Nurturer of Nightmares

Destiny

Someone was whistling a few cells down, the noise reverberating down the hall and into every cell, amplify it with each new note.

It would have been fine, a nice distraction from the chains that held my arms above my head, if they weren’t a terrible whistler. A truly awful one, actually.

Every note was off key, the song an old one that I could vaguely remember from my childhood on Earth, and I leaned my head back against the back wall, dried blood crackling along my neck, letting out a groan loud enough to drown out the whistling. They paused for a minute, before resuming it even worse than before.

From the outside of the cell, Grigori was sat on a stool, sewing what appeared to be a voodoo doll together, and he muttered, “You’re in a dungeon, and the worst thing you can think about right now is the whistling?”

“They’re awful at it,” I complained, before loudly shouting, “Who the Hell taught you to whistle?!”

It paused again, and a voice shouted back, “My mother did!”

“Hell below, did someone cut her tongue out before she taught you?!”

The Mystery Whistler cussed me out, Grigori simply rolling his eyes, his hand darting back and forth as he sewed, and a moment later, the whistling began again.

I groaned again, before lifting my chin up, begging, “Please, Grigori, shut him up! I’d rather be Severed again!”

With the blood still running down my body from that very Severing, it was a ballsy statement to make, and Grigori knew it, because he lifted his eyes from his work to hiss, “Are you an idiot, girl?! Don’t say nonsense like that down here! Zeella and Lilith will be down here presently, and your screams will drown out the whistling soon enough.”

“That’s dark,” I muttered, “What if I don’t scream?”

“You will. I have the report for what they’re going to do to you right here, already signed. The only way you wouldn’t scream from this is if you immediately died from it. Survive, and you get your memories back.”

My memories… I would remember what had happened, how I’d ended up here in the Manor, and what manner of relationship Seth and I had with each other.

Seth…

It had been half an hour since I’d seen him, dragged out by Agron to Zeella’s personal office. Was that why they were taking such a long time to get here, because they were torturing him up there?

I’d been force-fed BloodIron by Grigori when I’d arrived here, Triton promptly leaving me in the care of the mad doctor, so I had no way of communicating with Seth, not even to ask him if he was okay.

His last words still echoed in my brain, the desperation as he’d screamed those words at me. ‘Whatever they do to you, whatever they tell you, don’t forget that I love you. I’ll come back for you.’

‘Don’t forget me,’ I begged, knowing he couldn’t hear me, but hoping he did all the same, ‘If you ever get out of here alive, don’t forget me…’

The cell they had put me in was damp, the walls slick with water that ran down from the outside world, and I vaguely wondered, in the back of my mind, if it was radioactive at all. The moss growing in the corner of the room didn’t seem to glow or anything, but still…

It was only a small space, too, barely large enough for me to fully stretch my legs out, even with half my body suspended awkwardly above the ground, my arms pinned to a huge ring above my head, made of the same metal that the power-stifling bracelets had been made out of. The room above my head was made from the same stone bricks that surrounded me on all four walls, the door having only a thin slit of iron bars that were just wide enough to see one person through. They had been designed to prevent people from looking around at the equally dull dungeon that surrounded us, hoping to drive people mad with the plain grey stones that would make up the entirety of their life until they were released. If they were ever released. The red dress I wore was the only pop of colour in the room. That, and the bracelet on my wrist. All the other jewellery had been removed from me, but not that one. I still wore that diamond bracelet on me, the one that I couldn’t pull off, no matter how hard I tried. Zeella would try to cut it off, eventually. Maybe I would remember it once Grigori gave me my memories back.

“What are they going to do to me? Iron Maiden? The Cage? Thumbscrew? I know all their stupid little torture methods- I’ve experienced almost all of them in the Dome. That, and worse. What makes you think they can break me?”

Turning the voodoo doll over, he stuffed something into the back of it, threading the needle to sew the small hole left behind, all in silence, his lips clamped tightly shut.

The Mystery Whistler continued, and I sighed heavily.

They were making me wait on purpose, either so they had more time to torture Seth, or to give their executioner more time to think up some creative punishments for me.

In the Dome, we’d been forced to study all the ways to make someone scream, including ways that were used commonly in the medieval times of Earth. Most were designed to either rip someone apart, break their limbs, or burn them so severely they couldn’t scream for the rest of the punishment. On Korath, they had more methods on top of those ones- blinding slowly with lasers, marring their faces with certain tattoos so they were forever judged, permanently making them homeless.

The Demonic Court had their own methods, too, like Severing.

With so many options, it was impossible to guess what they might do to me, especially knowing that they could always think up new and more creative punishments.

Surviving meant relying on the training drills they’d forced into my brain at the Dome.

Being cocky would only get me punished more, but so would being too quiet. I had to time it correctly; scream at the right moments, but not for too long.

Never beg. Scream all you wanted, but never beg for mercy. The Sins hated begging, but not because it made them feel bad. It was a form of cowardice.

I’d begged Zeella earlier to spare Seth’s life, something that I would be paying for in a few moments, no doubt.

In the hallway, the main entrance to the dungeons swung open, letting in a flicker of light, and I blinked, adjusting to it. There were footsteps outside- heels that clicked on the stones. That was Lilith, walking with four Guards behind her.

The set of footsteps at her side would be Zeella, then, with his own Guards.

Grigori stood, bowing deeply before reaching into his pocket, pulling out a large metal key.

Nothing in here was made of iron, not for me. I could break iron if I had my powers. Everything here, including that key, was made from the metal designed to stop my powers, to stifle them so deeply I could barely imagine them anymore.

“Lady Lilith, Prince Abel, I welcome you to the dungeons.”

“Where’s the girl?” Lilith questioned bluntly, ignoring Grigori, and snatching the key from his hands. Grigori turned, brandishing to my cell, and Lilith peered in at me, disgust twisting her features.

Abel clicked his tongue, muttering, “She looks arrogant, still.”

“Which is why you’re here, Abel.”

Behind them, the people who I had thought were Guards folded out, revealing themselves as Scientists from the Dome, their white coats just as pristine even among the muck down here.

“You brought Korathians to Earth?” I replied, and Lilith stepped forward, unlocking the cell.

Before it was even fully open, Abel slithered in, reaching for the chains that held me in place.

I stared him down, refusing to give in to whatever fear they were hoping I would feel, and Abel turned to Grigori, ordering, “Give her memories back to her. It’ll be more fun if she remembers.”

Grigori considered it, seeming to mull it over for quite some time, before replying, “Take her to my ritual room, then. I’ll see to it that she gets her memories back. You may have her afterwards.”

Abel nodded, his mother whisking him away, handing the key back to Grigori, who unlocked my cell with a grim look on his face. Keeping the cell open, he gathered his things into a large wicker basket, listening to the Whistling Man as he did. When he was done, the Voodoo doll safely tucked away in his pocket, he turned back to me, studying the way I was half-crouched like a wild animal, my teeth bared at him.

Incredulously, he simply asked, “Are we doing this the elegant way, or the way where I knock you out and drag you down the hallway?”

“I’m not going anywhere with any of you!” I declared in turn, and he shrugged, pulling a syringe from his basket and muttering, “The hard way, then.”

Chained down, I had nowhere to try and hide as he approached, brandishing that syringe, and he gripped my jaw harshly, forcing it down my throat.

Shaking my head, I fought back against the tiredness, refusing to give in to my heavy eyelids, and he looked down at his watch.

“Five… Four… Three… Two… One… Night, Princess!” He said cheerily, the chains holding me up as I slumped.

‘Whatever they do to you, whatever they tell you, don’t forget that I love you. I’ll come back for you.’