The King's Prey

Chapter 4 | Beyond the Walls

Toska • [tos-ka]
A dull ache of the soul, a sick pining, a spiritual anguish.

꧁ ꧂

~ Anastasia ~

Darkness.

It's all I sense as my body attempts to revive itself from an infinite slumber—almost parallel to coming back to life. Yet, feeling alive is far from the truth.

I recall the memories that led me here, the recollection so brutally painful I wish I never woke up in the first place. And comprehending that they actually happened... Something in me seizes as a stark vision of thousands of Mylithian carcasses crosses my mind. I'm jolting into an upright position, regretting the decision immediately.

Exhaustion ruins my little remaining strength. And, like reliving the fever dream of the ball, my body burns with every breath I intake. I can taste what I smelled there...the blood, the battery...it's all the same. It's all foul.

Why am I still alive?

I thought I would be dead by now... 

I thought...

When my eyes eventually crack open, fearful of what I might find, they take an eternity to adjust to the darkness—the shadows of this unfamiliar room. But soon enough, I make out where exactly here is. And I'm surprised by what I see.

The expectation doesn't meet the reality of where I thought I'd be kept. Some part of me believed I'd wake up shivering, badly bruised, ridden of my humanity, and stripped of my dignity. Possibly even chained—possibly in worse conditions than what I'm in now.

Instead, though, that ideology is ruined by the feeling of a soft comforter enveloping the little remaining warmth of my lower half. I stare down briefly at the sheets, considerably worried about why everything is so clean.

My senses soon fall back into their proper place. And the weight of everything crashes down on me again. I'm pummeled by the shock, in fact. My quiet peace is destroyed by violent pulsations skyrocketing through my arm and into my hand—the same hand that had endured the strength of a full-grown beast of a male. I yelp out, biting down on my lip in caution of my volume as I cradle the wounded limb.

Agony courses through every inch of my bones; in all my years of training have I never felt an injury so horrific before. Tears find their way down my cheeks, blurring my view of the faint sunlight seeping through the curtained windows across the room.

They put me here? I have to remind myself. Those beasts... This can't possibly be their home...

I finally look down and observe my hand's bandaged, inflamed state. It throbs viciously the more I acknowledge the near-unbearable pain, but...

It's bandaged...?

I don't think further on the fact only because, as I observe the details of my body some more, I notice I'm no longer in my lilac gown. In replacement, a silky pajama set keeps me clothed. I recoil with a realization: someone must've undressed me for me to be wearing such a thing—that someone saw my body in its barest state. I feel a lump rise in my throat.

I try to contain my growing sickness, taking in the full scale of the room, trying to make out even the minor details with my struggling, teary-eyed vision.