A breath away from life (ONC2024)

II. A favour for a favour

Silence echoes the loneliness of the darkness, the bitterness of heartache, no longer haunting me in the world of the in-between. The emptiness that so many fear and yearn to fill, brings me nothing but serenity. Though a feeling of wakefulness calls to me, as I listen to the faint sound of voices drifting in wispy tones. Just as the pouring sands of an hourglass await another’s manipulation, I too am left in the cold hands of a gilded cage. Beneath my flesh seeps a bone-deep ache, a flash of searing pain flaring. Even before I open my eyes, I know where I am, and where I will remain until it no longer pleases him.

The chill of the cold wall is familiar, the manacles cutting into my wrists and ankles, as I'm left artfully arranged, and uncaringly suspended. A burning pull sits low in my hips and shoulders, keeping me on the brink of pain. The silence deepens, and I sense him. The fading voices of moments earlier, already creeping back into the night.

Before I have a chance to open my eyes, the feathering touch of his fingertips slowly trace over my cheekbone in an unwelcome and deceitful tenderness.

“I know that you’ve awoken, little bird,” Kovan whispers.

Seeing no point in deceiving him, I open my eyes to find him leaning in, his forehead coming to rest upon mine. His gaze predatory after admiring my bound figure, as he smiles.

“Wren, your cold silence is wasted, for you know that I feel your yearning and your desire to return to my side, even though you try so hard to hide it.” His eyes narrow, his inviting allure stirring my heart. “How long do you think it will take, for me to break you this time, little bird.”

Turning away, I ignore him, looking to my surroundings, the plush soft-furnishings speaking of his careless wealth. A lingering opulence thickens the air of the sumptuous room, as a chaise longue in rich tones of burgundy and maroon sits elegantly nestled in splendour. Ornate scrollwork details the dark wood, almost black in refinement. The velvet curtains loosely sweeping away from their high arching windows, greeting the star-filled evening, framing a lustrous moon. Nothing here has changed, except perhaps for me.

Letting my head fall back, I feel as beads of perspiration trickle down to the curve of my jaw, trembling in their hesitation to fall. The memories of the night of the ritual, rising even after I buried them so deeply, but I know that I will not be spared. The anguish of remembrance lingers, just as my silent scream had on that fateful night; my soul torn from my body, desecrating me. Heavily, my eyes fall closed, a cold sweat clinging to me, as a shiver runs down my spine, ripe with anger.

That night, a dagger had sliced through my flesh as a blade through snow, trailing dark vermilion, our palms forcefully pressed together. The deep scarlet runes, a blend of our blood, had shone menacingly upon the floor, circling the moonlit pentagram. Kovan had stood before me, dishevelled by his lust for power, the potency permeating the air surrounding him. I can still recall, the unrelenting and cold calculation in his eyes, as he had brutally plunged his ceremonial blade into the centre of my chest. My scream of agony had pierced the air, but my wound had been bloodless.

The warmth of my pure essence had seeped from my bones, slowly turning cold, as I was left barren, nothing more than a frozen shell from then on. Harbouring nothing but the sour feelings of an unwanted and heartless love. The white glow had clung to his dagger as he had roughly withdrawn the blade from my flesh, thrusting it into the heart of the pentagram. The last vestiges of my soul having been raggedly torn from me.

The runes of the pentagram having burnt black, their ebony flames reaching, as I gave into the smouldering pain beneath my flesh. Darkness became my salvation once more on that fateful evening.

Even now, as I recall my past torment, my breathing shallows as the stretch from my shackles calls to the pain of that torturous ritual. Flinching, my chest echoes with the familiar feeling of my soullessness, stirred evermore by the flood of memories, yet it’s simply no longer possible to brush them aside. A slow creeping haziness begins to shroud me, just as it had once back then.