Breaking Glass

Chapter 1 - Torture

A prisoner of war, they call me. Amongst many other words—namely Marleyan scum. I hear them whisper in hushed tones through the cracks in the stone walls day and night, and the words fester inside my head until I almost believe them. I see them too... passing by my cell often. Faces I don't recognize, some older, some my age, nearly all wearing the same expression: fear mixed with something worse. Contempt, maybe. Disgust, mostly. Their eyes would only ever flicker toward me, like I was something dangerous, some feral beast trapped behind iron bars, liable to snap at any moment. A wild animal in girl's clothing.

But I'm not. I'm not dangerous. I'm not even brave, not really. I'm just a girl. A stupid, normal girl who made an awful decision. I signed up for work on the ships, ferrying Eldians across to Paradis, only to make my father proud. That was it. That was my only dream. My Father's weathered hands on my shoulders, his proud smile. He'd lived through far more conflict than me; I just wanted to be a part of something that could one day let him experience some peace.

Just five minutes after the ship left the dock, I felt it: regret, heavy and hollow. It sat in my chest like a stone. And now? Now, that I sit behind rusted bars, shivering on a cold stone floor, that regret is carved into every bone in my body.

I was raised on terrifying tales of these people—island devils—barbaric and inhuman. Funny, isn't it? How easy it is to become the villain in someone else's tale. Because right now, it seems like I'm the monster. Only, I didn't set out to hurt anyone. I don't want to conquer, I don't even want to fight. I just want to go home. I want to feel the sun on my skin again and my father's hand in mine, and I want someone to look at me without flinching.

I sit, slumped up against the dank wall of the cell, the uneven stones press sharply into the small of my back, a constant reminder that there is no comfort here, not even in stillness. My cloak is soaked through, heavy with rain, but I've pulled the hood far forward, hiding most of my face. It shields me, not from the cold, but from the eyes. Their eyes. I can't meet with any more of them. Not only because of fear, but because I can't bear to see one more ounce of resentment in them.

I'm trembling, violently. I haven't stopped trembling since they threw me in here. Dread hangs over me like a second cloak, far heavier than the soaked wool clinging to my shoulders. It presses down on me until I can hardly breathe. I close my eyes, but it doesn't help. The darkness only makes the horrifying sounds surrounding me louder.

Screams.

From the cells around me, they rise and fall like broken music, twisted cries that pierce the walls. Some are shrill, frantic, others guttural, raw with agony; like the devil himself is in there, tearing the souls from their throats with his bare hands.

Then come the thumps. Heavy, sickening. Followed by scraping, metal on stone. It might be chains. Or tools, implements? The unmistakable clang of something sharp striking something soft. Flesh, perhaps. Or bone.

I curl tighter into myself, gripping my knees like they're the last solid thing I have left. My comrades... I think of them, and bile rises in my throat. I don't know who's still breathing. I don't know what's happening behind those other doors. But I can guess. And I know one thing with terrible certainty:

My turn is coming.