Forever Luna

blame

verb ~ feel or declare that, someone or something, is responsible for a fault or wrong

POLLUX

Something has changed again.

I feel it before I understand it. The air was different; tighter, like the entire place is holding itself together by threads that are snapping. Even in this room, stripped of everything, dulled of sensation, I can feel it crawling under my skin.

The movements were heavier and faster, the shouting accompanied by sharp snarls. Loud footsteps and the scraping of claws drag themselves through the hallway. I can't see through the darkness, but I can hear them. Hear the beasts as they're dragged through the halls, hear their breaths fanning through the creases of my door.

I can smell them. The foul stench of rotting flesh hid the danger of whatever creatures lay behind my protective door. I can smell the danger, the dominance, even as they piss through the cracks of my doorframe and bark with laughter amongst themselves.

I ignored it, knowing I wouldn't be in here much longer.

He was going to kill me. I knew it.

I sit where they left me, back against the wall, knees pulled in, but I don't let my head drop this time. My eyes stay open, straining against the dark blur that never quite sharpens.

Next, it's more controlled footsteps rushing down the halls, voices muffled and urgent as they overlap each other. My stomach clenches, whether from fear, anticipation, or starvation, I was unsure. I haven't eaten in a couple of days, and the lack of water was making me dizzy.

Voices — muffled, urgent, overlapping.

"...ready?"

"...not supposed to be out yet..."

I frown slightly, tilting my head to catch more of the conversation, but it slips away just as quickly as it came. Have orders changed? Who wasn't supposed to be out yet? Or rather, what?

Footsteps stop before my door, and I cock my head, listening as they unlock my door. I don't flinch, staring straight ahead at the man who collects me. It was just the one guy, now, the softer of the two. And that's saying something.

But his movements are off, and he's glancing over his shoulder with an unspoken urgency.

"Up, Pollux." He muttered.

I scowl as his hand stretches out and reaches for me. It curls under my armpit, tugging me into his side. There was a shuffling noise as I blinked to clear the fog in my eyes, and before I recognise it, zip ties were curled around my hands. I drop my head, staring down at the fuzzy dark lines around my wrist.

Really?

Zip ties?

Not even silver.

Something's off.

My escort doesn't speak, but he grabs me harder than usual. His entire posture is off; his nervousness rattles his very bones. I grit my teeth as he yanks me forward, my body dragged before I can steady myself properly.

"Come on." The word is sharper than I've ever heard it.

I stumbled once, catching myself just enough to stay upright as we hurried down the corridor. He keeps pulling me and pulling me, my feet tripping over each other with his sense of urgency.

Was this it?

Was I being broken out?

But before we could turn the corner that led to a bright light, his hand slipped from my arm. Staggering, I fall backward onto my ass as something pushes the escort to the ground. I barely have time to react before his head's twisted painfully to the side, his screams dying in his throat.