His Broken Fairy

Chapter 3: Chains of Hell

The walls of the prison seemed to pulse with dark energy, as if they sensed that something was about to change. Zareth stood before Lysandra, towering above her, his cloak billowing around him like a shadow made flesh. His eyes burned with a fierce intensity, the chains around his wrists and ankles clinking faintly with every movement.

Lysandra's heart raced, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she stood on unsteady legs. She could still feel the weight of his words hanging in the air: "It's time to leave this prison." A part of her wanted to believe him, to believe that escape was possible, but another part—larger, heavier—reminded her of the weight of the prison itself. No one escaped this place. No one left the darkness.

Zareth seemed to sense her hesitation, his gaze softening for a moment. He reached out, his hand brushing against her arm, a gesture that was surprisingly gentle for someone of his power.

"You're afraid," he said quietly, his voice a low rumble.

Lysandra swallowed, her throat tight. "Of course I am. I've been trapped here... I don't know how long. And now you're telling me we can just... leave?"

Zareth's lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. "I'm not telling you. I'm showing you."

With a swift, fluid motion, Zareth lifted his arms, his chains clanking as they rattled against the stone floor. His fingers flexed, and a wave of dark energy pulsed from him, filling the room with a strange, almost suffocating power. Lysandra instinctively took a step back, her breath catching in her throat as she watched him, unsure of what was happening.

The chains that bound Zareth began to tremble, vibrating with a force that seemed to come from deep within him. For a moment, nothing happened—just the sound of metal on stone, the tension in the air growing thicker by the second. And then, with a deafening crack, the chains snapped, the metal shattering like brittle glass as Zareth ripped them from his wrists and ankles as if they were made of nothing more than paper.

Lysandra gasped, her eyes widening as she watched the pieces of the broken chains clatter to the ground, the sound echoing through the cell. Zareth stood tall, unbound, his body radiating raw power. He flexed his hands, the remnants of the chains dissolving into ash at his feet.

"The chains were never the problem," he said, his voice dark and dangerous. "It's the prison itself that binds us."

Lysandra stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. She had always assumed the chains were what kept him trapped here, but now she realized the truth—Zareth had allowed himself to remain in this place, bound by his own grief and anger, not by the chains.

"Then how do we get out?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Zareth's eyes flickered with an intense fire. "We break the prison."

Before Lysandra could ask what he meant, Zareth reached for her, his hand wrapping gently around her arm. His touch was surprisingly warm, a stark contrast to the cold stone of the cell and the oppressive darkness that surrounded them. She tensed for a moment, but then, a strange calm settled over her.

"I need you to trust me," Zareth said, his voice low, yet steady. "I've stayed here because I had no reason to leave. But now, with you, I do. You've suffered enough in this place. You deserve to see what lies beyond."

Lysandra looked up at him, her mind racing. Trust him? The King of Hell? She barely knew him, yet there was something in his voice, in the way he spoke to her, that made her want to believe. He hadn't hurt her. He hadn't forced her into anything. If anything, he had given her more kindness than she had expected from anyone in this place of torment.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "What do I need to do?"

Zareth's eyes gleamed with approval. "Stay close to me. This place feeds on fear and pain. If you let it overwhelm you, it will trap you forever."