Burning To Cinders

Chasms and Surfaces

Pain, constant pain. Emotional or physical made little difference as it melded to one. Floating in a sea of bereavement her spirits sank downwards, longing for the black chasm that awaited her. A tendril snaked its way around her waist, pulsing in her own agony. Annihilation beyond her, the depths of non-existence so tantalizingly close but yet she felt surfacing. Mind was no matter, begging for escape, her body would not let her go. With distance came clarity, the chasm blocking thought but now she wondered. Was her father awaiting her in the abyss? Her Mother? The longing increased.

Away from her Step-mother.

Away from her Step-sisters.

Away from the Prince.

Could she have struggled she would, fought for the numbing silence the chasm provided from her own mind. But the agony kept her mind sharp, the tendril that pulled her to life relentless.

A voice called to her, words indistinguishable. Like a horn through a heavy fog, a scream through water. Again it called, from her beloved Chasm?  No. It was the surface. Profound blackness had little direction, up and down were arbitrary. All that existed was choice, a battle between body and soul. A battle that her body was dominating.

"Cynthia!" Breaking to the surface, the voice finally slicing through. The pulsing tendril grew, its limbs wrapping her being in agony. Her eyelids would barely flutter, the tone reaching within her, familiar. A hand touched her cheek and pain blossomed freshly in a loud moan. The hand was quickly withdrawn, instead cupping her shoulders. "Open your eyes," A harsh order, one she could not ignore. Calling on her dwindled energy, she worked at her eyelids, throwing everything against the barriers. Finally she was punished with glaring light, and the barriers slammed shut with another, louder moan. "Open Cynthia," She whimpered, her head lolling to the side. Hands cupped her face, forcing it straight as she again slid back her lids in a painful squint. For all her efforts she was met with a hazy blur, splashes of colour within a faint outline. "Good my love, all the way now," Eyes now opened, her senses took this as a cue to return with a rush. The abhorrent pain focused into specifics, her head, her ankles, her wrists. With slow careful blinks her vision cleared and his voice struck her with recognition. Prince Charmon, his face inches away from hers, his hands cupping her face. And she was still bound to a chair.

Her head snapping downward, she fought against the dizziness that struck her, craning to see her bound hands. The rope bit sharply into her wrists, already raw as she pulled in a futile attempt to loosen them. Her body had stiffened as she sat unconscious and her muscles protested loudly at their limited movement.          

"What- Where am I?" Cindy rasped, her voice was hoarse, dry and unused. The need for water consumed her, her parched throat fairly on fire with it. Looking up, past the Prince around the room, her eyes met the lifeless gaze of Stenson. Drawing in a horrified gasp the groggy dam broke, information flooding her.

Her father, the money, the records, the Prince.

Her stomach rolling dangerously, she looked at Stenson. His brown hair seemed almost limp, his eyes wide in unseeing terror, his mouth still opened in a silent cry. His was waxy and blood pooled around him, his stomach ripped open. She choked back vomit at the sight of his entrails, wrenching her gaze back to the Prince as the awful truth of it hit her. Stenson was dead. Her salvation was tucked in her pocket. She was bound and alone- completely at the Princes mercy.

"Prince Charmon, water," Any terror she felt, any panic was secondary. Her sole need was liquid. He nodded, caressing her cheek before standing and moving away. Her eyes followed him as he rounded the table, dropping in a chair opposite her, the chair Stenson had so recently been occupying. Between them was a jug of water, a full glass next to it and somehow her mouth dried further. Straining against her bonds she whimpered at the pain, desperate to reach the glass.