Sanctuary [h.s.]

Chapter Twelve

"Hey Lord, You know I'm tired
Hey Lord, You know I'm tired of tears
Hey Lord, just cut me loose"

***

Many, many moons ago...

Harry's POV

"Rest, little runaway. Once you're strong enough to survive, we will begin," a familiar, chilling voice intoned, sending shivers down my spine.

My eyelashes fluttered open, the effort monumental. My head hung limply forward, my eyes focusing on the cold, hard floor beneath me. Pain radiated through my arms, an insistent ache that refused to be ignored. I instinctively tried to pull them in, but they wouldn't budge. A cold wave of dread washed over me as I looked to my left, seeing my wrist bound by an unforgiving metal shackle. I whipped my head to the right, confirming my other wrist was similarly restrained. Panic rose within me, and my breaths came in short, sharp gasps. The all-too-familiar stench filled my nostrils, a rank combination of mildew and blood. I was back in 'the Kennel,' the place where I had endured days, weeks of relentless torture at the hands of Silas's sadistic servant, Edgar.

The room was exactly as I remembered: cold and moist, with water trickling down the walls in a rhythmic, maddening drip. The concrete floor and walls seemed to close in on me, creating a claustrophobic space that exuded despair and torment. It was a chamber designed for suffering, and it served its purpose well.

My gaze finally settled on the man I had hoped to never see again. Edgar stood there, his frail frame barely filling out his tattered clothes. He appeared to be in his late seventies, his scrawny body betraying a life frozen in time. His hair, reduced to a few wisps of white, clung to his scalp in thin, sparse patches. Turned into a vampire at an advanced age, he was forever cursed with the frailties of an old man, though his true age was a mystery lost to time.

A devilish grin spread across his gaunt face as he noticed my awareness. His voice, gravelly and hoarse, cut through the silence like a serrated blade. "Nasty little runaway. But you always find your way back to Edgar, hmm?"

My brow furrowed as I struggled to piece together my fragmented memories. How had I ended up back here? I remembered my desperate escape, the frantic dash through the city and beyond. I thought I had made it far enough this time, far enough to be safe, at least for a day. But here I was, once again a prisoner in this nightmarish place.

Edgar took a step toward me, and I flinched instinctively. "If I had my way, I'd saw off your legs - that'd put a stop to your wandering. But the master says no. Says he needs you. But he needs you obedient too. No barking, no biting, no struggling - a well-behaved little doggie."

"I'd rather die," I spat out, my voice steady and defiant. Fear clawed at my insides, but I refused to let it show. I would not give him the satisfaction.

"Oh, you'll do both. You'll do whatever he requires," Edgar barks, his voice dripping with a venomous glee that made my skin crawl.

Every experience I'd had—every wonder and horror—suddenly seemed utterly inconsequential. Only one thing mattered: Silas—my master, my lord, my creator. His will tightened around me once more, like an iron vice clamping down on my very soul. It was as if I had never escaped him, as if every fleeting moment of freedom had been a cruel illusion.

I squeezed my eyes shut, frustration and despair mingling in a futile attempt to expel his looming compulsion. I couldn't bear it any longer. I couldn't endure another second of being controlled. I had to resist. I had to break free.

But Silas's presence loomed larger in my mind, a towering red wave of malevolent power, ready to crash down and obliterate any remnants of my will. I felt its suffocating weight pressing down on me, threatening to crush me entirely. I wasn't strong enough. The wave surged forward, and I felt myself drowning in its overwhelming force. I was his again.

"Good, spawn. Know your place," Edgar's voice cut through the oppressive silence, a cruel mockery that echoed in the cold, damp room. His satisfaction was palpable, a twisted delight in my submission.

The room seemed to close in around me, the concrete walls pressing in, the trickling water sounding like a relentless drumbeat of my defeat. The metal shackles dug into my wrists, cold and unyielding, a physical reminder of my captivity. Every breath I took felt like a concession, a surrender to the inevitable.

Edgar's presence was a constant, oppressive force. His gaunt figure moved with a deceptive slowness, every step a calculated reminder of his power over me. His eyes, cold and pitiless, bore into mine, relishing my torment. He reveled in this, in my helplessness, in the control he wielded so effortlessly.

"You see," he continued, his voice softening into a sickening parody of kindness, "it's easier when you accept it. When you accept that you belong to him. There's no use fighting it. No use at all."

I felt a surge of anger, a brief flare of defiance that quickly fizzled out under the weight of Silas's compulsion. I wanted to scream, to lash out, to break free of the chains—both physical and mental—that bound me. But all I could do was stare at the floor, the cold concrete blurring as tears of frustration welled up in my eyes.

Memories of previous tortures flooded back. The sharp sting of the whip, the searing pain of the branding iron, the suffocating darkness of solitary confinement. Each memory was a fresh wound, a reminder of my repeated failures to escape. But it was also a testament to my resilience. I had survived before. I could survive again.

"Now, let's get you ready," Edgar said, his tone shifting to one of businesslike efficiency. "The master will be here soon, and he expects you to be in perfect condition. No more of this rebellious nonsense."

As he moved closer, I felt a chill run down my spine. I knew what was coming. The pain, the degradation, the relentless breaking of my spirit. It was a cycle I had endured countless times, and yet each time it felt like a fresh wound, a new descent into hell.

But deep within me, buried beneath layers of fear and submission, a small ember of defiance still smoldered. I clung to it, a fragile hope that one day, somehow, I would break free. I would escape this nightmare. And I would make them pay for every moment of agony they had inflicted upon me.

For now, though, all I could do was endure. Endure and survive.

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