I was left there for days. No one descended the steps to check on me. The only company I had was the constant squeaking of rats feasting on bodies a few feet from where I was chained to the wall.
I lost track of time. Even though it hurt to sleep, the wound on my side made sure the entire time was restless—full of agony and worry. My condition worsened with every waking moment. No water. No food.
They wanted to break me. They probably wanted to hear me scream from this pitch-black crypt—"Help, let me out of here"—but they'd get nothing from me. Not even a peep.
They were right outside the dungeon door. The guards. Pike. Waiting for me to submit.
I would spite them, even if it meant the death of me.
But I was so hungry.
Do you know what hunger does to a person?
After going days without food, my mind turned to thoughts of catching and tearing the rats apart, feasting on them raw just as they did the corpses scattered about the room. I did everything I could not to fall into primal depravities.
This was a true test of perseverance, I suppose.
Footsteps came running down the stairs and stopped at the door. I heard no voice—nothing over the sound of my own heartbeat. My body tensed while my heart sounded like a beating drum. A war drum.
I braced myself as the door opened.
And there she was.
I stared in complete shock. It was Christine. Her face might as well have been a mirror. She stood in shock as well, then rushed forward crying, throwing her arms around me in a much-needed hug.
"Oh my God, Justine. What have they done to you?" Christine sobbed hysterically.
I winced from the pain of her hug. I was so tired. So weak. I couldn't even answer her. The only words I could manage were, "How long have I been gone?"
"Seven days," she replied. "Raymon said he found you, but I never thought it would be like this. In a place like this. What is even going on?"
I thought to myself: Why would he tell her? Why would he tell her that I'm here?
A feeling of dread washed over me then. I looked her in the eyes, my voice ragged and grim.
He must be thinking to use her against me in some way, I thought.
"You're in danger. Get out of here."
She froze. Shock gripped her body—her skin flushed, frozen, and pale. The fire held by the guards at the door cast its light, illuminating her face. I saw the dread in her eyes.
"Christine," said Pike.
She sprung up and quickly turned on a dime, meeting his gaze.
"That's enough for today, my lady," Pike said from the doorway. "You don't want to see Master Raymon upset. Best run along now."
"No, I don't," she replied, her voice low and troubled.
She turned back to me just when I found enough strength to make it to my feet. Christine hugged me again.
"Don't give up, Justine," she whispered.
I couldn't help myself from crying as she pulled away. I looked into her eyes and nodded. I would not give up. I would have my freedom or die trying.
She quickly wiped my tears and gave me a kiss on the forehead.
"Thank you for allowing me to see her… Pike? It's Pike, right?"
"Yes, yes, my lady," he said. "But you can call me anything you like."
His wicked smile gave way to his hideous, rotting teeth. Christine gave him a rather unusual smile back, not wanting to give away her absolute disgust.
"Stay strong, Justine. I will do what I can."
And just like that, she exited.
I wished I could leave with her. I wished I had the strength of all the men I commanded—enough to break these restraints and run. If only I were a real man, maybe I would've married Christine.
Marrying my best friend. It seemed so crazy. It almost made me laugh, even while I sat wallowing in the dark.
I was so hungry. So thirsty. My own saliva gave me the only moisture I had to soothe my dry throat. Time dragged. And I was dozing off.
Seven days had gone by, and all I wanted was to go home.
But I guess this was home now.
No.
I couldn't let myself believe that. Couldn't let madness settle in and take root. Delusion would either be the weapon I used to stay alive—or the one that finally killed me.
So I made a choice.
I spoke to myself in the darkness, a whisper of compassion echoing in the pitch-black cell.
"My council must be looking for me," I told myself. "They must be."
I had to believe they'd find me. It was all I had left.
Then came the noise.
A loud, grating metal sound—something heavy being dragged down the steps. The door burst open.
Raymon stood there. A mace in one hand. A fistful of Christine's hair in the other.
"Christine!" I screamed, my voice shattering the silence.
She screamed back.
Raymon yanked her down the stairs by her hair. She wasn't on her feet—she was being dragged, her body thudding against each step as if she were nothing more than a sack of skin and bone. Her face—beaten, bruised, bleeding. My dear friend.
"Let her go!" I shouted. "She has nothing to do with this!"
"Who are you to tell me anything?" he snapped. "I open my door to this woman—she promised me pleasure, and she uses it to get close to you. Seduced me to speak of you. And tried to turn Pike against me!"
"No, never, my lord!" Pike blurted, wide-eyed and shaking. "I'm loyal! I swear it! I only wanted her trust—for your sake, my lord!"
Raymon turned slowly toward him, his eyes narrowing with something like disgusted amusement.
"Shut up, Pike. Shut the hell up."
He didn't yell. He didn't need to. The weight in his voice made Pike flinch and shrink back, mumbling under his breath.
Raymon turned back to Christine.
"I'm tired of your games," he growled. He yanked her up by the same clump of hair and hurled her toward me.
She crashed to the ground, her head landing in my lap as I sat against the wall, shackled.
"This damn girl thinks she can outsmart me. Just like you. I should've taken you both that day. Now? She doesn't leave. She knows too much. You understand, don't you, what happens next?"
I looked up at Raymon.
"Please, Raymon. Leave her out of this. She has nothing to—"
"Shut up!"
Raymon raised the mace and brought it down on Christine's leg.
The sound was a brutal, bone-crunching snap.
Christine's scream was raw and animalistic. It was the kind of scream that didn't sound like it came from a human throat. It tore through the dungeon, echoing off the stone walls.
Raymon tilted his head, calm and calculating.
"How about this? She takes your place here. And if you do what you're told… she lives. But only if you marry me."
Christine looked up at me, tears streaming down her face, nose bloody, her lip split.
"Please," she begged. "Please, Justine. Just do it. I don't want to die here. I don't. Please. Just marry him."
I stared at her. She meant it. She didn't care about the cost, not anymore. She was broken. He had broken her.
And Raymon just stood there, watching. Smiling.
Of course. This was his plan the entire time—to make me choose.
I couldn't do it. If I said yes, I'd never be free. And Christine? She'd be used and tortured, like a plaything.
Better we both die than one of us get dragged through hell alone.
I held her face gently, looking into her bloodshot eyes.
"No," I said, my voice shaking but clear. "I will never marry you, Raymon. I'd rather die than be yours."
Raymon's expression didn't change.
"You fucking girl."
He raised the mace again.
This time it came down on Christine's back.
She shrieked, grabbing onto me with what little strength she had left. As he yanked the spiked mace out of her spine, I held her.
Her breath hitched once. Then stopped.
But Raymon kept swinging.
The next blow struck the back of her head. Then another. And another.
She stopped moving.
I think she was dead after the third hit, but that didn't stop Raymon and his bloodlust. He continued to swing.
I used her body to shield myself from the rest. A wretched, gutless thing to do.
But I wanted to live. I wanted to survive.
Not too long after, he exhausted himself, leaving Christine a giant open wound and her blood all over me—flowing onto the stone floor.
"This is your doing," he said. "How many more people should die because of you? Will you force me to bring every person you've ever cared for to this dungeon? Will you force me to bludgeon them as you sit there holding their mangled bodies? My mother was right. You are just like her—prideful and arrogant."
Even then, I chose to spite him. I wouldn't allow him to see my tears, to hear me scream out in anger. I merely stared him down, holding Christine's dead body in my arms.
He left soon after that, not saying another word.
As the dungeon door closed and the darkness returned, I truly couldn't make out my tears from the blood.
I sobbed quietly as I held Christine, for as long as there was still warmth in her.
My dear friend.