Memoirs of an Immortal Book One: The Curse of Immortality

Prologue: The Prisoner and the Torturer

 His torturers would be coming for him soon. And although he knew fear would be useless to him, he fervently wished to awaken from his nightmarish reality before they did.

 He shivered in his dark, dank cell. The remnants of his clothing were tatters on him, and the cold, rusted shackles on his wrists and ankles prevented him from hugging the clothes closer to his body. Even the warmth of his own drawn blood was denied to him, for it had long dried on his skin. This was because the men would usually give him a few hours' respite, if only to keep him near the cusp of life and death. He would often find himself waking disoriented and in agony, with no sense of time or identity. Still, these respites alone kept him sane and holding onto the current wisp of his existence.

 He licked his parched lips, reassuring himself that his tongue would not be slit from his throat. They needed him to talk. But he managed to keep his silence after all they had done. Well...he had mostly kept his silence. The very thought made him reflexively clear his hoarse throat, uncertain as to how much longer he could resist them.

 Shivers had begun to violently assault him, causing the aches throughout his body to flare anew with sharp pain and the drying wounds to tear further. He winced and groaned, trying to suppress his reflexes. He clenched his teeth and forcibly stilled himself. Mentally uttering a curse, he distantly wondered why he was still cold after being kept in this godforsaken cell for...what seemed a very long time.

 The body truly was weak. He recalled how resolute he had been in the beginning, how he had thought he could steel himself for the torture to come. But pain could change such bravado instantly. Now he held no wistful hopes for escape but held onto the dark hopes of death, for what remained of his former self was a black ghost. After all, he had been reduced to a man who found the warmth of his own blood trickling down his skin a comfort.

 He was pulled out of his miserable contemplation by the sound of the grated door to his cell creaking open ominously. The lone shadow of a man leaned against the open doorway, watching him. He vacantly stared back.

 "Look what's become of you," said the man at last. By his tone, he could picture the man sneering. "To think, what you have undergone is what they have done to you. I am now in control of what happens to you."

 He couldn't help it. In a dry, whispery voice, he managed to croak, "Got impatient, did you?"

 "I did and am. You will tell me what I wish to know."

 "Then I will tell you this. They know you killed him."

 There was brief pause at his words, and as much as he loathed displaying weakness to this man, he could not stifle his wet coughs during it. After his coughing bout had ceased, the man lowly said, "That matters to me not. I will find them and you will die once you confess. You should have joined their foolish treason when you had the chance. You would not have been in this condition otherwise."

 Ignoring the raw aching of his throat, he forced a chuckle and said, "No. I would have been in far worse."

 The shadowed man tilted his head at him as though in curiosity. He murmured, "I'll admit that I cannot fathom why you refuse me. I grant you the sweet embrace of death should you comply with my wishes."

 "How altruistic of you."

 This time the man chuckled. "There it is. I see you have not lost yourself entirely to madness. I applaud your efforts of defiance, if ultimately futile. You will realize that as you realized a prisoner with high charges against him cannot proclaim his own innocence."

 "Your efforts are futile. You may as well kill me now." He suffered another spasm of coughs. They had only worsened; more blood had spattered the floor by the time he could compose himself. He really should not have been spoken so much. His breathing had become more ragged and his chest was tightening all the more painfully.

 He caught a flash of white in the dark. Looking up at the man, he saw the shadow of his lips pulled back into a grin. "You would yearn for that course of action, would you not? Worry not, for the end of your torment is imminent now that you are in my charge. By the time I am done with you, you will profoundly regret that you yielded not to the other men."

 He shuddered, because he knew the man was right.