His Broken Fairy

Chapter 1: Shattered Wings

The cell was dark and damp, the air thick with the stench of decay. Lysandra shivered, huddled in a corner of the cold stone floor. Her body ached from the fall, from the long descent into this abyss, but nothing compared to the pain that radiated from her back—the place where her wings had once been. Now, all that remained were jagged stumps, raw and bleeding, a cruel reminder of the life she had lost. She had always taken her wings for granted, the way they caught the sunlight and shimmered in the air, the way they lifted her effortlessly above the world. She had flown with such joy, such freedom.

Now, she would never fly again.

The sound of her own ragged breathing filled the small space, but it was soon drowned out by the clamor of the other prisoners. Shouts, moans, and curses echoed through the endless stone halls. She could feel the presence of countless others—creatures far more monstrous than she could imagine. Some were ancient, beings who had been trapped in this forsaken place for centuries. Others were like her, new arrivals, their hope still fresh enough to be tasted. But hope was a fleeting thing in this pit. Lysandra already felt hers slipping away.

She gingerly touched the stumps where her wings had been, wincing as her fingers brushed the torn flesh. It was an unbearable loss, a part of her that had been ripped away not just physically, but spiritually. Her wings had been her essence, the thing that made her a fairy. Without them, who was she? She wanted to scream, to cry out in anguish, but she had no more strength. All she could do was curl into herself and weep silently, her tears mixing with the grime on the floor.

She had been brought here for reasons she still didn't fully understand. Her life had been simple, unremarkable even. She had lived in the forests of Aethenwood, a land where fairies, elves, and creatures of light flourished. But one day, without warning, her village had been raided. Not by humans, nor by creatures from neighboring lands, but by something far worse. A force of darkness had descended upon them, snatching her from her home, tearing her from the life she knew.

They had taken her wings as if they were trophies, laughing as they mutilated her. And then, when she was at her weakest, they had thrown her into this prison—a place where no light could reach, where even hope was twisted into something cruel.

The door to her cell rattled suddenly, and Lysandra stiffened. Her heart pounded as she heard the lock turning, the creak of the iron door being pushed open. A dim light from a torch flickered into the room, casting long shadows on the walls. A figure stood in the doorway, tall and cloaked in darkness. Her breath hitched. She had heard rumors about this place, about the creatures that wandered these halls—demons, beasts, things that feasted on fear. She wasn't ready for whatever this was. Not now.

The figure stepped inside, and Lysandra instinctively pressed herself further into the corner, her broken body trembling with fear.

"Another one," a deep voice rumbled. It wasn't cruel, but neither was it kind. It was simply... indifferent.

She looked up, her vision blurry from the tears. The figure loomed over her, but she couldn't make out his features clearly. He was tall, much taller than her, and though his form was shrouded in a heavy cloak, she could sense the power radiating from him. Whoever—or whatever—this was, he was no ordinary prisoner.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The silence between them was thick, tense, and Lysandra could feel her heart racing in her chest. She wanted to speak, to ask who he was or what he wanted, but her throat was too dry, her voice too weak. She had no strength left to fight, and no hope left to plead.

He took a step closer, and she flinched, expecting the worst. But instead of violence, he simply knelt beside her. His hand, large and strong, reached out toward her face, but stopped just inches away. He studied her with a quiet intensity, his eyes—dark and unreadable—tracing over her features, lingering on her mutilated wings.

"They did this to you," he said, not a question but a statement.

Lysandra nodded, though her movement was almost imperceptible. She didn't know who "they" were, but she could feel the weight of his words, as if he knew exactly what had happened to her.

For a long moment, the two of them simply sat there in the suffocating silence. Lysandra expected him to leave, to abandon her like everyone else had. But he didn't. Instead, he sat beside her, his presence oddly comforting in its quiet strength. He didn't touch her, didn't speak further. He simply remained, a shadow in the darkness.

"Who are you?" she finally whispered, her voice hoarse from disuse.

He didn't answer right away, but when he did, his voice was low, almost reluctant. "Zareth."

The name meant nothing to Lysandra, but she could feel the weight behind it. There was a gravity to him, a presence that spoke of something ancient, something powerful. She had sensed it the moment he entered the cell, though she couldn't put it into words.

"I... I don't understand," she murmured. "Why are you here?"

For a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer. But then he shifted slightly, his gaze never leaving her face.

"This place is a cage," he said quietly. "But I remain by choice."

Lysandra frowned, confusion flickering across her tear-streaked face. "Choice? Why would anyone choose to stay here?"

Zareth's eyes darkened, as if a shadow passed over his thoughts. "There are things worse than imprisonment," he said cryptically.

Lysandra didn't press him. She could feel that there was more to his story, but she didn't have the energy to question him further. Besides, her own pain was too immediate, too overwhelming.

"Your wings..." Zareth said after a long pause, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. "They can't be healed."

It wasn't a question. It was a truth she had known the moment they were cut from her body, but hearing it spoken aloud was like a dagger to the heart. Lysandra closed her eyes, a fresh wave of tears sliding down her cheeks.

"No," she whispered. "They're gone."

For a long time, Zareth said nothing. He didn't offer words of comfort, didn't try to tell her it would be okay. In this place, there were no such things as lies or empty reassurances. But the silence between them wasn't cruel—it was the silence of understanding, of shared pain.

After what felt like an eternity, Zareth stood, his cloak billowing as he rose to his full height. Lysandra looked up at him, her vision blurred with tears, but she could still see the strange softness in his gaze. It was fleeting, barely there, but it was enough to make her heart ache.

"You'll survive," he said softly. "But not in the way you think."

And then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the cell, leaving her in the darkness once more.

Lysandra watched him go, her mind swirling with questions. Who was he? Why had he come to her cell? And why, in the brief time he had been there, did she feel the faintest spark of hope flicker within her?

The door closed behind him, the sound of the lock clicking into place echoing through the stone walls. She was alone again, but somehow, the cold felt a little less biting. She curled up on the floor, her body still aching, but her mind was elsewhere, lost in the memory of the strange, dark figure who had sat with her in the darkness.

For the first time since her imprisonment, Lysandra allowed herself to wonder if there was something more than just the pain, if maybe—just maybe—there was still a chance for her to be more than a shattered fairy with broken wings.

And somewhere in the shadows of the prison, Zareth lingered, his thoughts heavy with the image of the fragile creature he had just left behind.