I never did like the dark.

Some say it’s stupid- childish, even- for me to fear such a trivial factor of our everyday lives.

The dark seems to be anything but trivial, on this grim day.

At least, I believe it is daytime. For all I know it could be pitch-black outside- the middle of the night. Winter, Summer, Spring or Fall. I could be twenty-one, twenty-two, even twenty-three, and it would be just the same.

Those facts I do know for certain are clear to me.

The first, that it is as dark within my cell as the furthest recesses of our cold, unforgiving universe. The second, that the stench around me only grows stronger by the second; the reeking odor of mold, sweat, and blood. The third, that the door to my cell cannot be moved. It cannot be broken down or forced open, and the dark collection of bruises on my shoulder lies as evidence of this fact.

The last, that the screams and pleads of my only friend in this despairing world grow fainter by the second, and I am unable to stand at her side. Perhaps I would fight back. Perhaps I would simply stand there and watch, powerless to defend her against my betters. My Masters. My Lords. At the least, I would be with her.

Another scream rips through the air and I flinch, slipping back into my corner with a small whimper. I close my eyes, as if by some childish hope the world around me will disappear if I cannot see it. I curl into a ball, pulling my knees to my chest and tucking my head underneath my folded arms, beginning to mutter under my breath. The words that I whisper cycle on an endless loop through my mind.

I want to go home.

If only I knew where home was.

I want to go home.

Do I even have a home anymore?

I want to go home.

Home is a person, not a place.

I want to go home.

I have been promised that home will not exist, should I ever try to escape.

I want to go home.

And so I shall stay.

My door swings open with a bang, the rusted metal slamming against the harsh stone of my walls, and I yelp and pull my hands tighter around my head in a fruitless attempt to protect myself. Thick, calloused fingers push through my arms and grab a fistful of my matted hair, yanking me to my feet despite my cry of pain. I am roughly pulled through the door and led down a familiar corridor before being shoved into another dark room. The hands release me and I fall to the ground, only to groan and stumble to my feet after a harsh kick and a barked command. I brace myself against the wall with one hand and hold the side of my head with the other before looking up. Immediately, bile rises in my throat and I have to look away again.

“Oh no, Princess,” a voice coos. “Take a good long look. This-” the man gestures toward the scene we face, and I flinch as his hand comes near my face, “-is what will happen to you, should you try to leave us.”

My eyes flicker upward, catching on my friend’s face as she sobs. She hangs from the ceiling by her wrists, her ankles being pulled toward the floor. A puddle of blood soaks the ground beneath her and yet more of the coppery liquid drips steadily downward, cutting trails over her pale skin. Her eyes open only slightly, sending me a look filled with despair and pain. The man behind me steps forward and the screams begin again.

I cannot look away.