CHAPTER 2
"There's a monster outside my room. Can I have a glass of water?" ~ Bo Hess, Signs
15 MINUTES AGO
As the moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the forbidding landscape of the jagged, pitch-black mountains of Ghabash, a sense of foreboding settled over the Alt Dənyə, the prison of the Qaranliq Empire.
In the depths of the haunted fortress, nestled amidst the jagged cliffs and hidden valleys, Prisoner 112 stirred faintly in her cold, dark cell, giving her shackles another weak tug before collapsing against her binds.
The chains clinked as she shifted, the heavy metal links binding her wrists and ankles with unyielding cruelty.
The metal kept digging into her flesh, leaving angry red welts that throbbed with every movement.
Prisoner 112 was chained to the walls. The shackles that bound her were not merely instruments of physical restraint but vessels woven with soul magic.
A piece of her soul pulsated through the links as if it were a living, breathing being. The shackles knew who she was.
Made of thick, rusted iron, they encircled her wrists and ankles, giving her a limited range of mobility.
She could walk a few steps, stand, sit, curl up, and lie down, and that was about it. Their weight constantly reminded her of her powerlessness.
The shackles were imbued with old enchantments, and they recoiled at the least attempt to break free.
Whenever Prisoner 112 strained against her chains with considerable force, the magic within them stirred to life, sending electric shocks through her body.
During her confinement, Prisoner 112 had tried everything she could think of to escape the grasp of the manacles.
She had pulled and tugged with all her might, hoping against hope that sheer force alone would be enough to shatter the bonds that held her captive.
She had searched for weak points, for any sign of vulnerability in the metal that might offer a glimmer of hope for freedom. Desperate for release, she had tried more drastic measures, resorting to gnawing at the iron with her teeth until her gums bled and her jaw ached with exhaustion.
She had rubbed her wrists raw against the rough surface of the chains, hoping to wear them down over time. She had even attempted to summon her latent magical abilities, channelling every ounce of energy into breaking the enchantments.
But her efforts had been met with frustration and disappointment, and the shackles remained stubbornly intact.
She moaned and stirred in her half-asleep state, trying to find a soft corner on the floor.
A deep slumber did not come easy to her; perhaps this was a form of one of the many punishments dolled out upon the prisoners.
Whenever she slept, nightmares plagued her, and in the waking hours, she was haunted by broken and blurred flashes of her past-a life she could no longer recall.
The fragments of memory danced on the edge of her consciousness like ghosts in the mist.
She was trapped in a world of perpetual darkness, which was so absolute that it enveloped her in a suffocating presence that seeped into her very being.
YOU ARE READING
WHISPERED SINS
Romance"I used your blood to bind you to me. There's no escape. You're chained to me until your last breath." She hated him so much that she wanted to poison him, rip the mask off his cruel face, and stare into his eyes as she plunged the dagger repeatedly...
