Born Fallen

Prologue

My green eyes flash open when I hear the door at the top of the stairs slam against the wall behind it. The steps that follow are hurried, an auditory tell to the nervous energy rolling off of the person moving our way.

The next thing that registers is the many weapons restraining me being removed, hands grabbing me off the floor, and the sound of my shackles slamming against the ground. My eyes can't really focus on anything, and my body has a strange feeling to it, but I know what's to come next. With or without my vision being 100 percent.

Torture. That's the short and the long of it. This time, though, it serves a purpose. The past month-and-a-half... not so much, but it does now, and that's what counts. Although, I bet I'm a sight to be seen. Red fur matted with dried blood, green eyes dull from blood loss, wings almost featherless and big tears throughout their mighty span. Not to mention the numerous wounds already inflicted upon my flesh.

The sudden change in the light between the dungeon and the hallway at the top of the stairs is a real shock to the system, making my eyes water and burn. Between the sudden difference in light, and my already lacking sight, I have trouble making anything out around me, not that that matters, at this point. I know that there are numerous doors all along this hallway, but the room at the end of the corridor is where we're headed, but, other than what's in that specific room, I have no idea what things the other doors are hiding. Don't really care to know, given what atrocities go on in the room at the end.

When my captor gets to the room and opens the door, the now familiar smell of fresh blood assaults my nose. He then proceeds to throw my mostly-limp body to the ground, freeing his hands so that he can get the machete, two swords, and three daggers that are required to hold me down, despite the fact that I can't feel my toes at this moment. Not that they know that little bit of information. They are super dramatic and extra when it comes to what they use as "restraints,"

When the nameless male, whom I don't think I've come into contact with before, is done, he leaves. My ears strain to hear his departure, but hear nothing. He must be standing outside the door.

Four minutes and twelve seconds later, I hear familiar footsteps approaching the room.

My fear skyrockets, but my face instinctively pulls into an emotionless mask. When he walks into the room, I feel my heartbeat start to speed up, but thanks to many years of training, it is indiscernible. At least, that's what I hope.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my favorite little female. Are you up for screaming today? I might let you off easy if you scream. Just one is all it will take." He sneers in my face as he says this, his face not a foot from mine, but still above it. Probably to show that he is above me in every way.

Or not, shithead. I may fear what he has in store for me, but I will never stoop to his preferred level, the screaming damsel in distress. Well, hopefully not, because I will be the one to kill him.

He raises an eyebrow, and I realize that he is waiting for a response.

Too bad, dickface. Instead of a response, I give him a glare.

Oh, if only looks could kill. Your corpse would be digging its own grave by now. Are you feeling the love, dickface?

"No? Well, I believe you have made your choice. It's the wrong one, but you are allowed to choose the wrong answer. How else do hard-headed females, such as yourself, learn the hard lessons, hm?"

With that, he stopped all pretenses of being nice and walked over to his "table of toys." His words, not mine.

"You should have just said yes." He states just before plunging a jagged knife into the dip right above my collarbone.

Let the games begin.