71. The Lady with the Scythe

Laura - Unknown location
I try to move but to no avail. Silver chains restrain my hands and feet in a vertical position, even though my toes don't touch the floor. My skin burns around the bindings, and it hurts even more whenever I try to move.
Nonetheless, I strive and wriggle. At times, I believe I scream, but no sound comes out of my lips, or my ears have stopped working.
My back aches and the wounds covering my body aren’t healing as fast as new ones appear. Even so, they will heal. Only the scars of the soul never disappear.
After all, I am a strigoi. I can't hear my heart beating in my chest, which makes me feel sick and weak. Focusing all my powers, I glamour myself again. I have to feel human.
Footsteps on the rocky floor are steadily approaching the silver door. My torturers visit me once more.
My captors always return. No matter when I manage to sleep or how tired I feel, they're never gone for long.
The man who enters first is a human. The unchanging rhythm of the man’s heartbeat tells me this much, along with other things.
The human's purpose is unshakeable. His brain is mush from too much glamour. I don't know whether the strigois do this to all their servants or if they tampered with his head to prevent me from compelling him to release me.
The strigois use him so they won't touch the silver door.
I glare at the person standing next to me now. He wears a black robe with a hood, which covers his face, except for the lower part. The scar on his chin is enough to give anyone nightmares.
When the sound of a blade swishes through the air, I close my eyes. Attempting to turn the other way causes even more pain. I have to get to my safe place, the one within me.
The cut almost severs the nerve of my finger. But the silver blade passes by it with surgical precision. My torturers don't want to give me the bliss of numbness.
I grit my teeth and struggle against the chains. It’s like I’m being punished for everything at once: for everything I said and done and for the wretchedness inside me that is keeping me alive.
My mind focuses on Paul to protect my sanity. I know he is waiting for me, and not only in reality. There’s a hole in my heart where he is expecting my arrival. From time to time, I go there to meet him, and so I forget all about the physical pain.
Paul and I on the porch of the house in the suburbs. Our shoulders touch as we lean against each other, overlooking the darkening sky.
I hold onto the memories in my mind as my body is tortured. Physical pain is the easiest to withstand.
Dozing off from time to time, I wonder how long it has been since I was shackled here.
Time flows differently in the dark. Days and nights blend together as nothing alerts me of their passing.
Only the relentless torture drags me back to reality. Until even the flailing stops. Even my torturers forsake me as I remain lost in the dark. Not even they return to show me that time is not standing still.
My whole body feels limp, and I sink deeper into darkness, unable to do much else. For how long, I do not know.
Time passes or stays still. My eyelids close. A second flies by, or a year.
An echo of someone's laughter pans through my ears. I don't care who the owner is. But my head moves on its own accord.
"Your fatigue and ennui caused you to pass out," Ion Corvin starts. "You're frailer than I thought. Are the facilities not to your liking?"
My lips open to exhale a sigh. Too tired to open my eyes, I remain hanging by the chains binding my wrists as my chin rests on my chest.
"Come on, look around," his voice comes off joyfully. "Your eyes can see through the darkness. Rejoice at the sight of the geometric designs in ascending patterns on the walls. Previous inmates decorated the room with their nails as if they could dig a way out."
Gathering my strength, I raise my head and narrow my eyes under the light coming through the open door. The light shines on my skin, revealing the bruises and cuts.
He’s not afraid I will escape. My condition holds me docile, like a rat after running through the wheel for several days without food or water. Even without the chains, I can’t run away from here.
Ion Corvin keeps his elegant posture perfect even in this shithole. A cold half-smile adorns his face as he tilts his head to observe me closely. He towers over me, eyeing me as if he's surprised I made it this far.
“Aren't you afraid I’ll kill you?” he asks with an arched eyebrow.
I don't dare hope Ion Corvin can kill me, nor to dream about a future where Paul's life will shine brightly, and my shadow will soon be forgotten.
My parched lips erupt in a fit of wild, tired laughter. "Best of luck with it! You can't even kill my boredom."
“You seek death, aren’t you? Is it wise to search for something others despise or are afraid of?”
Judging by his expression, Ion Corvin is genuinely interested in my say on the matter.
"Why? Which of the two are you?" I pause to adjust my breathing as I still feel I’m breathing. My glamour falters at moments like now when I'm too tired to keep the charm up. "Do you despise death or are you afraid of the lady with the scythe?"
(A/N: The lady with the scythe is a common Romanian phrase to refer to death as, in traditional culture, death is depicted as a hooded woman with a scythe.)
“Hmm…” He looks at the ceiling, deep in thought.
I muster all of my remaining power and force myself into his head, hoping to find something valuable that would get me out of here.
Nothing. No thoughts, no vibes, no emotions. I can’t get anything. It’s the same nothingness as when I’m with Paul or any other wolf.
"What I don't understand is why you sided with the wolves." Ion Corvin frowns when a servant enters the cell with a white cloth over his arm and delivers him a glass of blood. "Wild creatures lack ambition and appreciation."
He takes the glass and waves for the servant to leave.
Defiantly, I raise my chin to the point my nape hurts. “And what do strigois have? We aren't even truly alive.”
Ion Corvin chuckles and makes round movements of his wrist, the thick red liquid in his glass sploshing against the transparent curved walls. He hasn’t drank the blood at all. Maybe he thinks he’s torturing me, but I have no desire for that thing.
"Because of you, war nearly broke out. The wolves attacked my associates." Still staring at the ripples in the glass, he continues, "The accord should've been broken by now. But Paul and I struck a deal: you for our survival. You'll be free in a few days. When you see him, thank him."
As I gulp at the news, my mind can’t yet grasp all the implications.
"I'm glad we had the chance to talk." Ion Covin waves, walking out of the cell.
The door closes behind him, snuffing out all the light in the room.
I'm struck by the realization that, for me, Paul would not only break the accord but strike down the entire world.