She was in bed with Az, curled up.
She was still—in Solis, getting ready for her lessons with her tutor.
She wasn’t truly here.
The pain in her wrist returned. It was lifted, turned. Something snapped. She was able to feel more now.
She wished for the darkness to return.
More pain in her ankle. She still couldn’t open her eyes—why?
She wanted to see what was being done to her. But did she really?
The pain went on for so long she grew numb to it.
In the space of hands on her body, prodding and palpating, and the aches abating from her overexposure to such consuming pain, she felt her lids loosen. Slowly, she cracked her eyes open with great effort.
She blinked up at the ceiling. Her vision was blurry with tears. Even the darkness was too much light for her pounding head.
Voices trickled in, like water over stone, falling, falling?—
"She’s awake…"
"Shall we get the master?"
A pause.
"No, not yet," a shaky voice replied. "She is not… fully healed."
"Very well."
Shapes took form above her, and she tried to shrink away but could not move her body. It was leaden, limp, moved only by the hands on her. Turning her head, lifting her eyelid, and shining a bright torch of white fire into her eye, leaving speckled darkness consuming her vision when it was pulled away.
"What are you—doing to m-me…" Luella’s lips wouldn’t work.
She moaned weakly as her arm was lifted again. Her head was tilted, her chin brushing her shoulder. She tried to widen her eyes to look at what was being done to her arm.
She wished she hadn’t.
Her wrist was cut open, tendons and nerves spilling out, along with a flash of white bone, broken and jagged. Tiny threads of red and delicate lines. She saw the bones in the back of her hand where the flesh was peeled away.
She gagged but couldn’t turn her head to expel the sickness rushing up the back of her throat.
She choked on the vile taste of her own vomit.
A hand was forced beneath her shoulders, lifting her and turning her until she was half leaned over the side of the table she lay on.
She was sick all over the floor. It clung to her hair, which stuck to her mouth and sweaty temples.
When she was done and her stomach was empty, throat burning, she was laid back down.
She went in and out of consciousness—each moment in darkness was like a blessing. She could stay there in that darkness forever, and it still wouldn’t be long enough.
She awoke again to pain, but it was dulled.
No more hands on her body. No more crushing, suffocating numbness.
She turned her head weakly, staring into the dark room she was in.
