Don't Let The Dead Bite!

Ch. 3 - The Hunter? Or the Hunted?

You weren't sure how long it had been before you heard familiar footsteps slowly approaching the cell you were in.

Carefully managing to sit up, you shiver, wincing at the wound on your wrist.

Unlike the other cuts you'd sustained, this one didn't seem to be getting any better, moving it any more than a few times made your hand throb with pain before it would start bleeding again.

Your other wounds had healed significantly, even the slash on your face had quickly become a scab and faded into a soft scar.

The pain in your wrist and palm was what puzzled you, infections usually never found their way to you. Old wounds tended to heal quickly enough, and in your childhood, you had amazed some school friends by how fast some scrapes on your legs had healed within time of the next day.

So why wasn't the wound in your hand healing?

You wondered if it had to do with the glass that had cut you earlier on.

Which wouldn't be a good outcome considering how dirty the entire place was when you first stepped in.

Speaking of steps..

The footsteps stopped abruptly in front of where you were being held. In the darkness you could just barely make out the neat, blonde hair and shimmering eyes.

Too hungry to stand, you meet her gaze from the cold ground, and couldn't help but stare for moment.

She appeared to be examining you, although unusually silent compared to when you had first brought her back.

You make a vain attempt to reach through the bars, you couldn't explain it, but it felt relieving to see company, even if it happened to be your new captors.

It made you feel less alone.

It was dark and quiet.

Too dark, and much too quiet.

Maybe some time down here had slowly begun to change you.

It was weird how easily the human—or non-human—psyche could be acted upon.

Manipulated.

Drawn out to its thinnest and most vulnerable point.

Coerced.

And all it takes is isolation to your own self.

To divide your own mind until it became unrecognizable.

You weren't a fan of it.

You needed a distraction.

Bela takes a swift step back, eyes narrowing, though she continued to stay silent.

You were almost hurt by this, pulling your hand back and shifting your weight, wincing when more pain ran through your bleeding wrist.

That seemed to get the blonde's attention, craning her neck forward, she seemed almost intrigued by your visibly infected wound.

The interest doesn't seem to last, however, when she turns, still ever so silent, and starts back out of the place.

You considered calling out, asking for help, but your hunger and slight pride just kept you short of doing so.

More time passed by, how long? You couldn't be so sure. It's hard to tell time when you're locked away somewhere.

That made you wonder again..