Morning slowly dragged into early afternoon. Talia watched through the small window of her cell as the blistering sun moved just past the centre of the sky, creating harsh shadows on the grim walls. Each moment felt like an eternity, dragging on with agonising slowness as she awaited her inevitable fate.
With a heavy sigh, Talia pushed herself up from the cold, stone floor, her muscles protesting the movement after countless days of confinement. Despite the ache that permeated her body, she forced herself to stand tall, to steel her resolve against what lay ahead.
This afternoon was the time of the spectacle, when she would be paraded through the streets like a common criminal, a reminder of the tyrants' power and her own stupidity. It was a role she had come to despise, a cruel reminder of her captivity, and the injustice of her struggle.
But as much as she loathed the thought of being put on display for her captors, Talia knew she had to endure. She couldn't afford to show weakness, not now, not ever. With a steely determination, Talia began to prepare herself for the ordeal ahead. She straightened her tattered clothing as best as she could, smoothing down the wrinkles and the stains that marred the fabric. Though her attire was far from the elegant robes she once wore with pride, she refused to let it diminish her dignity.
Next, she ran her fingers through her tangled hair, attempting to tame the unruly strands that framed her weary face. Despite her best efforts, she knew she would still appear dishevelled, a stark contrast to the polished façade of her captors. But she never wanted them to see her broken, or give them the satisfaction of witnessing her despair.
Finally, Talia took a deep breath, centring herself against the chaos that threatened to overwhelm her. She closed her eyes for a moment, summoning the last of her inner strength. She could still feel her magic thrumming under her skin, the shackles however, would pause it the very second she went to use it. This tore at Talia more than anything.
She had become very different since she had left the high court of Narnia; perhaps that was what had got her into this mess in the first place. Meeting and practicing magic with her people had grown her confidence, far too confident to see the betrayal from the person that now stared down at her every morning on his visits. Talia's demeanour had grown darker, colder, her once bright spirit overshadowed by the weight of her memories. In the quiet hours of the night, haunting visions plagued her mind- images of her dying brother, his accusing gaze searing into her soul as she plunged her sword into his heart; the sickening warmth of her father's blood, staining her feet, as King Miraz forced her to walk through the aftermath of his ruthless betrayal.
In the depths of her despair, Talia found solace in the dark fantasies that consumed her thoughts. She daydreamed of the day when she would have her revenge on Everard, envisioning elaborate spells and rituals that would inflict upon him more pain and suffering than he was inflicting upon her. She relished in the imagined cries of agony that would echo in her ears.
As the sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor, Talia squared her shoulders, ready to face whatever lay ahead. With each passing moment, her resolve hardened, a silent vow echoing in the depths of her soul- she would not be broken.
"Good afternoon, princess. Why, isn't it a pleasure to see you standing up for a change? Normally, you appear too weak to stand," Everard's voiced echoed in the room as he entered once again.
Talia offered him a soft smile, "I found myself inspired."
He chuckled darkly. "Well, inspiration will be coming to you tenfold later."
"Don't put yourself down, dearest. Your words give me inspiration every day," she retorted with a hint of sarcasm.
"Ah, there's my sweet girl," Everard chuckled, a twisted affection lacing his words. "You always know just what to say. Hopefully, you don't become speechless later at the little surprise we have waiting for you. I fear we may have outdone ourselves this time."
"I'm sure it will be fantastic." Talia replied, sarcasm still dripping from her voice.
Sir Muse Everard closed the distance between them in quick, harsh strides, gripping her face with his hand. "It most definitely will be. I can't wait to see that last spark of hope inside of you... poof! Disappear. It'll be... why, it'll be just like magic!" His laughter filled up the four corners of the cell. "This way, M'Lady!"
YOU ARE READING
The Return to the Old- An Edmund Pevensie Fanfiction
Fanfiction[Ongoing] Call to the Old SEQUEL. All hope had been lost between the both of them, they each clung to anything that reminded them of each other. Their bodies ached for each other, their skin yearned to feel held, they wished to laugh together, to sm...
