Prince

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  The smell was of rot and death is what awakes me.

My eyes force themselves awake groggily, not yet able to comprehend my whereabouts. But it didn't take long for me to panic. The mere sight of a dimly lit dungeon scattered with human remains instinctively made me move backwards. A sharp halt of my hands, tied just above my head didn't grant me much moving space.

I cried out in pain, the metal steel biting into my skin and forcing out thick trails of blood. 

Blood. 

That is so not what I needed to leak out of my body right now. They'd be on me like flies if they smelt it, which wouldn't be long. I had to get out of here. Looking down, I noticed that they didn't bother to put on any clothes on me. They probably got a kick out of the sight, as if I had anything worth showing. 

A part of me was glad they didn't do anything vile to me while I was gone. I knew that, as my lower half felt completely fine and uncompromised. But, that was a circumstance only for now. After what I did, its a surprise I wasn't gutted like a dissected frog. Many people do less and suffer far worse in places like this.

I pull myself up slowly, aware of the aches and pangs of sleeping on hard, uneven limestone concrete. My skin was riddled with dirt, and bruises. It was cold in the dungeons, the light of the fires nearby doing nothing for warmth. I yank more on the chains holding me, resolve rather than pain fueling me. I had a job, a mission to do. It didn't matter if my wrists were bloodied. 

The chains were weak, of course, after years of continuous use. And the ceiling above holding it was even weaker. The bits of dirt and cement fell on my face. I looked down to avoid the fall of them, my heart jumping in my throat as I look across from me. The blood from my wrists stop streaming slowly, going numb as my blood flow went the opposite way. The blood from my face drains, and I am no more than an animated dead body. Soon, that may be literal.

He's here. 

And the whole time he was watching me in the shadows, amused by what he saw. Like a child playing with food.

"Finally ready to kill me?" I ask, trying to keep the shuddering of my voice at bay. I would not let him know I felt fear. But my quickening heart probably gave it away. My heart thudded with despair and defeat, nearly veering out of my chest. So much for a plan to save Evangeline...

"Get on with it! One way or another I was going to die by your filthy leach hands!"

He takes a step forward. I took one back. Even though I knew death was near, I couldn't help but feel embarrassed in front of him, bare for him to see. What a silly thing to feel in front of death. 

He takes a couple of more steps forward, strides long considering his massive height. He even overlooked me, a feat few men could do. Now he stood inches away, eyes bright and menacing. The scar across his chest from earlier was healing, and quickly. Long golden hair covered it, whispering around his body. 

I hung myself lower, letting the chains pull with me. Defeated.

"I'm not going to kill you." He grabs my chin through the bars, lifting me up to look into his eyes. Though they were a hot red, I've never seen eyes so cold. As I looked into them now, I only felt colder, my breaths coming out in puffs of smoke. Death never smelt so good, never felt so near. Never looked so beautiful.

"Not yet, anyway." His voice was like music. Sweet, syrupy and seductive. Like the symphonies of the Undertaker. 

He leaned towards my throat, and I could feel him baring his teeth towards me. If there was anything worse than being dead, it was being his food. I would not have it. 

And so I pulled on the chains, and gave him a demise of his own.