The cold stones where I was lying down felt like a relentless, merciless surface that only made the pain I feel all over my body sharper.
And each breat I tool felt like shards of glass stabbing into my chest, and the warmth of my own blood, still fresh from Alaric's brutal assault last night, seemed to mock my weakness.
The sun was only rising, it was too early and the door to my cell creaked open again, the heavy sound echoing in the cold and damp darkness.
The warriors entered, their faces impassive, their eyes as dead as ever.
They didn't care for my pain...
I was nothing to them, just a tool, a broken thing to be used.
Without a word, they grabbed me by my arms, dragging me out of the cell. I barely had the strength to stand, my legs buckling under me as they yanked me forward.
Every movement caused agony to flare through my battered body, bruises, cuts, and welts from the previous night's torment made each step an excruciating reminder of my helplessness.
