The Season Trials

C H A P T E R F I V E

Unedited.

Like my other story, this is not going so stop. I just didn't update for a while.

There is no non concensual scenes throughout this. Sexual abuse may come up as a theme briefly but nothing graphic. 

If you're waiting for it, it's not going to happen. 

Anyway, enjoy! (and sorry)

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C H A P T E R      F I V E

When the cell door slams open, the note from Margery is still weighing heavily on my mind. I don't know how long I've been here, lying down sideways on the cold, hard, unforgiving concrete, just staring at the wall. Though, I've been just staring into darkness the whole time.

In that time, I've been able to reflect on a lot of things. Deafening silence has been my own ally in that time and it's been the loneliest I've felt since they'd killed my mum and taken me to be sold to someone.

The tears I've cried stain my cheeks. They're for too many things to count. The overwhelming, agonising pain in my ankle. The loss of losing my family. The anger at the General for just being in power.

Not even the note from Margery can get rid of the deep ache in my chest. Nor the fact that the ring isn't lost. Wherever room A98 is, I'm not going to stop searching for it until I've found it. Until I've found the ring again.

Of course, there's the niggling voice in the back of my head that it could all be a trap. But I've been ignoring it. So far they've shot my mother, branded a number on the inside of my wrist and shaved my hair. If it is a trap it pales in comparison to what they've already done.

The ring is more important the any threats they can give. If I'm going to escape from here, I'll need more than the clothes off my back to survive. Someone will pay thousands, millions even to buy it off me. With that money, I can get away from them and never get caught again.

"Up!" a voice barks.

Blearily I turn my head to the sound of the voice. There's still an absence of light, aside from what's coming from outside the door. But it's dim due to the body blocking it.

The man standing in the doorway is a hulking figure, arms the size of my head, and at least twice my size. His long black hair is pulled back into a ponytail behind his head, dark, empty eyes glowering at me. His face is rough, dark and haggard, a long scar going from the tip of his right cheek to his chin. He wears the same uniform of the other soldiers, his gun pointed at me.

"Up!" he barks again.

The reprieve is over then. With a small sigh, I sit upright, aware of his eyes on me. Weakness isn't something they can see, so awkwardly I stand, balancing on my good foot.

Wordlessly, he turns and marches out, barking, "Follow!"

I have no choice but to follow him and I hobble along. At each step the pain in my ankle is jarring and it sends spikes of pain shooting up my legs. The walk to the cell door seems to take hours but I know it's a matter of minutes.

Standing in the door frame, I blink rapidly to ward off the harsh light. The soldier stands just outside the cell frame, eyebrows drawn low in agitation. "Can I have some food?" I whisper. I haven't eaten since the slice of chocolate cake. I'm used to the hunger pains but it's worth a shot asking.