Marry or Kill

55

This is a chapter I'm merely trying out perhaps for future purposes**

A T T I C U S

In the suffocating confines of this chamber, shadows writhe like serpents, coiling around my fractured mind. The need to escape, to wrench myself from this prison, claws at the recesses of my dark soul.

Sol, my Sol, a light in the darkness of my mind is gone and is never going to visit again. Beyond my reach. I feel like I'm grasping at straws in thin air in hope that she'll love me again.

The ache for her burns like a fever, consuming me from within, a relentless torment that gnaws at my sanity. But such beauty, such perfection, belongs to places beyond my grasp, reserved for those untouched by the darkness that stains my very essence.

Noah's fists have left their mark upon me, painting my flesh in shades of agony. With every move, I winced, unable to stifle the groan of pain that escaped my lips—a sound that betrayed my own frustration and self-disgust.

How could I let myself be reduced to this state?

Though I couldn't bring myself to hate who I was, I couldn't shake the feeling of falling short of the impossibly high standards I'd set for myself.

Those standards were brought to me by my father.

As the bead of sweat trickles down my nose, my mind churns with thoughts. My father is now dead, leaving me stranded and alone.

Where do I turn now?

The West, once promised to me as my birthright, now lies in ruins, shattered like fragile glass.

A startling revelation pierces through the haze of grief and confusion: I am relieved by my father's death. His expectations on me had shackled me for far too long. With his passing, those chains are broken, and I am liberated from the suffocating grip of his influence.

For weeks, I have wandered aimlessly in a sea of uncertainty.

But now I understand my purpose.

Death is soon. For a sliver of a moment, I wonder if death is a chance to purge the sins that I have done. It felt easier to die knowing I wouldn't have to deal with this restlessness over Sol again.

But now I couldn't face the thought of not seeing her again.

Worse, I had known my way out of here from the very start.

They should have killed me earlier. 

As I rise from the cold cellar floor, relishing the ache in my ribs, a twisted grin plays upon my lips. Pain is just another sensation to savour. I know one of my ribs must be broken, but I couldn't care less.

As long as I'm not meeting Death's embrace, I'm content.

I set my sights on the lock securing my prison. The thought of sacrificing a nail doesn't faze me; after all, it's a small price to pay for freedom. I've learned every intricate detail from Nicolas, who's dead most likely.

I nearly snort at the irony. Out of everyone, I'm not dead.

A surge of pain courses through me as I manipulate the hatch needle with precision, revelling in the burning sensation that sears my fingertip.

Blood oozes from the torn cuticle and drips slowly onto the floor.

As I make my way through the dismal corridors of the cellars, the pitiful sight of the starving and thirsty prisoners barely registers in my mind. My focus draws to a heavy metal door, its surface marred by years of neglect.