Cold stone walls and dank cell doors reverberated with a harsh stillness. The air around them was calm, yet noises of all kinds pervaded it, merging to form a kind of deconstructing silence. The dripping of water three cells down, echos of a deranged old man and the constant clatter of boots from somewhere high above, all working to distil insanity in the inhabitants of the maze beneath the Bayosian palace. And in the middle of it all, sat a pale figure. Head held in perfect alignment with a straight spine and legs crossed neatly in front, as if meditating, the figure sat with closed eyes. Just above the roaring silence, a voice could be heard, unfamiliar words streaming from pale lips.
Then, the stillness was broken. They were coming. The lips broke into a smile, slowly curving up towards the edge of her face as the footsteps neared, reaching a simultaneous crescendo. A series of clicks and the pale eyes opened in synchronization with the wooden cell door.
"I said, Get. Up."
This time, the butt of the guard's spear aided his gruff voice in conveying the command. He glanced around quickly, almost as if afraid of the place. His eyes met strange symbols and ancient sayings, all carved onto the stone with a chalky white residue. It was clear that the writings scared him and the pale figure took her time getting up, moving in a rhythmic motion just to set the man even further on edge. Neelam Hasiin knew that the words held no power, they were just a myriad of scratches, a recipe for tea above the bed, a poem about love next to the door, the story of an ancient hero sprawling across an entire wall. Her guards, however, saw anything even resembling Varany and thought of danger, she could see it in the way they gripped their spears.
"Time to go already?"
She asked with a yawn, her voice like fine wine compared to that of the guard. It was intoxicating yet held something fiery and dangerous within it's depths. The men scowled. They did not find her release nearly as humorous as their androgynous prisoner, but, in the same instant it was visible that they were glad to be rid of her. Two years had changed so much. When they first dragged the poison maker into the maze, the stone rattled as they echoed her screams of vengeance and mutilation. Her odd appearance made many question why she was even being kept alive until it was clear she had no affinity for magic. Or so they were told.
After that they kept their distance purely out of confusion. No one could quite figure out the character called Hasiin. The inmate recited bits of everything from recipes to poetry, often speaking in a strange language. Not only that, but, in most cases, the only reason for a guard to interact with an inmate without order was to satisfy the needs of their manhood. No one had ever made it quite clear what gender their pale charge was and no one wished to be the first to remove the dirty rags and count fingers. And then their were the scars. Hideous, dark shapes that bled across flesh, puckering in some places and etched in others as though it was trying to eat the pale prisoner. The ignorance continued until drunkenness and desire stripped it away in one fell swoop.
The flirtatious mystery became an object to be used and discarded all in the same night, even multiple times a night. Neelam lost over a third of her body weight in four months. Then, all at once, the waif became even more odd. Writings and diagrams began to appear on the walls of her cell, etched on with one of the links that chained her to the stones. Once, a guard who was tasked with bringing the woman her meal walked in to find the wretched being inscribing a detailed picture of a human body, nearly every inch of which was annotated with ways in which one might bring about pain to it while her fingers bled from contact with the rough walls.
She was transferred to a new cell one level lower, without shackles,
And...I got bored. I was digressing a ton anyways
Neelam is being freed and that's all that matters!
F a l l o n SF_-
· Thu Jan 02, 2014 @ 03:27am · 0 Comments