Klauwen

P R O L O G U E

                                                                              P R O L O G U E

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                                                                               Athena Silverton

I've been broken and beat down, still like dust, I rise. The famous words of Maya Angelou are the only thing keeping me from breaking down into a pile of bones and decaying in the hell I'm in.

The pit patter of rain wakes me from my daze. My only escape from reality ripped away as a cough tears through the air. It doesn't sound too great. No matter, I'm sure that if one of us were to die, the guards would be rewarded.

What a tragedy it is to be locked in a dungeon where there's not even a moment where the delusion of safety or escape exists. I don't dare to dream anymore.

These days, the thoughts of being free tend to make my skin burn. When I think of being back home, it's almost like someone's pouring acid on my skin.

I know there's no way my wolf, Alaska will ever be freed, running through pine-scented woods, or hunting bunnies. My connection with her has dimmed, the shortage of food being a contributing factor.

The Petrova Dungeon is the place where plans of vengeance and anarchy have been born. If there's a miracle to happen and I live through this hell, I will hunt down every single last one of the men that brought me here.

I don't know who killed my family, but what I do know, is that even if I wanted to, there's no way for me to go home. Home doesn't exist without my family.

My piece of silence is disturbed as an insistent humming strum from the vocal cords of one of the other captives. My hope still, diminishing as the realization hits that I'll never hear the humming of the ocean or the whistle of the wind coming through the trees near my house. The weeping willow in our backyard won't ever see me again.

The taunting metallic smell of blood makes me nauseous. The dungeon is an exceedingly dark place. Neither your demons nor the guards show mercy, as both claw at your flesh and tear your humanity to nothing but bits of depressed, tattered pieces of nothing.

I pull the sorry piece of cloth over my body, with Alaska withering away in my spirit, the werewolf heat resistance has also been going away. I'm sure that the majority of the captives have lost their wolves.

My body hurts from the shivering, with no luxuries such as warm blankets or sweaters, I'm close to meeting my end, not even the flames of vengeance can keep me from the grasp of hypothermia.

The prisoners that lay in their cells are mostly beaten half to death or malnourished to the point where their bodies are shutting off completely. I'm one of the luckier ones, I don't look like much of a threat, thus the guards whip me weekly and leave me to rot the other days.

Our captors are monsters, not having a bone of compassion in their bodies. Yet, I know if I was dealt with a hand of superiority over them for a second, my bones wouldn't possess an ounce of mercy. I would claw them to boneless masses of blood and organs.

The vicious droplets of the rain scatter on my skin, pelting harshly. It's a welcomed comfort, reminding me of days when life was much simpler. Days when I was stuck at home, sitting beside a window as the sky cried, with me doing nothing but sticking my nose into a book and listening to the beautiful sound of nature taking care of its creations. Looking out at that old willow tree.

Another one of their torture devices is disguised as a little window the size of a brick. I know that oxygen is needed for living, but so is the concept of a heated body. I guess that one can't have both.

It's a slippery slope as my body falls over to the side, my mind nothing but a fragile piece of me as I lay unmoving, letting hypothermia take its beating on my body.

Everything else is a movie playing in the background as vicious growling resonates through the dull hallway leading out of the dungeon.

Heavy footsteps could be heard miles away. The slamming of the dungeon door echoes through the walls cunningly.

Our sell doors are pushed open murderously, the sound frantic as I heard labored breathing near me.

A shadow looms right in front of my cell, hovering.

There's enough strength in my body for me to open my eyes one last time as gravity shifts underneath my soul.

There he stands; eyes blazing.

Eyes that will haunt me into the afterlife.

How can such incorrigibly blue orbs shine with such fiery pain?

My mind succumbs to darkness as I take a last look into the blue abyss.