Never ownED myself

18- amidst the moon

Nothing can bring you peace
But yourself.
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Warning ⚠️
Violence
┗━━━┛
.

In a large room, the light of day was fading, shaping the room with many shades of gray over the perfect white floor. Every wall, every round beam, every step was perfectly carved. There were no imperfections even to the touch. The throne seat was equally perfect. Intricate carvings depicted the evolution of the family crest, showing the qualities that forged the previous heirs to the throne.

Next to the magnificent chair was a rustic iron throne made of metal and metal spikes. Some were long, some smaller. They all formed the shape of a body to be torn in many ways.  Handcuffs were attached not only to the hands but also to the feet.
There sat a living corpse. His breathing was labored, some ribs were broken. Skin was regenerating around him, giving him a lopsided body. There the man stood, unattended, waiting for the day to end. Waiting for the moment when he could finally get to his cage and find some rest.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the room. The man in the iron throne lifted his head as high as his body would allow him to continue pretending he was fine.

"Damon! Happy to see me? I have news for you." Said the newcomer with a grin and a voice that showed his excitement.

The man stood still and looked back at his butcher. He was the only man to lay a hand on him after all. Only a small, involuntary movement of a lid was noticed.

"Come on," he lifted a finger and poked at his chest while clicking his tongue. "Say something. Aren't you looking forward to a family reunion?" Davon deliberately pleased himself, expecting to win the game this time. He would break Damon's will! Davon had waited so long for this. He longed to hear him complain, to hear him beg...watching his every move, looking for any hint of emotion.

But... the man remained silent. His face remained neutral, as if he had heard nothing.

Davon stepped closer and raised Damon's chin in anger. "Answer when I speak to you! Brat."

The man in the iron throne could not keep his back straight. A spike, seemingly made of metal, impaled his side. He hissed between clenched teeth.

The sadistic man laughed in contempt.

After a moment, he clucked his tongue again and shook his head.
"Look what you made me do. Let me help you," he added, moving his hair back.

Without kindness, he pulled him to the center of the chair, tearing off bits of skin in the process.

Davon patted the tortured man's shoulder harder than necessary, adding pressure to his broken ribs. The man gasped for air, hiding a grunt of pain in his ragged breathing.

"Let's do this again, aren't you glad your king is looking for your witch daughter?"

The man in the iron throne nodded.

"Agrr!" Furiously, he struck him.

For less than a second, this new attack turned into a muffled growl. The vibration scratched his throat instead.

"Now, now, I have been lenient. Tell me so I can hear!" He insisted on the "hear." Davon lowered his ear, expecting the expected words.

The man has no choice, never has had a choice. But he refused to do as he was told without a fight, even though he knew he would have to pay in the flesh.

"Yes, thank you." He added sarcastically, as it was his only weapon left.

"Good boy!" He shouted pleased. "Why do you have to be so difficult? Was that too much to ask?" He paused dramatically.