Part of a Series: The Royal House of Lair
The Royal House of Lair: Establishing a Role
Tale of Ten Torments: Sight -
The Sightless Prism - (Adult Forum)
Tale of Ten Torments: Hearing
The Soundless Chime - (Adult Forum)
Tale of Ten Torments: Smell
The Perfumed Miasma - (Adult Forum)
Tale of Ten Torments: Touch
The Heartless Cavity - (Adult Forum)
Tale of Ten Torments: Taste
The Rotten Kiss -(Adult Forum)
The Royal House of Lair: A Feast for All the Senses - (Adult Forum)
The Royal House of Lair: Staging a Revival -
31st Ashan 722
Continued from here.
In the darkness, Zuny didn't know if the illusions persisted. Did it matter whether he took the form of Safira, the vapid harlot, eager to show a bit of leg? Or cheerful Keque, always happy with a joke or a trick. He could only hear the guards come and go, there was no light from within or without this cell. He didn't know how the guards even got around when the candles were snuffed outside. Not even a dirty beam of moonlight shone upon poor poor Zuny. Pau's magnificent form of masculine perfection was unseen, unappreciated in this dismal dark. The guards brought him drink and food every nine days. A bottle that was enough to last him several trials, and food enough to give him energy, so he did not pass out from a lack of fuel.
He didn't know why they kept him thus, why the Duchess was doing this. Was this all part of her audition? Some sick and twisted ritual enacted by the terrible woman? What drove a woman as controlled and cold and calculating to act in such a unpredictable fashion? What did she have to gain here? What was her play?
These thoughts and more troubled in him the palpable absence of light. He thought he would never see another friendly face again, never look upon the sparks of light. Eventually, as his eyes stared into the dark, he saw forms take shape within. Much like dreams form behind closed eyelids for most mortals, he was now seeing shapes and forms flowing from the darkness itself, half-imagined as his mind conjured something, anything in order to maintain some semblance of sanity.
Zuny barely slept in this darkness, he was afraid of being exposed for what he was. Should any of the guards be able to see in the dark, his true nature would be betrayed. Zuny rarely had cause to think about his true nature, as a pretend person, an Yludih. But more than ever, he thought on it now. Was this the cause of his imprisonment?
The doubt and the confusion compounded with the sightless pit he found himself in, until a miasma of unseen and imagined outlines became dream-like silhouettes against the unseeable walls of his cell. Several times in the trial, he'd get up, and pace. He inevitably hit his face against the wall as he ran against it. Yet for all that time, he continually explored every dimension of his space, using his hands to feel around for the boundaries of his dark environment, trying to suss out where the corners were, memorizing them as he might a new illusion.
Eventually, he came to see things by memory alone, until that sufficed and he had but to think about where he'd stepped, to know where in his space he was. Of course, everynight, as he returned to his trap he was left in some ways disoriented to his position in all of it. So the rest of the day? Night? Afternoon? He'd lose track of time in this place as well, and the lack of any discernable sound from without the cell nearly drove him mad.
The lack of sight was in itself a torment, even though he felt no particular physiological pain other than the occasional hunger pang. But as the days went by, he felt more of the hunger, until he felt his asterism burn within him, breaking down crystalline structure for energy. As he was in the dark entirely, he supposed his form was crystalline, without light to power the illusion.
In time, however, food did come, along with a skin of wine. These were placed neatly on the floor before the cell door. He could almost feel, almost see the warmth before he approached the offering. The cell door was slammed a few trills after the plate was slid across the floor.
The plate smelled appetizing enough. He crouched over where he knew it to be, for a moment, before venturing to take up a small round piece of what felt like some form of smooth meatball, or perhaps seafood. As he popped it into his mouth, it felt strange in texture. Chewy, but bland, like meat that hadn't been left to season enough. Straight from the slaughter to his mouth. He didn't mind, really, but it was a strange flavor that he'd never experienced before. It almost reminded him of escargot. Once he'd downed two of these morsels, there were no more. Apparently those were the signature piece, but the rest was ground up meat, braised and cooked and well seasoned as opposed to what he'd just sampled.
He felt a sharp pain in his jaw as the food went down his throat. The flavors seemed to burn the nerves on their way down, such was his deprivation over the past trials. He hadn't' eaten much more than the millet they'd given him prior to that evening. Something with flavor was as a shock to his system. He had to fight the urge to vomit. Luckily, the wine helped settle his stomach, as he took the lid off of the skin and drank deeply, washing down the ground meat, with a side of vegetables.
Once he was done with this meal, he brough the waterskin over toward his corner. They gave him only one skin every few trials, and then food every ten trials. Apparently they seemed to think it was more important to hydrate than feed. This suited Zunylanih fine.
He settled up against the corner of the cell, farther away from the cell, where it would not swing in and hit him, or knock aside any of the plating or other minor accoutrements of the space. In time, without sight he began to familiarize himself with the contents of his cell. There was a chamberpot, his manacles, the wineskin, and the plate of food, now empty. Plus Zunylanih himself. Perhaps most importantly of all.
For now, all he had to do was focus on himself. He tried to limit the use of Thespian, but felt the need to now. Why were they feeding him such rich food? What was she buttering him up for? He shuddered to think what she might do if she discovered his true nature. Or what his own people would do if they figured out that he'd been exposed. He didn't want to be exposed. He had to calm down, he knew, but it was difficult when you couldn't find anything to focus upon. The darkness played tricks on his eyes, forming shapes where there were none, as if staring through a fluid prism of utter and complete darkness.
So he breathed, though he didn't need to as an Yludih in his true form, in total pitch darkness. He considered his fallen Immortal, Dear Syroa. Although that hadn't been the first time she'd 'fallen' right now it felt permanent. He could almost sense an absence in his blood and spirit. He breathed in and out, focusing inward as he leaned against the wall of his cell. He took another sip of wine to wet his crystal lips.
The asterism thrilled to the inclusion of alcohol into his system. He could drink it all day, and never get drunk. To him, it was an efficient and ready source of fuel. Yet there was something in this drink that made him slightly sleepy. Odd, alcohol had never had that effect upon him before. Could it be some form of witchery, or alchemicraft? Whatever the explanation, Zuny found his sightless eyes growing heavy in the darkness, as he drifted off into sleep.
Within the space of a few moments, he was resting as comfortably as he could upon the stone floor, on a straw pallet, with a wineskin in his hand. As he did, he ventured into the strange realm of Uleuda, the crystalline city of the Yludih. It was a place he'd never felt quite at home in, feeling much less a part of it than the waking world. There, discipline and calm were held in high regard, and lack of control was punished by danger and ostracism. Even as an Yludih among others, Zuny had felt much apart from them.
Nevertheless, to Uleuda was his first stop as he slipped into slumber. Strange, he didn't notice the large crystal plinth or pillar in his chamber in Uleuda before...
