not describe exactly what she was feeling, only that it was pain and that it lingered for seconds after the spell had ceased. 

she could feel faint differences between casters as she observed the different locations of the pain. when one witch cast, she felt it deep, in her bones, down her throat, in the center of her magic and radiating outward. on the other hand, when one wizard cast, she associated superficial pain with him— it was in her fingertips and all over her skin and on her eyes pressing inward into her body. she could feel the difference between who cast what, but the pain never stopped long enough for her to assign a physical body to it, nor to attempt to ascertain how much time had passed. sicaria had little time between tortures to do more than decide where she had felt the pain before the next was inflicted upon her.

her sweat dampened her clothes, which then clung to her, making her shiver at the coolness of the room, however the chill lasted for only moments between curses. it was rather dark in there, with few of the torches on the wall lit, and minimal moonlight seeping through the great, dirty windows. the large fireplace on the wall farthest from sicaria was not lit, and she cold here water dripping on the residual wood through the fireplace. there was carpet beneath her, which irritated her skin as she thrashed against it, but it was old and matted down with dust that seemed to rise each time she moved.

the constant feeling that death would soon arrive neither heightened nor dampened the torture, only lengthened it, in sicaria's mind. there were few absences in sicaria's training, yet it was undeniable that her parents greatest failure was forgetting to show her what the end would truly feel like. in all fairness, they could not have known how it would feel to live ones last moments until they had done it for themselves, although, of course, it would be too late for them to teach her that lesson. her parents deaths— she had not known if they had happened quickly or were drawn out as hers was shaping up to be. sicaria could have been mirroring their demise, and she would have been none the wiser.

before he even arrived, grindelwald was already playing a game, making her wait. 

she had been tortured, sure, but never this absentmindedly. there was a certain banality to their evil, as though this was boring routine for them. a lazy flick of a wand was nothing to them, just a means of passing time while waiting for grindelwald to arrive. perhaps they did not know of her significance, or perhaps she was not significant at all; either way, they toyed with her like they were bored of her. 

in all the other times she'd been tortured, someone had been trying to get something from her, typically information, and she was incredibly gifted at wagering and bargaining when it came to "interrogations" of that sort. however, grindelwald's acolytes either had no questions for her, or were not permitted to ask her questions, because there was no point in which she was able to negotiate with them. they did not speak to her, and barely looked at her with anything other than bewildered, but unquestioning curiosity. 

the torture, though nowhere near the worst she'd experienced (it could not be, for how could torture be effective if there was no motivation for it?), made her realize how few of the basic functions of life she'd been doing. she felt nauseous like she was going to puke, but she'd had so little food in the past days that there was nothing for her to vomit. her heartrate could barely rise from the exhilaration, as her blood was so saturated with anxiety potions that there was little anyone could do to quicken it. 

when gellert grindelwald finally did arrive, it was as though there was finally life in the room. his followers, no longer bored with her torment, now stared at him with rapt, gleeful attention, before he even spoke as they awaited his words. his presence was large— he seemed to fill the room with the entirety of his being and his magic. all eyes turned to him, as though they had been positioned.