Ineffable. [D. Malfoy]

one.

Esme missed the light. The glowy luminous that passed through windows or the warm sensation of the sun burning against her tender flesh. She missed the rain and the snow- which was something she detested. But just like the feeling of snow, she was left cold. She was alone and wanted to scream. She wished for someone to come save her.

She hated that she had come to be so hopeless; she relied on another to break her out. Esme was always one to be independent. She hated being so utterly clueless, as her memories were absent. She missed living. The cell was a reflection of death. Each day that ticked by felt like she was one step closer to an inevitable ending.

Was she going to die? Sometimes she wished whoever had captured her killed her from the start. It was better than living through the torment she did each day. Nothing ever changed.

She hated the way she had become weak. One thing she was able to piece together was her past fighter stigma. It was a feeling so euphoric that rushed inside of her. As time moved on, it faded into the dust alongside her past being. There was nothing left to fight for, not even herself. There was no motivation, no hope. There was no one to hold her hand through the pain and assure her all would be okay. There was simply nothing.

Her body was entirely thin. She lost her entire body fat. There were no mirrors to grant her the wish to see her appearance. Not that she wanted to. Her brown skin was rough, lost of its smooth touch. She was sure the colour it once held was now long gone. Her existence equaled a corpse. She knew she probably looked horrendous and drained, just the way she felt.

She was empty like there was nothing to give. She had nothing to give anymore.

Esme became accustomed to the silence. Before being locked up, she loved talking, the chatter of others around her, blabbering off to friends in class. Did she even have friends? What was her life before she got trapped? She wanted to hit her head against the wall just so she could try and remember.

She tried to remember what it was like to feel and to hear music. Or any sound. Esme used to be desperate for sound. Now all she enjoys is silence. Sitting quietly day after day, staring at a blank wall. Left in the dark with no one to talk to, no one to laugh or smile with.

She was drained as if everything had been sucked out of her.

A vacuum throwing her persona out into a void. Each time she opened her mouth, the words were barely audible. As if someone had taken her vocal cords and cut them, forbidding the voice she longed to hear. She couldn't even muster up the courage to speak. The words that did come out were short, choked up sentences that made no sense. 

Her throat was dry, even after drinking as much water given. The only way she could possibly speak is through her thoughts. She would talk inside her head until it hurt. But even then, she preferred the silence. She was disgusted with herself.

The scars her body had developed made her want to gag. She believed to be ugly, lost every ounce of beauty and confidence, self-reassurance she used to carry. The least she could be grateful for was the cleaning charm given every day. That way, she didn't stink, not even after wearing the same clothes from day one.

Esme's wand was gone. The only physical attachment left to carry was the necklace around her neck connected to a ring. It dangled over her dainty chest, and she couldn't even reach behind to unclasp it. Her body was weak- her arms were sore, it all hurt too much. She couldn't put together who gave it to her; either her mother, whom all her memories of had disappeared, vanished into thin air.

It was a simple ring. Silver, with three roman numerals carved into the sides. A date. June 5, 1980. She didn't recognize it. It didn't strike any sort of resemblance or memory inside of her. She was never associated with anyone born in the 1980s. Or did she? Her brain began to pound once again.