Inked

33

Farid had been fading in and out of consciousness since his arrival in the dungeon, but recently it had become easier to stay awake. The pain had gone from unbearable to muffled over the last few days. The conditions in the dungeons didn't seem to promote quick recovery. The moisture in the air clung to his skin, soothing the blackened burns dotting his body but filling his lungs with the heavy, hot humidity. Thick, wet coughs racked his body, jolting the burns on his back against the rough stone wall.

And there was the fire. It wouldn't come to him, but he could see it outside his cell almost every day, teasing him, mocking him.

He knew it was Soleil. But he preferred to think of it as a cruel representation of his current state of weakness. It made it easier to stay angry; it made it easier to avoid the feelings he had once had for her by seeing the fire and not her face, her beautiful, cruel face.

Today he would not be able to avoid it.

"How are you, Farid?" Soleil sashayed in, a trail of orange sparks following in her wake. Removing a key from her robe pocket, she unlocked Farid's cell and stepped inside, shutting the metal door behind her. Her feet, dusty with soot, were bare beneath the hem of her dress.

"Go to hell."

"I'm already there. And look -- you're here with me. How nice." She lowered herself onto the ground next to him. Her hair smelled of fire, and sparks tickled his ear. Oh, how he had missed the flames.

"You miss the fire, don't you, Farid?" she purred in his ear, voicing his thoughts. He didn't answer. "That's all right. I know you do. But you don't have to lose it forever." He looked at her. Maybe he was delusional from being isolated in the dark for a week, but he could have sworn there was something like sadness, or maybe hope, in her eyes.

She raised her hand and whispered a few words, and flames blossomed in her palm. Though images of that day by the lake flashed through his mind, the sound of fire crackling between them seemed like the call of a long-lost loved one. Farid forced himself to look away. "What do you want from me, Soleil?"

Soleil closed her palm, smothering the fire. "Oh, Farid." She placed a warm hand on his cheek and whispered, "I only want you to be happy." He couldn't help but scoff. "Now, now, I mean it. And," she leaned in closer, close enough for him to see his weary, dirty face reflected in her eyes, "I can prove it. Come with me."

Soleil stood up abruptly and held out a hand to Farid, who watched her hesitantly. This was the part where he was finally going to be taken deeper under the castle, into a room where no one could hear his screams, and be poked and cut and hit until he either gave up Ombra's war strategies -- which he knew nothing of -- or die in silent agony. Great.

When Farid made no move to stand, Soleil reached for his arm. "Don't," he growled, pushing himself as far into the wall behind him as he could go.

"Farid," Soleil said, her voice shaking a little at the edges. Her hand made contact with his arm, and her grip and their eyes locked. "Trust me."

And, looking into those desperate eyes, in which the glorious promise of fire and freedom dashed about, how could Farid say no?