afflicted

2

Those three days later, he looked furious. He swung a door open forcefully and strode over to the bars of her imprisonment. He shoved through a tray of food and a glass of water. On the tray were a bright red apple and a bowl of some kind of soup. Interesting.

Her eyes caught his. They were dilated, the ring around his pupil a breathtaking hazel. His nostrils flared slightly as he tried to keep himself calm. Something about her really got under his skin.

There were bags underneath his eyes she hadn't noticed before. Perhaps he hadn't slept well. It would make sense to her that he'd be more irritable if he hadn't. His clothing was layered, letting her know the cold instilled into her bones was likely induced by the weather wherever they currently were.

She let her mind circulate through all of the cold places she could remember. The Winter Court, perhaps? Or maybe he'd taken her somewhere into the human realm? That answer seemed unlikely due to the monstrous scaled wings tucked into his back.

They looked like demons' wings. She'd never seen anything like them before. Or had she? Their existence seemed too normal to her for her to have never seen them, and yet she couldn't conjure a memory of ever having seen them before.

She slowly unfurled herself from the corner she'd been huddled in. It was freezing down here at night, the dampness seeping into her bones. Her skin was red from the cold and the unforgiving hardness of the concrete. At least he'd brought her food and water.

Her stomach was so painfully empty. It felt tied up in cramping knots, slowly eating away at her until she would eventually be nothing. Maybe the quicker she starved, the easier it'd be. Was starving better than torture? Or perhaps she'd freeze to death first. Her toes and fingers were so painfully cold that they'd become numb. She contemplated not eating, but when her stomach rumbled once more, she scrambled forward, tugging the tray closer to her and father away from the barrier of her captivity.

The man walked somewhere she couldn't see, shuffling something around roughly. She hesitantly grasped the spoon in her hand, lifting it to inspect it. Finding nothing visually wrong with it, she bent to sniff the soup. It was warm, steam lightly wafting into the air. It smelled something like chicken broth, but she wasn't certain.

She dipped the spoon into the soup, her hands shaking. The spoon clanked against the side in a way that made her flinch. She slowly lifted the spoon to her mouth, the unsteadiness of her hands spilling some before it made it into her mouth.

The warmth of the soup settled onto her tongue, and she fought back the urge to audibly moan. She continued to eat, bent over the bowl in an awkward stance to avoid wasting any at all. When the bowl was empty, she was grateful the man was still out of her line of sight. Her cheeks heated slightly as she licked the bottom of the bowl, desperate for as much sustenance as she possibly could. Her stomach felt heavy and warm.

She bunched the apple into the tattered shred of her shirt, hugging her knees to her chest to keep him from seeing. She wanted to save as much as she could in case it would be as long until he came back.

She gingerly sipped the water, deciding the risk of drugging was worth the hydration. It was a slightly bigger glass this time, even more obviously plastic. She took a drink, waited a moment, and then took another. She continued until the cup was empty. In a small attempt to avoid his wrath, she set the dishes back onto the tray and slid them carefully through the bars of her cell and away from herself.

He came back then, anger still radiating in the space around him.

"Nice to know you have the capacity to obey instructions," he snarled through his teeth, grabbing the tray and leaving. Before he made it to the door, she called out to him.

"Wait, please-"

But it was too late, he was gone.

A choked sob escaped her throat as she realized she'd be stuck here for however long he wanted her to be. Until he finally decided it was time to hurt her, anyways. She was biding her time until her death.

She wished desperately to remember anything about herself, but her mind was like a void space. She could remember facts and things about the world, understood language, and could write if she wanted to. The only information missing from her was anything about who she was or how she fit into the world.

What could possibly have caused such a thing?

Nothing in the information stored in her brain seemed logical. Perhaps she'd injured her brain or spinal cord somehow, but she was too mobile to cling to that notion. Her head had hurt, but not in the way it should have if she'd sustained a traumatic brain injury. So, what did it all mean?

She counted her breaths, reaching 300 breaths before she caved and closed her eyes, forcing herself into sleep so she wouldn't have to contemplate her circumstances.