The General approaches his menacing door, the buzzing, black rock haunting, filling my body with dread, seeming to turn by blood to lead.

  I reach for the wide slot dug into the door itself, and a shiver runs down my spine. It’s almost like my body knows this is the entrance to unavoidable agony.

  Pulling the heap of stone open, I make sure to hold it for the General to enter first. That is a mistake I won’t make again.

  The General gives me a revolting sneer as he enters the room, sauntering all the way to the back wall where his most favorite tools are hung in precise rows along the permanently blood stained, black tile wall.

  I follow him in, letting out a breath of relief as I get to release my hold on the door, but stop near the entrance, my hands clasped behind my back, doing my best to not fidget. That’s how he likes me best; when my fear shows through the mask. And damn me if I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

  He runs one of his translucent fingers over the lethal cuts of steel in slow, taunting strokes, his back still turned, the tinkling of blades like a call of death.

  “Do you know why I’ve brought you here, Della?”

  Della. That damn nickname only he calls me.

  “No, sir.” I mutter, my voice feeble and low.

  The General tsks, turning slowly to face me once more, “Come now, Della, you can do better than that.”

  Silence fills the room like smoke in a chimney, suffocating and thick with doom.

  “Della, Della, Della,” the General taunts, his eyes narrowing, “We don’t have all night, do we? Now be a good girl and fess up so I don’t have to tear it out of you.”

  His sneer widens to reveal sparkling, white bones stabbing out of pale, pink gums, “Though I must admit, it does sound rather…exciting, does it not?”

  I clear my throat, my hands sweaty behind my back, “Is it because of breakfast this morning, sir?” I ask, hoping to the Mother I didn’t just dig myself a deeper hole.

  That horrid smile widens, “See, Della, that wasn’t so hard, was it?

  My gut churns with the possibilities of what’s to come, “No, sir.”

  “Tell me, why would you allow yourself to conduct such heinous behavior?” His face flashes terribly, “I thought we had taught you better than that.”

  I should say something, anything to reduce the torment that will surely follow. But I can’t get myself to do it. I never can. It’s typically why I spend so much time in here. My mouth has a way of adding to my punishment, either by saying too much or by refraining from saying anything at all.

  He recognizes my refusal, my inability to give in, and his anger manifests as his eyes darken, turning to those depthless pits of despair.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Quicker than I would have thought possible, the beast steps to me, his face so close that it feels as if his eyes might actually sear holes into mine.

  But still, I refuse to lower my gaze.

  Enraged, he throws out one of his impossibly large hands, grasping me by my braid, and throwing me to the floor. The force of the impact is overwhelming. My head feels as if it’s splitting open, bursts of pain slicing through me as much as any blade.

  Groaning, I roll onto my side, hardly making it to my knees when a thick, steel toed boot collides with my jaw, sending me flying back to the ground. My face smashes against the cold, coarse drain, still sticky from whatever boy was in here before.

  “Get up.” He barks, his voice fuzzy and strange.

  Slowly heaving my body off the slickened floor, it doesn’t take long for him to snatch my wrists, forcing them into the shackles hanging from the ceiling, so high I have to stand on the tips of my toes to reach.

  Soon after, I feel the tip of a knife at my back, slowly trailing to the neckline of my shirt. I take a deep breath, but before I have the chance to release it, I feel the knife slice through the sweat logged fabric. My shirt separates in two, revealing the entirety of my back, where the cool air has already begun to tear at my flesh.

  I close my eyes for a moment, desperately attempting to get myself together, but when I again open them, I’m met with the depthless, cold stare that haunts my dreams.

  He doesn’t wait long to run the knife along the front of my shirt, allowing the fabric to fall in two humiliating thumps, making my skin prickle and stomach churn to cream.

  My eyes narrow and he pulls his mouth into a cocky sneer, every inch of his face laced with excitement as he turns, prowling up to the wall of tools, scratching his perfectly shaven chin as he ponders what he would find the most pleasure in using.

  Thumbing a long, barbed whip, he stalks back, his weapon coiled neatly in his hand.

  Stopping so close that our bodies touch, he leans to my ear and whispers, “I hope you find this lesson as rewarding as I do.” He pulls back, his foul mouth grazing my ear in an acidic kiss, the whip trailing around my shoulder as he finds my bare back.

  “Which is why I’m so disappointed this will be our last lesson. But don’t worry, little Della. I won’t forget you.”

  And then only thing I can hear is the sound of the whip, cutting ruthlessly through sharpened air.

  ? ? ?

  “We’re done.” He smirks, “Do give Szah my regards.”

  Szah? Regards? If I had the mind to do it, I would question these words. But I don’t have the chance to, not as the General reaches up to unclasp the rusted shackles. The reprieve doesn’t last long, for I soon find myself sprawled on the floor, unable to so much as groan.

  “Show some dignity, Della. Get up.” He snarls, looming like a fresh nightmare.

  He sighs dramatically, but his tone then turns sweet, like a sickly poison infused into wine, and he crouches next to my ear.

  “I must admit, I’ve held you here for far too long. Greed, on my end. But I fear the time has come for you to at last be shared. Your blood…it’s so hypnotizing, a narcotic.” His eyes turn to ice, his smile looking so much like the creature from all those years ago, “But just between you and me,” he whispers, “I don’t think you’ll last a second. It’s never been one of patience, and you’re spilling so much of that refined blood it won’t be able to resist.”

  He stands before I can ask who ‘it’ is, snatching my foot and dragging me by my ankle. Forcing me down the hall, eventually coming to another door, he throws it open and shoves me through the frame, a thick, glossy blood trail smeared in our wake like a freshly killed animal.

  Death chases after me like a cat playing with a mouse, taunting and teasing my final strands of life. But I can’t help the thought that it’s a good thing I’m dying. It would be impossible not to when I’m being left in a bone littered cell, the floor scattered with the days worth of corpses.