Awaiting Death

Darkness. The cold, wet stone of the dungeon and the smell of rotting flesh and mildew were vibrant in this place, and, with a shudder, Stelon kneeled in the corner and let the acidic vomit rush from her body. Her mind was clouded, her body less than healthy. Coughing, she slowly pushed herself up to lean against the cold wall, shivering as she tried to sort out her hazy memories of what had happened; why she was here. The shimmering gown, so beautiful and elegant before, was now not even enough to maintain her modesty. It was torn in several places, and as the forlorn girl examined her many aches and pains, she realized much of her exposed skin was covered in cuts and black bruises. No doubt from all of the tossing and turning she had done on the rough floor in her unconscious state. The fabric no longer held it's original soft glow, but was dyed scarlet by the lives of the many who had been killed in Miraye's massacre.

Miraye. The name triggered something within her mind and it all came back to her in a rush. Dead. Miraye was dead. Everyone was dead, and as far as she knew, the beautiful Shrike who had made her feel so wanted was victim to Miraye as well. Tic...Matthias, Farrago...

She searched her mind desperately to find the answer of her companions' fates and let out a shuddering sob as she found it.

Gone. They had left...run from the scene and left her here to be dealt with by the guards. She looked around her prison and took a deep, shaky breath. It was a mystery to her, how long she had been in this cruel and harsh environment. She felt weak, and that in itself is an understatement. She had not eaten for days, or at least, that is what her trembling body was trying to tell her. She curled into a fetal position and began sobbing as the truth came to her.

She would never escape this place. If Larkin had died, she would be held responsible. She had been known and pointed out by Miraye, had she not? She was to die in this place. Alone. In the dark. No one would come to her aid here...Her former comrades would see her as a traitor, and to Larkin, if he had miraculously survived his wound, a malicious enemy, deceitful. She shuddered and fought to hold back a scream of fear as she heard similar screams echoing throughout the dungeons. Only these were screams of death. She knew it in her heart and in her mind.

Footsteps. They were coming closer to her...closer...closer...

Stelon pulled herself to her feet and stumbled to the door, reaching her hand up desperately for the window, so high above her. She called out to the passerby for help; she screamed her innocence and begged to be set free, or at least to be allowed a few minutes of fresh air. At the least for a little water. She continued to scream after the man as she heard him pass her cell, and was only rewarded with a pain in her throat and a feeling of loneliness worse than she had had before.

No one cared. She was hated, and she was to remain both hated and alone until the minute she died in this place of darkness.