CHAPTER 4
"We all go a little mad sometimes."~ Norman Bates, Psycho
Her body was still convulsing slightly when Prisoner 112 and Murata stepped out of the portal into an immaculately clean room.
As she took in her surroundings, Murata scrutinized her avidly. She blinked slowly, a headache forming behind her eyes.
She stared back at Murata, waiting for her to speak, as she did not want to initiate a conversation she couldn't continue. Murata cleared her throat.
"This is your room," she said simply.
Prisoner 112 glanced at the bed once and felt her insides roil. She closed her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath.
She was dizzy and nauseous from the torture. Her clothes were grimy, bloody, and smelled of her kənara. Her face was marred by dried blood and tear stains.
She wanted to be left alone so she could think and plot a way out of her predicament. Then she remembered the golden leash. Her hand shot up towards her throat.
"Oh," she whispered, tugging at the golden choker.
It was neither metal nor rope, yet it felt heavy and solid under her fingers. Her throat was hurting badly, perhaps due to the blood-curdling screams.
She swallowed her saliva to ease the pain. Murata realised that Prisoner 112 did not want an introduction, nor did she want to make small talk.
"I'll leave you to freshen up then."
She walked towards the closet, pulling it open. Inside were an assortment of long, flowing gowns with sleeveless tunics.
"Your wardrobe is stocked with clothes befitting your task. You will find the toiletries in your bathroom. The water is warm on the left tap and cold on the right one. You can have a moment to be yourself. I'll bring you dinner at eight."
She turned on her heels, crossed the distance, and opened the bedroom door. Stepping outside, she paused and cast a lingering glance back at Prisoner 112.
"My lady, don't try to escape. It will do you no good. There is no way out of this mansion. The Məhv Edən has personally made this place escape-proof. There are barriers everywhere. If you try something, he will know and punish us both for defying him. Keep that in mind."
With that, she left, closing the door behind her. Finally, Prisoner 112 was alone.
She stared around at her new prison. It was a spacious bedroom, minimally furnished yet functional. A wall-length curtained window allowed soft, diffused light to filter inside.
Adjacent to the window stood a wooden dressing table, its surface slightly worn, adorned with a modest mirror that reflected the room's subdued lighting. A door in one corner led to the bathroom.
A simple double bed with a sturdy frame and a comfortable mattress was positioned centrally. Nearby, a chair and table provided a modest workspace, although no books, parchments, or quills were in sight.
Everything was impersonal, clinical, and detached. If the room had been occupied before, it showed no traces of its prior inhabitants.
Murata's warning was ringing ominously in her ear. She did not want to think about anything at all. She did not want to face her duty before she had to.
The word duty made her cringe. She wanted to be clean to get rid of the stinky rags covering her thin frame.
She opened the door and entered the bathroom.
YOU ARE READING
THE CAPTIVE OF QARANLIQ
Fantasy"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...
