"Giving up?"
A voice slithered through the dark hallway. The voice moved like it had life, flat and dead. Laced with something cruel: mockery.
Arwen's head jerked up.
The voice sent a chill down her spine. The way it came to her, she could swear she felt the sway of a cold breeze dance through the hair on her skin, but when she glanced about, there was no one.
The fire touches were not enough to brighten the dark hallway; she couldn't make out anything or anyone the harder she looked, but she knew someone was there with her.
The way the torches flickered, their flames bending to the side as if the presence of whoever was there ran past them.
Her heart thudded low but very fast.
The hairs on her skin stood erect.
She unfolded her hands from the top of her bunched knees and brought them forward to inspect.
They trembled.
Her lashes fluttered. Her frown deepened. She didn't know what it was about where she found herself, but she knew something was not right.
Something was odd. She just didn't know what it was.
Drawing in a shaky breath, she folded her hands into tight fists and took in another deep breath. A steady one this time.
Her eyes steeled; determination swam in them. Her sisters weren't here. She would find them, and to do that, she would need to leave wherever this was.
Slowly, she rose off the ground, pushing off the rough, cold ground. Her joints protested, weak and tired. Her muscles trembled under her weight from panic and dread. Still, she forced herself upright and straightened her bent shoulders.
She had to leave even if it meant fighting.
With magic.
Suddenly, a dark laughter rumbled through the walls; it came in rolling waves, echoing and distant yet so close it rang in her ear.
The maniacal laughter was condescending and pitiful. Like she was a sacrificial lamb being toyed with before being eaten.
Arwen tried to mask her fear and panic. With her hands fisted by her sides, she looked left to right, trying to prepare herself for the appearance of who was there with her.
"Yeah, that's more like it." The voice cooed like it was talking to a toddler; it slurred. Velvety and soft but so deep and thick, and it filled the long dark hallway.
He spoke so smoothly, a charm lurking beneath, carrying a richness that made people swoon, except that Arwen was anything but seduced.
She was terrified.
She remembered how Izara had pretended to be in control, how she faked calmness when she was scared out of her mind. She remembered her sister's effort to fight off the soldiers when she knew she couldn't win.
She tucked her chin. She was going to do just that.
She stood tall, her shoulders squared, eyes scanning every inch of shadow, each flickering torch. Her magic stirred inside her, a low pulse, faint but present.
"Show yourself." She demanded. Her voice was steel. It surprised her, the power it carried.
"You're in a hurry?" The voice mocked, imitating the voice of a child, like a doll asking to be played with.
It grated on Arwen's nerves. She clenched her fist tighter, so hard her nails dug crescents into her palm.
She had never used her powers for violence, and she had no idea how to start, but she was going to do…something.
"I said," her voice raised higher. Her hands uncoiled and stretched out; her magic simmered beneath her fingertips.
She nodded. Good. They were there.
"Show yours—"
A swift change in the air, her eyes widened. In a flash, the figure had cut through time and darkness like a flying sword.
She didn't even have the time to scream. It got stuck in her throat. The figure was in her face, nose almost touching, her eyes locked onto some dark abyss for eyes.
Her eyes dropped lower to the pit of her stomach. Her insides felt hollow. She wasn't sure if she was still breathing.
Was this still fear? She wondered.
The figure had half his face covered with a silver mask and the other part a pale flesh, but still, something ugly and disturbing lurked beneath his mask and his boyish grin.
Then, Arwen made the mistake of blinking.
She gasped.
Multiple faces appeared behind her closed lids. They changed like flashes. From old to young, male to female, birds to serpents, and when her eyes blinked open, she was the true face. Disfigured, pelted, ruined and twisted.
She should scream; she wanted to scream, but nothing came out.
Instead, tears burst down her cheeks.
Her lips parted open, but no words came out. The tears rushed down.
She felt flames licking her flesh, like she was being thrown into boiling lava. Was this what happened to him?
Heavens.
Heavens.
Bile rose to the back of her throat.
She no longer felt fear but pity and pure disdain for whoever did this to the person in front of her.
She could smell burning flesh, and she heard screams. Her knees buckled.
The figure blinked, moved, spoke…. Arwen wasn't sure what he did, but it made her move.
Her reflexes were faster than she could have imagined. Her hands flew out and clasped onto the face.
The torches roared, flared out of control, and the room brightened.
The moment Arwen's hand touched the face of the figure. The metal and the flesh.
Both she and the figure fell to their knees.
He screamed. Pain, raw and unbidden, burst right out of him.
Where Arwen touched burnt anew, Arwen's eyes were closed. She looked almost lifeless, like she was possessed.
The figure struggled and fought for his release, but her grip on his face was like glue. She didn't budge.
"Seren! Estella!" He yelled for help.
The heat from Arwen's hands was excruciating and unrelenting, and it only burnt his face. It didn't spread to his body. No. Soon, his silver metal mask that hid his shame began to melt off.
"Seren! Estellaaaa!"
His eyes rolled to the back of his head; the pain had become unbearable. He tilted backwards and fell. Arwen went with him and stayed on top of him, not stopping, her hands still clutching his face.