WAR STORM (Red Queen 4// Alternate Version)

Chapter 3

"...through a torture she called love."

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Mare

Without routine, there is chaos. Without distractions, there is chaos. I've convinced myself this much over the course of these past days.

Tyton and the others who share my ability have been a vibrant light to the foggy dark I've become accustomed to. Ella often comes to sit with me in my chambers during the early afternoon with lunch, and we talk awhile afterward. Silly topics, usually steering clear of the sensitive ones. Yesterday she asked if I'd reconsidered dying my hair, to which I kindly rejected. Tyton comes for dinner, virtually acting the same as Ella, and every morning Rafe comes to challenge me to a battle.

And each day I watch the trio from my window, longing to join their training. But also fearing what foes I'll meet in the hallways. For that logic, I always refuse the prospect. Farley tells me I can't stay cramped in this room for eternity and I sadly agree with her.

A soft knock resonants off my door, not startling me in the least. My internal clock has become attuned to my schedule very fine these days and I was waiting for the sound. Of course, the sun's position in the sky greatly assists my projections. A naive version of myself, just beginning her long trek of imprisonment, might think the task of keeping track of time would be a simple thing. With the meal deliveries, it was made easy enough, yet in another way, it contributed to my sense of forlornness. No windows had been planted into those walls, scaring off natural lighting. Each tray of food meant I had spent an additional five hours in the hellscape, the hope of rescue seeming further gone with every new minute. Still each dawn, I'd use my fork to carve another uneven line into my bedframe.

Without my consent, Ella strolls in, food tray in hand. She hides something else behind her back with the other. A shadow of a grin paints her mood. Assumably a session of electricon training with Rafe purposely doing something stupid. "Just lunch for you today, I already ate in the cafeteria." A ping a jealously washes through me, though I should be able to stop it. This room is not a confinement and I go where I please. "But I'll stay for awhile," Ella quickly adds, not desiring to abandon me.

"What do you have behind your back?" I query, ignoring the delicious incense of vegetable soup. Silvers have a good taste in food, I'll give them that much.

She attempts a look of confusion, but it doesn't fool me. "What do you have behind your back, Ella?" I use her name to make the statement infinitely more serious.

Letting out a hefty sigh, Ella slants forward to retrieve the item that had been crunched between her and the chair backing. She then reveals a transparent flask containing a purplish-black liquid. "Looks like an ale, doesn't it?"

"My first guess was just that," I murmur. The bewilderment lifts off my brain quickly, as I realize what the broad vile contains. "Seriously? I already rejected your idea." Not alcohol, but hair dye of course.

"It would cast such a beauty," Ella drawls on, picking up on the debate right where we left off yesterday. "Imagine what Cal would think!" She must be feeling bold today; a silent rule has been established that no soul utters his time here.

I raise a spoonful of broth to my mouth, conjuring an excuse for the silence that has been brought down. Flavor floods my palette, though I don't register it. In the beginning, I had faith time alone would be able to mend this heartache. My cries may have halted days ago, though internally I feel no different. It must be there, for I'm breathing, yet occasionally I'll press my hand to my heart and find not a single pulse. As if I'm dead.