Colors of our Souls

7. Stolen Colors

Ikari:

Five years.

They have tortured me for five years now.

This is day one thousand eight hundred twenty-six.

When they first brought me to the dungeon after drugging me, they put me in magic draining shackles. They didn't just suppress magical energy like most anti-magic cuffs, they actually slowly drained the magic out of me, just as they are doing at this very moment.

For the first few months, they simply struck me with their fists, leaving my body black and blue. Actually, I'm not quite sure what color my skin is supposed to be anymore. It's probably deathly pale.

After those first month, I stopped crying, no matter how they hurt me, mentally or physically. They like to insult my family, talk about how they were such worthless people. Then they would tell me how it was my fault that they all died, that I brought them nothing but pain. Through this, they contradicted themselves in continuing to insist that my father Aki is still alive and that I know where he is hiding. One young boy, who's features I can never make out in the darkness, is the worst.
He places his hand gently on my head and gives me visions. They are always the same things. My father calling for me to help him as he bleeds out onto the ground, my mother telling me that I ruined her life, my small, helpless, salmon furred bear being crushed to death, and a picture of his own creation... A huge, colorful dragon laying on the ground with a giant silver spear through its chest, eyes open, but unseeing in death.

No, I haven't cried in five years, I haven't even spoken.

So in the first year, they took everyone I ever loved and turned them into weapons against me.

The second year, they began experimenting on me. They routinely took blood samples, never stopping an extraction until I fell unconscious from blood loss. They placed my body in different artificial environments. The tests ranged from seeing how long I could survive underwater, to blazing hot volcano landscapes, to, the hardest for me, bitter, bitter cold tundra. They kept calling me demon child, telling me that I have enough demonic power inside of me to rival one of someone named Zeref's own creations. They even exposed me to different types of magical attacks to see how much I could withstand. Unfortunately for me, I am extremely tough, so the attacks were long and brutal.

The second year, they took my humanity.

The third year, they gave up the experiments and began trying other methods of torture, including stripping me of every possession, including my clothes and setting them in the corner of my chamber, just out of reach, before burning my body with red-hot irons, leaving ugly, red felts and scars over my entire torso, neck, arms and legs. They then used knives with special blades made of salt to add to the pain. They never did let me have my clothes back, instead, men gawked at my still developing body, but never touched me. I suppose I should be glad that these scars and wounds make me undesirable, or they would have taken something else, I guess that is one of the only things left to take...

The third year, they took my confidence and my pride.

The fourth and fifth years, they continue the third and first years torture and they stole the memories from when my parents were alive, all except moments before their deaths of course.

Somehow I didn't even cry when the same young boy placed his hands on my head once more. Slowly at first, then in flashes of color, my memories faded from existence.One of my favorites came first, my mother clapping on a bench as I stood on a fountain in the middle of the square, playing my violin for the huge crowd that had gathered. When I finished, a boy just a bit older than me with short, navy blue hair ran up to me, blue-gray eyes sparkling. "You were AMAZING!" he exclaimed, smile wide, "I hope I get to hear you play again sometime!" I felt my younger self beam at the praise, " oh you will, what's your name? I want to make sure you get the best seat!" He responded immediately, "Gray, Gray Fullbuster."