ATLANTION - LAYLA BOOK1

Part 67 Layla

"Layla didn't know whether it was night or day. The dim light that filtered through the narrow window of her small cell did not indicate the time. The air was damp and musty, filled with the smell of rotting wood and seawater. She watched the ocean around her pointlessly, observing vicious monsters battling underwater, one fish eating another behind the glass, and flowers of blood blossoming in the dark bluish water.

The cold stone floor was hard and unyielding beneath her feet. She shivered, feeling the chill seep into her bones. The thin blanket on her bed did little to ward off the cold, and Layla pulled it tighter around her shoulders.

She looked at her hands, and huge hot blobs of salty water poured out of her eyes. Brown blood was on her palms and under her nails, and she did not bother washing it off. If only she could wash it off and forget the image of Farrar chained to the dungeon wall.

Every morning in this castle started with horror for her, and this morning was no exception. It started with four guards dragging her down into the Atlantion prison where Nimiane held Farrar captive. He was bitten and unconscious. His white t-shirt was soaked with blood, his body hanging limp, dangling like a puppet. The queen was grinning at her, pleased to see the despair in her eyes.

"You seem very fond of this darling boy," snickered the old witch and placed a sharp nail against Farrar's throat.

Layla rushed toward her, but two guards held her in place. Strong hands pulled her arms back unceremoniously.

"You putrid, malevolent being. If you hurt him, I'll take you down," screamed Layla, and hot tears filled her eyes.

"Take me down? You stupid little girl. Your mother was the same. An apple from a tree doesn't fall far. She died like a wench because of LOVE. So you wish to take her path?" asked Nimiane, gritting her teeth.

"Apple from apple? You stupid witch, she was your daughter! Better to die for love than live like a rotten..." Layla didn't finish her words when Nimiane slapped her with her glove.

Layla's cheek burned like fire, and warm liquid started to pour from her nose. Suddenly, a man she had seen before in the Arena stepped between them. The tall man with blue hair that saved her from Noirs' enchantment.

"My queen, the ceremony will take place in a few hours. She has to look the part..."

The queen huffed and walked away, but not before she hit Layla with her metal cane, and her vision blurred.

"You will be a good girl if you want your darling to live this day," chuckled the witch, and her voice echoed from the stone walls around them, amplifying the pain in Layla's head and making her vomit.

"I will find a way to take you down, even if it means taking all this putrid city with me," whispered Layla, gritting her teeth.

She crawled towards Farrar, her fingertips grazing over the rough dungeon floor, sending shivers up her spine. The cold stone felt unforgiving against her skin. As she approached Farrar, she could hear the sound of his labored breathing, his chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. She wrapped her arms around him, feeling the texture of his shirt against her skin. It was soft, yet damp with sweat and blood. His warm breath warmed her face, and she could feel his body heat radiating against her.

Layla closed her eyes and leaned against Farrar, feeling the weight of guilt and shame crush down on her. She let out a choked sob, the sound echoing off the dungeon walls. She could taste the salt of her tears as they streamed down her face, leaving behind a salty residue on her lips.

"It is my fault, please forgive me," Layla whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. The temperature in the dungeon felt stifling, and Layla's breaths came in short gasps as she tried to hold back her sobs. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, blood, and dampness. It made her stomach churn with nausea.

Farrar stirred in her embrace, and Layla held her breath as she watched his eyes flutter open. Relief washed over her, and she buried her face in his chest, taking in his scent. He smelled like saltwater and sand, and it comforted her.

"That is unnecessary," whispered the man who dragged her away."

As the man lifted Layla off the ground, the cold metal of his armor pressed against her skin, sending shivers down her spine. She could hear the sound of his heavy boots clanking against the stone floor as he carried her away from Farrar. The air around them was damp and musty, and the smell of decaying seaweed filled her nostrils.

The door opened with a screech, bringing Layla back to reality. It was the fire cat, Katon, staring at her with a strange satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

"I have great news for you! Stop sulking! The queen will die today! Put your party dress on!"