The Dark Trinity

Chapter 2

The cell was a cold, damp place, its air thick with the musty scent of mildew and despair. The stone walls were worn and cracked, bearing the marks of countless prisoners who had come before her.

A single shaft of light filtered through the narrow window high above, casting a pale glow onto the rough floor where the girl sat cross-legged.

The girl sat back against the cold stone wall, her shoulders slumped but her posture guarded

Her head was bowed as the woman behind her gently ran her fingers through the thick mass of her hair. It was an endless river of deep brown, cascading down her back in soft, wavy layers that gleamed even in the dim light. The strands were impossibly long, falling past her waist and brushing against the ground as if rooted in her very being. It was hair that spoke of years untouched by scissors, wild and untamed yet somehow breathtaking.

The woman's hands moved with practiced care, her calloused fingers working through the strands with a gentleness born of love. She massaged the girl's scalp in slow, soothing circles, her touch a balm against the harshness of their reality.

The girl's hazel eyes, so large and expressive, were closed as she surrendered to the momentary comfort. Her lashes, long and dark, rested against her cheeks, a fragile reminder of the innocence she once held

The peace was short-lived. The sound of boots against stone echoed down the hallway, breaking the fragile silence. The girl's eyes snapped open, her body tensing as a guard approached their cell.

His face was obscured by the shadows, but the sneer in his voice was unmistakable as he pushed a wooden tray roughly through the bars

The tray skidded across the floor, its contents shifting precariously. A stale hunk of bread, hard as a rock, lay atop a chipped metal plate. The smell of mold wafted up from it, mingling with the cell's already pungent air

The girl moved away from the woman, her long hair shifting like a dark curtain as she rose to her feet. She was tall and slender, her frame carrying a grace that seemed out of place in such a grim setting.

Her hair flowed down her back, the waves catching the faint light and framing her figure like a cloak of defiance. Her hazel eyes, though dulled by hardship, still burned with a quiet strength.

She picked up the tray with careful hands, her fingers trembling slightly as she turned back to the woman. The old woman watched her with eyes that had seen too much. She had been here when the girl was first dragged into the dungeon, bruised and bleeding, her spirit teetering on the edge of collapse. It hadn't mattered to the woman what the girl had been accused of-murder.

The girl walked back to the woman and knelt down beside her. She studied the bread for a moment, its surface riddled with patches of green mold. The smell was sharp and unappetizing, but it was all they had. Tearing the bread into small pieces, she brought one to the woman's lips.

"Eat," she said softly.

The woman's hand rose shakily to pat the girl's head. Her weathered face broke into a faint smile, but no words followed. She couldn't speak; the scars on her throat told of some violence that had stolen her voice long ago. But her actions spoke louder than words ever could.

She had cared for the girl like a mother, tending to her wounds and shielding her from the darkness of the dungeon.

The girl fed the woman slowly, piece by piece, until the bread was gone. The woman patted her head again, her silent gratitude evident in her touch.

The tray that held their meal sat discarded on the ground now, empty except for a few crumbs. The stale bread's moldy scent still lingered in the air, mingling with the damp mildew of the dungeon.