The Crimson Blade

The Torture -Rayn-

Deep Deep Chapter people!

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-Rayn-

Drip.

Patter.

Drip.

Patter.

I listen to the sound of water hit the stone floor for hours.

Was it days?

It was hard to tell time with no sun. The only light in the room came from a crack in the ceiling, and the light was always there. Other than that my cell was completely dark.

Dark, damp, and discusting.

I rotated my wrists that were shackled together above my head, and I felt fresh, hot blood running down my arms. The first few minutes of dangling from the ceiling was uncomfortable, but bearable. Now however, my arms were aching from the stress of holding my body. Every time I moved the shackles dug deeper, cutting my wrists open.

My feet were chained together also, so that added even more strain. I was silently counting my time until Windermere came.

I had lost my cloak and my weapons.

I felt bare without a weapon at my disposal. Like I had been stripped.

But I still had my mask.

That one thing that kept me sane. If anyone found out why I really was, I would have no reason not to kill myself. Or anyone who knew, for that matter.

I feared that the most when he returned, not the torture I knew he was planing.

He waited to get revenge.

He knew I was going to come. That's what bothered me.

Sweat ran down my spine and soaked into my shirt. The heat in this room was terrible, I hated being hot more than being cold.

I wondered if this is how he treated Amelia. I feel a pang run through my chest. The monster was back.

It was mad.

I almost felt scared for what he might have done to her.

I had to get out, but I couldn't. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't get free. My wounds were scabbed over thankfully, but they cost me a large amount of blood. I never felt so weak.

There was another option......

No.

I couldn't. Not again. I swore to never expose that part of me again. I was no longer him. I remembered the screams, the pleads.

I remember loving the scent of blood, the cold red on my hands and enjoying the feeling.

It was sick.

My eyes snapped open as light flooded the damp room. A sick chuckle was heard but I kept my face a mask void of emotion.

"Well," Windermere's voice drawled out, and his discusting hand grabbed my chin and forced me to look up. "You look, comfortable"

His guards laughed at the excuse of a joke, and I just ground my teeth together. I refused to fuel his fire, he wanted me to insult him. I jerked my head away, returning my cold gaze to the water soaked stones of the floor.

"So," He studied my bleeding shoulder and leg, like he was intrigued. "My son came back with a wound the last time he saw you, and he ah, would love to return the favor."

I looked up, my eyes narrowed. Windermere smirked at my expression.

Zapata was leaning against the corner of the cell, a long dagger between his pale fingers. I smirked as he strode over, a grin on his stupid face.