⛓ My beautiful caged songbird ⛓

Chapter 15: Eight months

HOLY SHIT I ALMOST FORGOTTON ABOUT THIS BOOK. IM SO SORRY. I'LL UPLOAD TO CHAPTERS IN A ROW, FORGIVE ME🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

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—Past, Pandora’s vault, Sam’s perspective—

Ever since the Monstrous Prison he built was completed, Sam had always told to play his role as perfectly as he could.

A Warden.   

An unwavering Warden, who should never show his weakness to prisoners; whose views should remain objective and not cross the threshold between him and criminals. They were put there for a reason.

So when Pandora’s vault held its first prisoner, Sam wasn’t surprised to know who that person was.

His oldest friend since he joined the server. Dream.

He thought it would be easy. 

He honestly thought it would be easy to put a distance between himself and Dream. Compared to how the man was when Sam first met him, Dream had become a monster. A calculating puppeteer. A manipulator. A psychopath.

It would be easy to keep his distance, and be cold…

But Sam was proven wrong…

—past, first month—

On the first day of Dream’s imprisonment, Dream… was strangely quiet. It wasn’t because Sam confiscated Dream’s communicator, no. Dream wasn’t shouting for him to get his attention, which was odd as Dream wasn’t the one who would stay mute and wait. It did, however, relieved him to know that he wouldn’t be holding a constant argument with Dream for a while.

Sam hadn’t fixed the food dispenser yet, so he had to personally deliver food to the prisoner for a while. During the first week when he came by, Dream was always sleeping in bed, unmoving with a thin blanket over his head as the mask covered his face. He never was awake, nor said anything to Sam. Even the hidden security cameras, he had installed in secret, showed that Dream wasn’t up to anything suspicious. He hardly ever moved. It was worrying at first, but seeing the empty food tray every time Sam had to switch with a filled one kept his worries at bay. Being in bed all day was probably some coping mechanism, and it assured Sam that Dream wasn’t starving himself.

The next week, however, Dream was out of bed and active, and this made Sam keep his guard up and alert.

“What are you doing?”

He questioned Dream as he eyed the prisoner cautiously, his hand having a harsh grip on the trident.

“Oh, good morning, Sam,” Sam was caught off guard by the cheery greeting. Why did he sound so happy? Dream got up from the floor, brushing the dust off his pants. “Sit ups. I was just exercising.”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What for?”

Dream touched the back of his nape sheepishly. “Um… well, for the past week all I ever did was eat and sleep in bed all day long. So I figured it’s about time I do something… healthy?”

“Healthy?” Dream nodded, and Sam had an inkling he was being honest… which was the first. Dream didn’t say anything else to him after that, he simply went to the chest to get his journal out and started writing as he sat on the bed.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

Dream looked up. “Oh, uh… maybe later. I prefer to eat without having an audience…”

Right. The mask. Sam nodded and left his cell.

Sam didn’t engage in a conversation with the prisoner after that. Of course, he kept a watchful eye on him through the cams, but… nothing much had happened since then.