112 Ashan 715
The special thing about agony is that it is not quiet in its dealings. In fact, those suffering from maladies both physical and mental often exhibit audible signs, and the Pit was no different. For Nine, it was thirty-three trials of unending moans, crying and screaming. There was no peace... There was no quiet. There was only torment. And she wished each and every one an end to their suffering, whether it be the grim fate that seemed to await them all in the Pit... Or freedom. Whichever happened, she wanted quiet.
Thirty-three trials. The first few, she'd marked on the wall of her cell, scrubbing away thin lines of moss that were accumulating on the damp stone. After ten, she forgot to make the mark. She wasn't even sure if thirty-three was correct anymore. Likely, it had been longer, and she had grown tired of tearing the skin on her fingertips trying to make a mark. The few breaks she was free from her cell were almost imperceptible specks of light in the darkness of her captivity. Thirty-three trials, give or take her entire lifetime, and it wasn't getting any shorter.
The familiar sound of cascading water suddenly assaulted her, drawing acutely her attention. The moans of agony had become quieter... Not gone, but nearly silent. They were an echo in the eternity of her capture, and now the water splashed against stone. There was no silence in this place, no fucking serenity. Large eyes stared blankly from her cell, dropping ten feet from the floor of her cell to the pooling water in the bottom of the pit. She was on the second tier of cave-cells, one in the many that were carved into the side of the Pit of Reflection. The Avriel were creative in their punishment, that was for sure. Nine could have appreciated their morbidity, were she not a victim of it.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Driiiip. Driiii. Driii. Drrrrrr. The water was slow and steady, a maddening metronome. It lulled her to sleep, it woke her from her nightmares. It pervaded her thoughts, reverberating in her ears like thunder bouncing through a tin shack. She could have screamed. She could have torn out her hair. She could have hung herself with the formless sack they gave her for a dress. But instead, she sat. When commanded, she stood. When commanded, she ate. When commanded, she pissed. And then, at the end of the trial, she slept. And the nightmares began.
Thirty-three fucking trials, and nothing had changed. Her silence cost her, earning her beatings and starvations. She was denied drinking water, having to resort to chewing the moss from the wall for any hint of moisture. Thirty-three trials, and she was a slave to the whims of the Birds. Those horrendous air-dwellers, whose monstrosity was matched only by their tyranny.
She'd killed two of them, before they caught her. Perhaps it was ironic that the crime that landed her in the Pit was not one she committed. Certainly, she was guilty, but not for the murder of which she was accused. The vagrant girl was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And without saying a word to defend herself...
She heard the clicking of the boots on the stone, probably before the other prisoners. The sound disturbed the creeping quiet, ricocheting in her cell and vibrating her bones. A metal baton, used to keep the prisoners in check, clanged against the stone as the Avriel guard walked. Eat hit jarred her nerves, causing her to flinch. As the guard drew in front of her cell, he stopped. A sharp beak melded into a hideous face, and if the Avriel could sneer, it would have.
"Ready to talk, little girl?"
Baleful eyes were the only response she would dignify. With an indignant squawk, the Avriel guard stomped away, ensuring that his boots were louder than they needed to be. He understood her, understood how she hated the noise. She cringed, allowing the shiver to run along her spine. She settled back against the mossy stone, much as she had for the previous thirty-three trials. Sleep would come soon.
And death, hopefully.
The special thing about agony is that it is not quiet in its dealings. In fact, those suffering from maladies both physical and mental often exhibit audible signs, and the Pit was no different. For Nine, it was thirty-three trials of unending moans, crying and screaming. There was no peace... There was no quiet. There was only torment. And she wished each and every one an end to their suffering, whether it be the grim fate that seemed to await them all in the Pit... Or freedom. Whichever happened, she wanted quiet.
Thirty-three trials. The first few, she'd marked on the wall of her cell, scrubbing away thin lines of moss that were accumulating on the damp stone. After ten, she forgot to make the mark. She wasn't even sure if thirty-three was correct anymore. Likely, it had been longer, and she had grown tired of tearing the skin on her fingertips trying to make a mark. The few breaks she was free from her cell were almost imperceptible specks of light in the darkness of her captivity. Thirty-three trials, give or take her entire lifetime, and it wasn't getting any shorter.
The familiar sound of cascading water suddenly assaulted her, drawing acutely her attention. The moans of agony had become quieter... Not gone, but nearly silent. They were an echo in the eternity of her capture, and now the water splashed against stone. There was no silence in this place, no fucking serenity. Large eyes stared blankly from her cell, dropping ten feet from the floor of her cell to the pooling water in the bottom of the pit. She was on the second tier of cave-cells, one in the many that were carved into the side of the Pit of Reflection. The Avriel were creative in their punishment, that was for sure. Nine could have appreciated their morbidity, were she not a victim of it.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Driiiip. Driiii. Driii. Drrrrrr. The water was slow and steady, a maddening metronome. It lulled her to sleep, it woke her from her nightmares. It pervaded her thoughts, reverberating in her ears like thunder bouncing through a tin shack. She could have screamed. She could have torn out her hair. She could have hung herself with the formless sack they gave her for a dress. But instead, she sat. When commanded, she stood. When commanded, she ate. When commanded, she pissed. And then, at the end of the trial, she slept. And the nightmares began.
Thirty-three fucking trials, and nothing had changed. Her silence cost her, earning her beatings and starvations. She was denied drinking water, having to resort to chewing the moss from the wall for any hint of moisture. Thirty-three trials, and she was a slave to the whims of the Birds. Those horrendous air-dwellers, whose monstrosity was matched only by their tyranny.
She'd killed two of them, before they caught her. Perhaps it was ironic that the crime that landed her in the Pit was not one she committed. Certainly, she was guilty, but not for the murder of which she was accused. The vagrant girl was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And without saying a word to defend herself...
She heard the clicking of the boots on the stone, probably before the other prisoners. The sound disturbed the creeping quiet, ricocheting in her cell and vibrating her bones. A metal baton, used to keep the prisoners in check, clanged against the stone as the Avriel guard walked. Eat hit jarred her nerves, causing her to flinch. As the guard drew in front of her cell, he stopped. A sharp beak melded into a hideous face, and if the Avriel could sneer, it would have.
"Ready to talk, little girl?"
Baleful eyes were the only response she would dignify. With an indignant squawk, the Avriel guard stomped away, ensuring that his boots were louder than they needed to be. He understood her, understood how she hated the noise. She cringed, allowing the shiver to run along her spine. She settled back against the mossy stone, much as she had for the previous thirty-three trials. Sleep would come soon.
And death, hopefully.