ATLANTION - LAYLA BOOK1

Part 47 Layla

The furry monster's eyes glinted with a mix of excitement and caution as it instructed Layla to wait for their master's attention. She took a seat in the far corner of the room, her back leaning against the cold stone wall. The air was thick with the musty smell of old books and dust, which tickled her nose and made her want to sneeze. She resisted the urge, not wanting to draw attention to herself.

As she waited, Layla's senses were on high alert. She could hear the sound of the monster's heavy breathing, the rustling of its fur, and the creaking of the old wooden door as it closed. She could feel the rough texture of the stone wall against her back, the coldness of the floor seeping through her shoes, and the weight of the air pressing against her chest. She could see the dimly lit room, illuminated only by the light coming in from the stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the dusty floor.

Her gaze wandered around the room, and she noticed a huge bookshelf towering over her, filled with ancient, shabby books. The covers of the books were ruffled, the leather bindings darkened with age, and the golden letters and inscriptions dissolved by fingers. Layla felt a sense of awe as she read the titles of the books, which promised tales of Underworld dragons, forgotten citadels, and brave knights. There were plenty of books of dark magic and erotic charms that she skipped, as if they would burn her fingers. She blushed a few times and wondered what would happen if she picked one while nobody was watching her.

She was particularly drawn to one massive book with a siren on it: The History of Atlantion. Layla knew that the history of Atlantion could shed light on her story, and she felt an intense desire to read it. She could already imagine herself lost in its pages, uncovering secrets and mysteries that had long been forgotten.

The shelf was so tall that it seemed impossible to reach the books without a ladder. Layla dragged a shabby wooden stool over and placed it in front of the bookshelf, but it was still not tall enough to reach the book she wanted. She noticed that some of the books on the shelf were thick enough to help her reach the desired book. Layla put the stool and piled up a few knights and dragons with sturdy covers embellished with metal. She was determined to get the book, even though she knew that putting her foot on old books was a dangerous crime.

As Layla pulled the book out, she felt a sense of triumph. She lost her balance, her foot on a wooden plank, and her joy turned to horror as she heard the old shelf screech and break under her weight. She tried to cover her head as the first colossal book hit her, but she lost her balance and fell onto the hard stone floor. Her bones trembled from the impact, and her right hip sizzled with pain as if one hundred needles poked in at once. She was relieved that no more books fell on her, but something was wrong - the books were falling around her, not on her. As she peeked under her hand, a rumbling voice boomed like an echo in a cave.

''Are you an insane woman? You trying to ruin my home?'' yelled the Duke.

The books hanging above her, in mid-air, stopped and floated above her head. Layla watched them in admiration, hundreds of books floating above and around her like giant paper bees in the colorful light pouring from the enormous stained windows everywhere. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. 

"This woman is daft, she thinks I am going to stay like this all day." With that, the books started falling again. Layla nearly scrambled out of there, but one book hit her hard in the back, and she could swear a huge bruise would bloom under her dirty tunic. It was The History of Atlantion; she couldn't believe it, as it should have been far in between other books.

"And what will you do about this tiny hummingbird you brought, my friend?" asked Torture, turning his head in her direction and licking his full red lips in expectation.

"He looked both erotic and grotesque, with his eyes covered with leather straps. He did not have his spear with him, and she was relieved. She could see that his alabaster-white hands were bandaged, the bandages dirty and soiled with old blood and dirt. It looked like he had injured his arms from fighting or intense labor."

Layla felt a surge of anger and fear. She knew that she was not a prisoner, and she had no intention of letting him torture her psychologically. The fear he pressed against her was no less damaging than the physical impact of an actual blow.

"Fear feeds on fear," Layla said, her voice steady. "I won't give you the satisfaction."

Torture chuckled. "Oh, you're a clever one, aren't you? But you're not as clever as you think. Fear is just one of the tools in my arsenal."

She recalled what the snake women had told her - that they fed on fear. Fear feeds on fear. Layla knew that she had to overcome her fear and stay strong.

She saw the Duke pouring some amber liquid into his glass now and looked utterly peaceful.

The Duke's silence made her feel uneasy, and she couldn't shake the feeling that something fishy was about to happen. Her gut was turning from worry, fear, and her nerves were on a string. She wondered if she would ask them about Farrar, but maybe they would not care to help her, just hold this weakness against her.

Katon was sleeping near the fireplace as usual. His nonchalance only added to her growing sense of betrayal. He was not her friend, but even so, he was the closest being in this place that she thought she befriended. She had considered him an ally, but now she saw him for what he truly was: unreliable and selfish.

Layla remembered the advice of the snake women. They had warned her that fear feeds on fear, and she had to overcome it to see the Duke's true form. As she looked at him now, pouring amber liquid into his glass, she couldn't believe how ordinary he appeared. His skeletal, decaying form had been replaced by a handsome, albeit intimidating, figure.

But she couldn't let her guard down yet. Torture's words were a stark reminder of what could happen if she let her guard down.

As the Duke motioned for her to come closer, Layla felt a chill run down her spine. She took a step forward, her eyes darting around the room, searching for any sign of danger. The scent of musty books mixed with the smell of burning candles and something else, something metallic, filled her nostrils.

She took another step, her footsteps echoing in the cavernous room. The Duke's eyes bore into her, and she could feel his gaze stripping away her defenses. She was unarmed, alone, and at his mercy.

Layla took a deep breath, steadying herself. She couldn't show fear, not now. As she approached the Duke, she braced herself for whatever was to come.

Layla's heart raced as she repeated the mantra to herself, "I am not a victim." She could feel his eyes on her, watching her every move. The dim light flickered against the cold stone walls, casting eerie shadows that made her skin crawl.

She looked at Fear, and to her surprise, she looked normal, no decay whatsoever. Terror's flesh was intact also; she wondered why. She still feared him as hell.

Torture's voice cut through the silence like a sharp blade, "So you consider Fear the safe side?" His words were laced with sadness. It was strange that he sounded like that.

Layla's heart pounded in her chest as she stood before the twisted trio. She could feel Terror's intense gaze on her, his piercing blue eyes locked onto hers. She couldn't help but feel a strange feeling about him, despite the danger he presented.

In the flickering candlelight, she noticed the way the flames danced across the features of his handsome face, casting a warm glow on his sharp cheekbones. He looked mad and very dangerous.

She felt a spark of electricity between them, and she knew that she was in danger.

But then, as quickly as it had come, the moment was gone. Terror's face twisted into a snarl, and he lunged at her with a snarl. His hand wrapped around her throat, and Layla gasped for breath, feeling the air being squeezed from her lungs.

She struggled against him, kicking and clawing at his arms, but he was too strong. She could feel the anger and violence radiating off him like heat, and she knew that she was in mortal danger.

Just as she was about to lose consciousness, Torture stepped forward, his voice cutting through the chaos like a razor. "Enough, Terror," he said, his tone firm but tinged with sadness. "We need her alive, remember?"

Terror relented, releasing his grip on Layla's throat. She stumbled back, gasping for air, her heart pounding in her chest. She looked up at the twisted trio, her eyes full of fear and anger. She knew that she was in for a long, dangerous journey, and she didn't know if she would make it out alive.