No Longer Our Sea (Book 1)

21

This cell has been my home for a total of five days. Over this course, I've kept a steady routine. I'd wake up, try to mark a tally on the wall, attempt to brush my hair, wait for food, and try to exercise my singing voice.

With the chain collar on, it was like learning to sing all over again and I discovered that with practice it would only improve. Of course, nothing too major would happen, but progressively I'd start to hold a steady note again and stay in tune. My voice would no longer crack as much and my throat would no longer be scratchy and sore.

I had practiced memorized scales and octaves, being sure to never move on unless I mastered them. Slowly, I noticed my body was starting to adapt to the conditions and mannerisms of the collar. It had casually started to fend off the substance restraining my voice, and with that my old abilities were starting to come back. Nothing compared to the voice I had before, but it was better than what I had started with.

In the midst of my practice, Valora's candle would roar like wildfire. It was always there, always lit, simulating she was watching me suffer in the dark. It was unsettling, to say the least, however, I didn't let the candle get under my skin. Rather, I should be thankful I am close to a firelight. It reminded my eyes about the sun outside and served as a source of warmth along with my stupendous amount of hair.

My ball gown from the night before had started to rip in the barren environment. I was grateful Cliara had made me adorn layer after layer on my body since now the silk could serve for multiple purposes.

The first overcoat -the olive gown-, came off first since it was most damaged and fragile. Now, it no longer served as an overcoat but a pillow along the stone floor. The under layer with sleeves and excessive skirt came next and served as my blanket. All I had left was the chemise, the stays, skirt, and last overcoat. I wasn't embarrassed by my lack of clothing, it just made me seem like a middle-class woman rather than the noble I entered as.

I knew that when Josson saw what I'd done he'd have everything burned, being since he thought sirens unworthy of even the most basic necessities. But, Josson hadn't called me back for another interrogation in three days. For once, I think someone actually took my advice and listened. Now, I hope he focused on his real problem: his injured father.

With that thought, I prayed that his absence would last. Prayed he'd never see what I'd done and that I'd never have to tell him more than what he already knew.

While I was deep in the dungeon, there was also staggering boredom that plagued me. The chains kept me attached to the wall, never letting me stray far enough to explore the rest of the cell. Singing always became tiring, and it was discouraging to hear my voice falter every so often. I had become restless, always ready to move for the exercise I never got. Over time, I had started to swallow my optimism and had started to look at my cell for the prison it really was.

I turned to my water cup, a cup still completely full from this morning's stale, rotting meal. I hadn't had the stomach to drink anything, despite the sour taste of the musty food, so I had set the cup aside. I gazed at the cup now, -my back still against the wall- and tried to lift it with my freed hands.

The water shot up in the air with no strings of gravity attached. It whirled as I moved my fingers, following the direction I commanded it too. I smiled as I practiced this power, having been almost incapable of it in the last few weeks.

Then I heard footsteps walk down the hall, and I saw a nearby light grow brighter as it approached me. Immediately, fear encased me and my senses got the best of me, making the water collapse unevenly back into the cup. I cursed as I looked at the only remaining droplets being held in the cup that didn't reach the floor.