"I can't stay here like this…" I whispered, pacing back and forth in the small cell, shackles clinking with every frantic step. "I have to think of a way out. But what?"
I tugged at my hair, a nervous habit I didn't even remember picking up. My thoughts spun in every direction. This wasn't how the story was supposed to go. In the novel, the prison was just a background setting—a brief mention before the hero's grand entrance.
But I was here. Stuck here.
"Are you feeling high 'cause you're about to die?"
The voice came from the dim corner of the cell—smooth, amused, and horrifyingly calm. I whirled around, startled.
There, sitting cross-legged in the shadows, was a girl. Older than me maybe by a few years, her long black hair fell like a curtain around her face, her eyes glinting in the faint torchlight. She'd been there the whole time, watching me.
Silently observing.
"What…?" I froze. "Wh-What do you mean?" My voice cracked, rising with panic. "Who's dying?"
She tilted her head lazily, like a cat watching a cornered mouse. "Obviously you. Or what, you think the rats and cockroaches here are scheduled for execution?" She chuckled—dry and sharp. "Please."
Her words dropped into the air like stones in water. Execution?
I felt my knees give out and collapsed to the cold floor. "No… no, I haven't committed any crime. That was—my parents—no, not my parents, those people who raised Seraphina…"
My head throbbed again. I couldn't even remember what they had done exactly. I'd been dragged here without so much as a hearing, let alone a fair trial. My chest clenched.
I'd died once. Peacefully or tragically, I didn't even know. But now—now I was about to die again?
"Ahhh!" I screamed, pounding my fist on the stone. "Why? I just died! I haven't even figured out what I'm doing here!"
The girl in the corner laughed, this time softer, almost amused. "Yep. You were born to die."
My head snapped toward her. Rage sparked in my chest. "Hey! How can you say that? Nobody is born just to die! Don't you have a heart? Or has it turned pitch black already?!"
Something shifted in her eyes. Excitement. Madness. Sorrow. It was all jumbled up in a terrifying, childlike grin.
"That's on point," she whispered. "I thought you know it?" Her voice echoed in the narrow cell, and suddenly Amelia felt like the walls were pressing in on her. That girl—who was she? Why was she here? And how did she know Amelia was going to die?
Amelia took a shaky breath.?
This wasn't just a prison. It was a grave. And if she didn't find a way to claw her way out, she'd be buried here with all of Seraphina's pain… and all of her dreams.
"Hey, you!" Amelia called again, her voice raw with desperation. She turned to the girl in the shadow eyes wide, filled with pleading hope.
"Just call me Elara not hey, you" the girl said this uninterestedly like it's not even her name to began with
"Okay Elara... You can help me, right?"
Elara didn't even flinch. "Obviously. If I want to, though."
A flicker of relief sparked in Amelia's chest. "Really? Then please, help me! I really don't want to die…" Not again, she added silently, her stomach knotting at the thought.
"But what will I get in return?" Elara asked, her voice flat and disinterested as she flicked imaginary dust off her sleeve.
"I—well—I have nothing on me," Amelia admitted, lifting her shackled hands. "But we can help each other. I'll help you flee, too!"
"No need. I can help myself." Elara waved a hand dismissively and leaned further into her corner, as if the conversation bored her already.
"Wait! Please!" Amelia took a step forward, ignoring the rattle of her chains. "I really need your help! I'll give you anything you want. Just… help me. Just this once."
Elara paused. Her silver eyes slid over Amelia slowly, calculatingly.
"Anything I want, huh?" she repeated, a smirk tugging at her lips.
Before Amelia could respond, Elara snapped her fingers. A sheet of parchment shimmered into existence, glowing faintly in the dark. It unfurled itself in the air before settling neatly between them.
"Then stamp your thumb here."
Amelia blinked. "What…?" Her eyes widened. "You… summoned that. How did you—?"
"Do what?" Elara tilted her head, amused. "Don't tell me… you don't know how to use magic?"
"I—of course I do!" Amelia blurted. Right? Seraphina must've known at least a spell or two… She scratched the back of her neck nervously, praying she wouldn't be tested on it.
"Good." Elara stepped closer, holding out the parchment. "Now stamp your thumb here."
"But how? There's no ink—"
"Tch. Give me your hand." Without waiting, Elara pulled a small blade from her pocket and made a swift cut across Amelia's thumb.
"Ahh! What the hell?!" Amelia yelped, cradling her hand.
"Stop whining. Just stamp it here. I don't have all day." Her tone was casual, but her eyes were sharp and impatient.
With a pout of pain and indignation, Amelia pressed her bleeding thumb against the spot indicated. The parchment glowed red, pulsed once, and then shimmered out of existence.
"Great," Elara said, brushing her hands off. "I'll meet you at the execution site, then."
"What?" Amelia's head snapped up. "Execution—?"
But Elara was already fading, her figure dissolving like smoke into the air. The cell felt eerily quiet again.
Amelia stared at the spot where she'd been. "Wait. Execution site? What the hell did I just agree to?!"
She looked down at her thumb, still bleeding.
The deal was made.