Taming Darkness

~Aleera-

I'm shoved into the facility and stumble forward a few steps. I use the slack to yank out of their clutches. I can't stand the sensation of their hands touching me. Aren't the cuffs enough? I can't use my magic yet, nor can I call for help.

One of the men grabs my shoulder in a vice grip, his hold tightening around my upper arms. Do they fear me because of the damage I inflicted on their fellow soldiers in the battle? It's smart, but they act as if I would break free with the little strength left in me. I wouldn't fight back, even if I did have some way of doing so. Not when I desperately want to know what that vile woman has planned. She's disclosed just a few tidbits so far, nothing that would give me a means of shutting her and her power hunters down for good. I need more evidence, and I need to see it with my own eyes.

Besides, right now, she is precisely where I want her, with all the false bravado to match. I won't risk breaking my cover or spilling any of my secrets. I need her to think I'm broken, that she's the one in control, that she has triumphed over her weak, malleable daughter. She must believe that she can take me off the board at any moment-if she wants to bother, that is.

The grip on me doesn't loosen in the slightest; if anything, their fingers dig deeper, like they aim to cause me pain. They drag me after her as she strides ahead of us, leading the way with her head held high, as if she's true royalty. She believes herself to be a queen, but she's nothing but a tyrant.

I glare at her back, wishing I had laser vision and could cut her head right off her neck. No, that wouldn't be enough t*****e for this witch. I want her to truly suffer with every breath that leaves her body. I don't want her to have a quick, merciful death. She's no mother, no queen, nothing but a vile, rotten creature. Her only goal is to obtain power at any cost; everyone around her is just a pawn to that end.

During our little trip, my eyes darted around, trying to recognize any of the objects on display. Will they trigger any of my memories? Would she stoop low enough to try to make this place look like home to mess with me? I wouldn't put it past her, but the question is, would it be worth her time to attempt to torment me?

Those thoughts fade as we approach our destination. My steps stumble, and my insides freeze up. I never thought I would see this place again, and all those warnings that had been pressed upon me in childhood come roaring back.

The one reminder that I was never allowed to forget: stay away from the basement. Don't even touch the door.

It was pounded into me from the moment I could crawl. It was where my father spent most of his time, and it was strictly off-limits. I didn't have many rules growing up. Despite who my parents are now, my childhood wasn't traumatic. But the basement, for some reason, always instilled fear in me, a deep-rooted fear I couldn't explain.

My mother must notice my hesitation because she giggles, and a cruel sparkle glitters in her eyes.

"Say, Aleera, do you want to hear something funny?" she questions, stepping beside the door.

I want to turn and run. Everything inside of me screams not to go near that door, but the soldiers' grip tightens, keeping me fixed where I am. I bite my lip to stay silent. My skin will undoubtedly be mottled with bruises from their disgusting hands, but despite the pain, I would rather not play along with this sick witch's game.

"No," I sneer under my breath.

If she hears my rude reply, she ignores it. Placing a hand on her hip, she tilts her head as she gestures her free hand to the door. I hate this place, and I hate her. I do my best to keep my breathing steady. I refuse to give her any satisfaction from what this place is doing to me.

A wide, wicked smirk spreads across her lips as she takes a step toward me. Like an actual snake, she leans in and hisses in my ear, "This place, your home, my dear, Aleera, is what saved my life when that lab went down in flames. This is where I hid while the chaos broke loose. So many of your father's experiments were under these very floorboards when Darius set this place alight. They died in that fire. I bet now you wish it was me to be one of the ones who burned to ashes, huh?"

I repress the urge to shudder. Had she planned this damned speech of hers? As always, she's doing her damnedest to hurt me. Why else would she go to these lengths to point out that the one place I had any refuge in, my only home, was the same area that had saved her worthless life?

I watch her every movement, trembling to contain myself. She laughs and turns her back on me, sticking her hand in her pocket and pulling out an old key. She struts to the door and jams it into the lock, twisting it until we hear the heavy clunk of the latch.

The old door screeches as if in warning as she pulls it open, and a grotesque, putrid stench wafts out. I wish I could cover my nose because the smell burns my insides. What's down there? Has she been experimenting with skunks and moldy macaroni and cheese that had been stuck down there since the fire? I fight the urge to vomit, my eyes watering. But despite how much I try to turn my head and bury it in my shirt to avoid the odor, her brutes hold me in place, forcing me forward.

"After you, dear," my mother mocks, giggling at me again. The men holding me shove me toward the door, dragging me as my legs turn to jelly.