Near Death Experience (18+) ✔️

36.

In the dimly lit room, the palpable weight of my suffering cast a haunting atmosphere, with the scent of smoke and the metallic tang of blood intertwining in a morbid dance. My trembling figure stood as a poignant tableau of despair, the aftermath of the dungeons etched into the very fabric of my being. The disquieting stillness enveloped me, magnifying the scene's gravity like a mournful symphony echoing through the silence.

My once-pristine clothes, now tainted with the stark evidence of the dungeons' brutality, clung to my form, serving as a visceral reminder of the ordeal I had endured. The desperate grip on the cigarette mirrored my internal turmoil, a feeble attempt to find solace amid profound desolation.

The room, now a spectral witness to my silent suffering, bore the traces of time in the scattered remnants of spent cigarettes and ashes beneath my feet. Each discarded butt, a silent marker of the relentless passage of moments, attested to the duration of my anguished vigil. The air hung heavy with the acrid residue of my pain.

Elijah, a silent observer in the corner of the room, grappled with a mélange of emotions as he witnessed my silent ordeal. The aftermath of Askel's blood infusion had transformed my cries into an eerie silence, a deadened look now residing in my eyes. The desk bore witness to the coping mechanisms I had sought in my distress – an almost empty bottle of whiskey and a depleted pack of cigarettes.

The silence was now broken, as the chamber room doors burst open revealing my two distressed beloveds. Knox and Xander entered the room with no care, their eyes directly focusing on my quiet being before them. 

Knox and Xander's abrupt entry shattered the room's eerie stillness, their presence injecting a surge of urgency into the stagnant air. I, however, remained an immovable figure, seemingly impervious to their arrival. My bloodied hands clutched the cigarette with a grip that spoke of both defiance and desperation. 

At the same time, my vacant gaze glossed over and devoid of focus, portrayed a detachment that transcended the immediate surroundings. My mind was empty, dried tears washed away a streak of blood showing the terror and death I had endured.

As Knox and Xander took in the disquieting scene, the gravity of the moment settled heavily upon them. My unresponsive demeanour added an extra layer of complexity to the unfolding drama as if I were a spectre caught between the tangible and the ethereal.

A terse silence hung in the air, pregnant with the unsaid and the unresolved. Knox and Xander, faced with my stoic silence, were left to navigate the enigma that unfolded before them, each step forward fraught with the anticipation of revelations and the shadows of unspoken truths.

"She hasn't spoken since she got in here," Elijah said with a certain bluntness that made me want to give him a pointed look. Knox's head whips to look at Elijah, a deathly stare in his eyes. Knox suddenly is holding Elijah against the wall, holding him by the collar of his shirt as he snarls at the man before him.

"Why the fuck would you let her down there?!" Knox's voice seared through the room, a torrent of anger and accusation.

"She came up with the plan, it's not my fault Cassandra was on a murder-suicide mission," Elijah retorted, his words a defence laced with a touch of defiance.

Knox, unable to contain his fury, launched a powerful punch at Elijah's nose, the crack of bone echoing in the tense air. The violence of the act resonated, mirroring the depth of his anguish and frustration. Elijah's nose was pouring blood out of his nostril, but he had no pain etched onto his face as he watched Knox with a defiant glare.

"Enough," my voice finally cut through the tumult, a plea for a respite from the escalating confrontation. The single word carried the weight of weariness and a plea for understanding. The room, still steeped in the aftermath of my ordeal, hung on the precipice, caught between the storm of emotions and the fragile threads of reconciliation.