Lepidopterophobia

Chapter 3

Tyrael wriggled his hands and feet a bit, trying to figure out how strong the restraints were without grabbing the attention of his captors. What he found from this wasn't exactly groundbreaking. If anything, it was just irritating.

He was tied up, presumably above some sort of fire or something. Whoever tied him did it well, too, as he couldn't move or see at all.

Pleasant.

Carawin and Swallowtail were similarly tied up behind him, but they weren't moving. They weren't dead, that much was evident by their heavy breathing, but they were quite clearly unconscious. Anyone with half a brain could tell that much. And honestly, Tyrael was glad that he wouldn't have to hear their mocking sneers as he burned alive.

Oh, right. He was going to burn alive, wasn't he. Die and all that. Right, he'd forgotten about that part.

Death didn't entirely scare Tyrael. He had long since accepted that he'd probably die out in the wilds, and he had somehow managed to make it this far. Plus, not like there was anyone to mourn him. Everyone he had thought an acquaintance had left him, most not caring in the first place.

His father had left him years ago.

His old friend Mikirven wished he was dead.

Kedia, who he'd stupidly grown attached to, couldn't care less about him.

And his brother was

No one cared about him, not anymore. No one would mourn his death.

Not even him.

A nearby goblin called out, "Hey Throx, you didn't hit hard enough. Elf's awake."

Their voice echoed, becoming painfully loud and adding to Tyrael's headache. Things like that were, as always, extremely pleasant. He didn't think anything could get any better, even if the sky turned black and the rain started to boil. That would be amazing, of course, but never as great as this.

Another goblin, presumably Throx, sighed. "But why would we even bother putting him to sleep again? If he shall soon fall into the sweet, eternal sleep of death?"

Tyrael heard a loud thud and assumed Throx had gotten hit with the club. Poor guy, he didn't deserve it. Honestly he had a pretty good point. Although maybe he did deserve it, he was trying to kill people and all... still. He seemed pretty nice.

He felt a bit of boiling water jump up from the pot. It somehow managed to jump all the way up to his neck, landing on the spot where his head met his neck. It burned, making Tyrael feel like his skin was melting. He let out a quiet hiss. He'd forgotten how much burns hurt, since they weren't exactly the most common injuries out there. Why did no one ever talk about that, anyways? Some people complained that no one talked about simple things like how irritating long hair was, so why not talk about burns? Sure, Tyrael remembered all too clearly how much of a chore brushing his hair every day was, but that didn't mean it was worse than this!

The elf thought about it for a moment longer. As irritating as long hair was, it had benefits. He recalled someone he hadn't talked to before walking through town with some sort of weird dye in their hair. It shimmered in the light, and they changed the colors every few months.

Maybe he would do that sometime if he ever got out of this.

He coughed awkwardly, then raised his head slightly and looked around. It was mostly for show, sure, but he did it nonetheless.

"Hey, uh, can I please have a glass of water? Or something?" the elf called out, with the mindset that hey, if he was going to die either way, they couldn't exactly kill him if he did something wrong.