Am I dead?

  Her words keep repeating inside my head; I try to come up with some reason for her asking this but to no avail.

  Taking a glance around the room and looking her up and down, nothing comes to mind.

  "Umm... no?"

  I wanted to follow up with a question, but she overtoned me as soon as I open my mouth again.

  Throwing a dramatic fit, the woman in front of me sinks to her knees, holding out her hands towards the small windows at the top of this room.

  Even putting my hand on her shoulder, in an effort to get her attention, does nothing to calm her down.

  If anything, she starts shaking off a shiver as soon as I touch her.

  Completely ignoring me, she clasps her hands together, staring into the moonlight a bit.

  Shortly after, her body stops shaking, and she begins to sing.

  *Viene a liberar al pájaro.*

  *Una voz suave y amable para mí.*

  *Manos frías me tocan,*

  *Manos frías para liberarme.*

  *A un campo abierto, libre de piedras y mar.*

  *Un lugar al que pertenecer, un lugar donde estar.*

  *Para vagar libremente.*

  *No tengo oro que dar, no tengo ningún valor.*

  *Solo una canción, una sucia súplica.*

  *Que el mundo sea un lugar más amable*

  *la próxima vez, lo seré.*

  Trying to call out to her leaves her unfazed; she just keeps singing the same song over and over.

  ...

  My dad once taught me how to handle a situation like this.

  Walking in circles, I try to remember what he told me about surviving without magic.

  *When confronted with a mentally unwell person, mimic their behaviour if they are harmless; kick their soft parts and run away if they aren't.*

  Taking a glance towards the door, then around the room and finally onto the singing lady again.

  There is not exactly anywhere to run to, nor does she give off the vibe of being dangerous.

  If anything, it appears that I scare her.

  I sit myself next to her, crudely mimicking her.

  Her movement is not an issue, but mimicking her singing is another thing entirely.

  I've heard the same few lines for a while now, but replicating them is quite a challenge.

  Some words are pronounced very weirdly; all I can manage is more of a bad imitation rather than a copy.

  Then the singing beside me stops.

  The lady beside me is staring me down, with her eyes locked onto mine.

  All she lets out is a single *'hoo'*.

  Who?

  "Ah, uhm, Lutena?"

  Her eyebrows sink, followed by her head shaking lightly from left to right a few times.

  "Huh?"

  She did ask for my name but is seemingly even more confused by the answer.

  "Am I dead?"

  I know I am dealing with some sort of misunderstanding here, but somehow this question ticks me off.

  "No?"

  The odd lady closes her eyes; a big grin spans from one end of her face to the other.

  She lets out a big breath of relief, audibly so.

  After a few seconds, her eyes spring wide open, and she faces me again, our eyes locked once again while her smile turns upside down.

  "Who are you?"

  ...Is she stupid or something?

  "Lutena, Lutena Helmr."

  She turns towards the window again, repeating word for word what I just said.

  "Lutena, Lutena Helmr."

  "*Hoo*"

  ...!

  What followed was a moment of awkward silence, broken by an 'ah' and the woman next across from me fidgeting with her hands close to her chest.

  With her right index finger, she taps twice in the center, above her chest.

  "I am Dominiel, just Dominiel."

  Dominiel crosses her legs and leans against the wall; I follow along, as it was getting uncomfortable to sit on my knees.

  By now the evening had faded out into the night; only the dimmest line of light was still shining into the room.

  It's not exactly cold in here, nor am I alone, yet it's neither lively nor warm in here either.

  Like the air is standing still and everyone is waiting for something to happen.

  The sound of rain came, and the tiny spot of light in front of us was gone.

  Tears are welling up while my head is trying to process the day.

  My thoughts are a total mess; it's been a while since I was split from my dad.

  "*Hoo*"

  Dominiel starts to stutter a bit, only letting out 'ah' and 'uhm' for a few seconds before speaking up in a soft and hastened manner.

  "Lutena, you are not beastfolk, are you?"

  Taking some deep breaths to calm myself, I answer with a question.

  "You can tell?"

  "Not by appearance, no."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  Dominiel takes a deep breath herself.

  She raises her voice a bit and puts on a more confident tone before answering.

  "You look like you could be one of us."

  "At the same time you look just like a Newman, but then again, there are some Beastfolk like that."

  She thinks for a moment before continuing.

  "But you can't be a Beastfolk, yet you can't exactly be a Newman either."

  I don't get it.

  "How so?"

  "Didn't you mimic me singing earlier?"

  "I tried to, but it's hard to pronounce."

  Dominiel goes on to explain to me that she is a songstress and sings in Beastfolk-Origin.

  According to her, each unique race has always exactly one Songstress, a being representing the origin of their respective race.

  I've heard that there are Songstresses, but people mostly only talk about the Newman one; her job is to expand the Newman language after all.

  "So you are saying I am neither Beastfolk nor Newman but the songstress of a different race altogether?"

  I hear Dominiel fidgeting with her hands before answering.

  "I am not really sure."

  ...I don't get it.

  "Okay, you completely lost me now."

  "You see, a songstress can't hear the song of another songstress, except the Newman one."

  "You can't be the Newman songstress, and the Beastfolk songstress is me."

  "Also there is a certain feeling to it; origin speech carries mana with each tone."

  "Your mimicking did not."

  ...

  I raise my voice a bit and answer with a more confident tone myself.

  "I am Lutena Helmr, born and raised a Newman, nothing more, nothing less."

  "I am nothing fancy, really."

  "*Hoo*"

  "So how did you end up here?"

  "It's a long story."

  Her tone shifts, now sounding energetic, almost joyful.

  "I love long stories."

  "I mean, it is really long and complicated."

  "I love really long and complicated stories."

  ...

  "Guess I can share a bit, just a bit though."

  Dominiel stood up and called out to me; when I answered her, she took hold of my hand in the darkness.

  Tugging lightly at it and telling me to come with her.

  She brought me to the corner of the room, telling me to sit down.

  Going by feeling, it's the small patch with hay on the floor that I saw before.

  She sits down next to me.

  Not being able to see her face, I tell her about me and Theodor a bit.

  While I talk about my small adventures with Theodor, picturing them in this pitch darkness, she keeps flooding me with questions about us.

  I sprinkle in some *white lies*; I can't tell her too much. We are wanted criminals, after all.

  We've talked for what felt like hours.

  Dominiel lets out a deep, long yawn, continuing to ask me about Theodor.

  "So your dad is also your brother; how does that work?"

  I hesitate a bit before I answer.

  "It's kind of complicated."

  Dominiel puts her arms around me from behind, putting her chin onto my right shoulder while leaning her face onto mine.

  She keeps yawning, putting pauses between some words.

  "It's a long story and a complicated story ~ huh?"

  "I ~love long stories and complicated stories."

  Her wing-like arms fully cover around me; it's like she put a blanket over me.

  "Sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, Lutena, but can we stay like this just for a while?"

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  It's way too cramped, and I've only known her for a few hours, or rather, she knows me more than I know her.

  But... I don't really dislike it.

  "It's fine; I don't really mind it much."

  Her arms tighten around me, and her tone softens even more, like a person who is already half asleep.

  "I see."

  Dominiel starts to sing again; I can't understand the meaning of the song, but it gives off a very depressive vibe.

  *Había una vez una ni?a peque?a que andaba libre por los verdes campos abiertos.*

  *El viento rozaba mis alas, la tierra besaba mis pies, y la alegría latía viva en mí.*

  *Cada día despertaba con una sonrisa, mirando a izquierda y derecha, descubriendo lo que el día quería *ofrecerle.*

  *Había una vez un pajarito que el mar arrastró consigo.*

  *No sabía nadar, no sabía gritar.*

  *Flotando sobre el agua salada, cantaba y cantaba, esperando ser encontrada.*

  *Invierno, verano, primavera y oto?o; los meses iban y venían, y la ni?a nunca llegaba a donde debía estar.*

  *La mujer seguía cantando, seguía a la deriva, atrapada en el mar, en el mar inmóvil,*

  *preguntándose cada día lo que pudo haber sido.*

  *La mujer.*

  *?Por qué yo?*

  She kept repeating the same song over and over; I fell asleep after a little bit.

  The next morning came, and I woke up once there was even a bit of light inside this cell again.

  Dominiel is still asleep on my shoulder, humming on occasion.

  This is the first time I can clearly see her face without her being shocked or repeatedly asking for my name.

  ...Or if she is dead for some reason.

  "*Hoo*"

  ...

  Even humming while in slumber – what an odd habit to have.

  Soon after, Dominiel also appears to wake up due to the light filling the room.

  Instead of properly getting up, however, she immediately throws herself back and covers her eyes with her right elbow.

  Her right hand formed a fist; she kept pressing her fingernails into it.

  I call out to her; the tension on her fist eases, and she lifts her elbow from her face slowly.

  From the ground she just stares at me, a grin going from each side of her face.

  "Compa?era."

  I have no idea what she just said, but I guess it's a greeting?

  With frowned brows, I greet her back.

  "Good morning to you too?"

  "Good morning, Lutena."

  With the morning came a sense of guilt or rather slight discontent.

  We got separated and thrown into a prison, with no idea where we are on a map, let alone what crime we got charged with.

  Then a super scary lady appeared, dragging me across the floor and casually choking out my dad like it was her life's calling.

  This prison and its workers appear to be made out of stone and steel, hard and cold.

  And despite all of this, I was basically cuddling with a woman I met for the first time yesterday.

  One that appeared to be mentally unwell and was speaking in foreign tongues, no less!

  ...

  No reason to feel guilty about it, but I can't shake the slight sense of guilt about how cozy it was to sleep like that.

  From now on every moment counts; my dad still needs to gather his strength, so I have to figure out how to get us out of here in the meantime.

  I begin to walk in circles to wrap my head around what to do.

  There is a rhythm to everything with a bit of structure; if it's a prison, it must be a highly structured rhythm.

  That means there is a predictable tempo at which things happen here, a tempo that is determined by strict rules.

  If I can figure out how to disturb the tempo at the right time, I could create opportunities for all sorts of things.

  Stopping abruptly, I got everything I could need to start to figure out my next steps.

  Sitting there with a big grin on her face, just watching me silently, Dominiel, my maybe crazy cellmate.

  I call out to her with newfound resolve in me.

  "Dominiel?"

  "Yes?"

  "You love long stories, right?"

  "I do love long stories."

  "You love complex stories, right?"

  "I do love complex stories."

  The smile on her face grows a tiny bit with each question she answers.

  "Listen, I need you to tell me everything you know about this place."

  "In return, I am going to tell you a lot of long and complex stories, as much as you want even."

  "Dama de cuento".

  Seems like she agreed with me; at least it didn't sound like a no.

  Ignoring my doubts about her answer, I point at her with both index fingers.

  "Exactly."

  Dominiel stands up and sits back down in the middle of the room while looking at me.

  She pulls her feet towards her and puts her arms around them, holding her right wrist with her left hand.

  Right at the end of her feet is a long scratch.

  It appears to be uneven, like someone chipped away at it with their own fingernails...

  "We got around thirty minutes to talk."

  She quickly points at the spot of light that shines through our window before holding onto her wrist again.

  "Once the light touches my feet, the prison usually starts to move."

  I sit myself right beside her, putting my legs and arms in the same manner as hers.

  "Before we start, I've got to ask you a question, though."

  "What is it?"

  "You are not Beastfolk, right?"

  Didn't I already tell her that I am a Newman?

  "I am not, born and raised, Newman."

  "Ya veo."

  ...

  "Ya veo? What does that mean?"

  Dominiel tilts her head a bit and looks at me, seemingly ignoring my question.

  "It's important that you don't tell people that you are not one of us."

  "Why is that?"

  She stays silent in thought for a few seconds; her eyes quickly wander downward, deliberately not looking at me.

  "Do you hate Beastfolk, Lutena?"

  Confused by her answer, I reply with a question myself.

  "Is there a reason for me to hate them?"

  "*Hoo*"

  She mumbles something along the lines of 'I guess there isn't.'

  I try to ask for her reason for asking me that, but she cuts me off mid-sentence.

  Her eyes no longer averting mine, she answers me loud and clear.

  "The Beastfolk here really do hate Newman."

  As the light beyond our feet slowly progresses towards us, Dominiel keeps telling me about this place.

  The area here is fittingly called Prison Town of Lindisfarne; the name goes a bit further than just the obvious.

  It's a town which itself is regarded as a prison of sorts.

  Right now we are inside the prison town's real prison.

  Spanning around its borders are giant walls made out of coal and dirt.

  Apparently the coal is the main export of this town, and this prison is mining it from inside the mountain.

  It's a magical repeater of sorts; however, it can be tuned to only allow certain types of effects.

  So its border actually is not just some dirt; it's a super-hard dirt wall that is held together by coal.

  *The walls are not meant to keep people out but to keep them in.*

  Lindisfarne is a town that is prosperous solely thanks to slave and prisoner labour.

  It's a dumping ground; some transfer their prisoners, others hunt beastfolk and sell them here under the table.

  Not all prisoners are beastfolk, but all slaves are; there are no Newman slaves inside the town.

  According to Dominiel, even if you are not a beastfolk but any non-Newman race, they will just label you as one to hide you inside the system.

  And that's where the hatred against Newmans comes from.

  Many people in here, just like Dominiel, have never committed a crime or harmed anyone.

  They got hunted and baited like wild animals; they now have to work till they collapse, against their will.

  Either as a slave or as a prisoner.

  She told me that she herself is around 24 years old and has been inside this prison for 15 years now.

  Before coming here, she used to live as a slave for three years, going over some of the horrors she witnessed outside her cell.

  Fighting dens where beastfolk are forced to fight to the death against each other.

  Cut fingers and ears for even the smallest perceived disobedience or mistake.

  "It's not as bad on the surface of things; it is a sign of wealth if your slaves look clean and orderly."

  Dominiel's voice cracks up, and her face tenses up, like she is holding back tears.

  "You know, Lutena, I actually envy slaves inside the city."

  The words feel heavy. It's hard to even get a word out, but it somehow feels more hurtful to stay silent about it.

  "Why is that?"

  She takes a deep, long breath in an effort to calm herself down.

  "The longer people are locked up, the smaller their dreams become."

  She turns her face towards me and forces on a smile; her lips and eyes are trembling to keep real emotions from spilling out.

  "Slaves get to die under the sky."

  Dominiel takes another short break before continuing.

  "I just don't want to die while locked up inside of here, you know?"

  Hearing that, my eyes, my heart and my words, they all… start to feel heavy.

  This feeling of despair, I know very well from where I came from.

  I console us both by repeating the words my dad told me when my mind was in a bad place.

  "Despair is just fear trying to sit on a made-up throne inside your head; don't let it become your king."

  "*Hoo.*"

  Right on time, the light touches our feet, and it knocks on the door; a female voice is calling out to us.

  "I am about to open the door; do not stand close to it!"

  My real first day as a prisoner is about to start.

  As feeble as I am, there is a burden to carry.