Leonora Bernardi locked in the dark. Hurt for most of her life, scared of her own shadow. Not knowing what the outside world is like, she's the epitome of innocence. One look at her and it's like her aura could light up the room.
Nikolai Volkov fut...
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Nyctophilia: - love of darkness or night. Finding relaxation or comfort in the darkness.
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Darkness is a beautiful thing. It's all around us, like a gentle caress on our skin. I suppose there is beauty in everything. Even the darkness and silence. That's how I know I'm safe. Or as safe as I could be I guess. Because as soon as those doors open, and the light enters this room. Small streaks of light cascade through the door, chasing the darkness away into the corners of the room, almost as if they, too, are afraid of him. I know that pain is near. I know that he is near.
He comes in here when the light opens up. He always brings pain and despair when he enters the room. He is what makes me look like this. He is what makes me this. He tells me he's trying to make me a better person. To learn my lesson. To prepare me. But how am I supposed to learn my lesson, when I don't know what he's trying to teach me? He said he will free me once he's proud of me. Once I'm ready. That has yet to happen.
I've been in this room now for as long as I can remember. I've practically grown up here. I've been here so long that I've watched these little colourful shapes sprout from the corners of the room, before dying off and then reappearing multiple times. But the little colourful shapes aren't here today, just the darkness of this cell.
The only thing I really know about myself is that my name is Leonora. I don't know what I look like. Or what the colour of my eyes are. I don't know who my family is. Or even if I have one... The darkness has become familiar now. A comfort. I've never left this room. This nook was where I lived.
Only familiar with the black and grey of this cell. Dust and dirt covering every part of the room. The only colour happens to be the small colouring on my arms and legs. I don't like whatever colours these are. They're ugly and painful. Bright splotches of liquid splattered on my skin and clothes as well as the walls and floor of this room. They appear whenever he comes in. I move my thick dark hair back away from my face as my fingers get tangled in it from how matted it is.
I imagine what it would be like outside of this room. To feel a gust of wind against my skin instead of the small draft from the small crack in the wall that is wafting out the foul stench in the room. Or what it would be like to stand under the night sky. Sometimes I can see it through the small crack in the wall. The night sky. When I'm feeling overwhelmed or lonely, I simply gaze up into the night sky and become lost in it for a while. If only I could stay there forever.
I listen to small drops of water splashing against the small puddle on the other side of the room, matching the speed of my heart rate as my head lies against the hardness of the wall. My eyes just making out the small puddle through the darkness, as small droplets fall from a small hole in the ceiling. Even the small droplets appear to seek refuge in the darkness, escaping the small streak of light that has found its way through the crack in the ceiling.
