Marry or Kill

24

M I N A

As we step into the cellar, a musty odour assaults my senses, thick with the scent of damp earth and decay. The air feels cool against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. Uneasily, I stroke my upper arm, the sensation of grit and grime clinging to my fingertips.

Sol follows closely behind me, her footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls. I can feel the weight of her presence, her furrowed eyebrows mirroring my own apprehension. But as we move forward, there's a sudden absence of additional footsteps behind us.

Sol turns sharply, her gaze fixing on Noah, who stands just outside the heavy door with a grim expression etched across his face.

"Are you not coming?" Sol's voice cuts through the stillness, her tone betraying her frustration as she struggles to hold the door open. I can see the strain in the muscles of her arms, her forehead creased with effort.

The door, old and weathered, looms ominously, its weight capable of crushing someone beneath its scruffy exterior.

Noah's arms remain crossed defiantly as he gazes at Sol with a stubborn resolve. His tone carries a hint of exasperation as he speaks. "Because nothing screams less fun than seeing Nicolas."

Sol responds with a playful roll of her eyes, a flicker of amusement dancing at the corners of her lips. "Oh, please, stop acting like a child," she retorts. "And I can't keep this door open for much longer, so hurry through."

Despite Sol's urging, Noah remains rooted in place, his expression unyielding. I feel my patience wearing thin, a sense of unease gnawing at me as I nervously tap my foot.

"It's ironic for you to say that when you haven't met the bastard yet," Noah continues, a tinge of annoyance evident in his voice. "I'm not coming."

As Sol prepares to launch into another round of bickering, I can't bear it anymore. Antsy and eager to escape the brewing conflict, I turn away and start walking down the cellar hall, leaving the two of them behind.

As I walk further into the cellar, the sound of water sloshing beneath my boots echoes in the eerie silence, creating an unsettling rhythm to my steps. The torchlight flickers, casting dancing shadows that play tricks on my mind as I navigate the dusty, damp corridors.

Covering my mouth with my sleeve, I try to shield myself from the musty air, filled with particles of dust and dampness that threaten to invade my lungs.

Beside me, a cell emerges from the darkness, its entrance shrouded in inky blackness that even the orange glow of the torches fails to penetrate fully. I can't bear to imagine the desolation of being trapped in such a dark, confined space day in and day out.

With hesitant steps, I approach the cell, my heart pounding with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.

As I draw nearer, the cell suddenly erupts with a loud, bone-chilling rattle, the sound echoing down the hall with a ferocity that startles even Noah and Sol, their heads snapping in my direction.

Instinctively, I press my back against the cold stone wall, my side throbbing from the impact as I collide with an unforgiving edge. Small rocks crumble beneath me.

In the dim light, I can make out muddy, worn hands gripping the iron bars of the cell, their presence sending shivers down my spine. A missing fingernail glints in the faint torchlight, a haunting reminder of the suffering endured within these walls.

Dread coils in the pit of my stomach.

"I haven't had a pretty bird like ya visitin' me in about five years," the gravelly voice rasps from within the darkness of the cell, sending a chill down my spine. His finger beckons me closer, but I recoil, trying to put as much distance between us as possible despite being pressed against the unforgiving stone wall. "Come 'ere."