The Rider's Truth.

Chamber

The demon girl began to fight when they led her to the posts – which was Acheron's favourite punishment for Riders. There were seven posts standing a good distance from each other and usually seven wasn't enough to control the demand, today they were empty.

Fear and apprehension clutched at my heart, that involuntary cold shiver racking down my spine when I saw where the stone turned dark, years of dried blood piling up on top of the other.

"No." The demon-girl cried, jerking back violently. Expressionless, save for the one beginning to smirk at the smell of her fear – because demons could smell fear; Acheron told me so.

I eyed the shackles on the post as they planted me in front of it, my wrists already smarting at the thought of it. My lips moved in silent prayer as I tried to mute out the screaming prisoners behind me.

'Please give me the strength to endure this. I am Nethore's rider. I will not be weak. I will not make him be ashamed of me. Stay in control. "

A clawed hand gripped my shoulder, wrenching my arms out so they could shackle my wrists tight to the post. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, pain pulsing up my sides painfully. Definitely bruised.

They shackled my wrists tight. Already the skin was warped, paler than my normal blue veined and they made sure it hurt when they tightened it and that the metal was pinching into my skin. My forehead pressed against the post, my body shuddering involuntarily in anticipation.

'Stay in control.'

I heard leather sliding a gloved hand, the 'glint' sound of them checking the whips sharpened points. It was made from the bones of dragons – Acheron thought it only right that Riders should get punished with something from the creatures they loved so much.

'Stay in control'

The demon-girl let out a scream at the first fall of the whip, jerking violently as it tore through her skin. I glanced at her for only a moment, before I shut my eyes and tried to imagine that I was somewhere different.

I was with Nethore in Blood's Nest, spending an autumn's eve by his side

I was with my friends, laughing as Dem uttered something ridiculous.

I was painting. Only an easel in front of me and a mug of tea at my sides. All the colours there are to paint with. Total control. Total peace.

And then, the whip fell. I imagined it always as Turana's lightening striking my back and the thunderous crackle that came from the maw, in my mind, muffled my screaming. It cast my blood to the ground and opened blood strips onto my back.

Again and again it fell, like a storm brewing in the skies, rage cutting across my withered back until my legs shook too violently for me to stand, so my knees sank to the ground that was stained with my own blood.

When I couldn't speak, my throat raw and cheeks dried of tears long ago, they stopped. My neck hung, limbs trembling from sheer shock as they unshackled me, letting me slide uselessly onto the ground. I rolled on my stomach, arms shaking as I propped myself up onto my elbows. My vision was a streak of red and black, but I saw the boots approaching.

"It does me great joy to see you in such a state." Acheron knelt before me. "But then, to think that the great Lynch line has been reduced to such a pitiful little girl is sobering."

'Think of Nethore. Think of Ne. What would he say to this prick?"

I tried to work my jaw and give a cutting retort but all the slipped from my mouth was a long, choking groan while my gaze cut up to him. His thin mouth was pulled into a sharp, self-indulgent smile, the gleam of amber keeping my attention.