Fic: The Night
Title: The Night
Author: queenof1000days
Rating: PG-13/T.
Characters: DG, Cain, Azkadellia, and a very big bunch of scary Longcoats who would fit in just perfectly with Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer. Plus a few nameless Tin Men and a Healer.
Pairing: n/a (but peer closely, tilt your head, and do eight cartwheels in a row, you might see DG/Cain.)
Spoiler Warnings: Post-series
Warning: Character torture (if you can think it, it's done. Either implied or out rightly done.)
Word Count: 1,553; according to OpenOffice.
Summary: The times when she does sleep in this cell are the worst because she has to relive what she went through the day, only her psyche makes it into something even more horrible - the details are sharper, the voices are clearer, the touching is more intense.
Disclaimer: Disclaimer
Author’s Note: First, I cannot believe I wrote this. Secondly, there are huge warning labels here. This fic contains outright mentions of cannibalism, rape and torture. Third, thanks to alamo_girl80, caroly_214, effie214, queen_kiwi, & wings_unfurling for the resulting e-mails. And a huge thank you to alamo_girl80, caroly_214, effie214, and erinm_4600’s awesome jobs as betas.
DG dreads the nights the most of all. Or at least she thinks it’s night, because it is when she sleeps. The times when she does sleep in this cell are the worst, because she has to relive what she went through the day; only her psyche makes it into something even more horrible -- the details are sharper, the voices are clearer, the touching is more intense. The smell of roasting flesh is something she thinks is permanently entrenched in her nose. DG isn’t certain where her captors are getting their human captives to roast over the gigantic fire she sees every day as they drag her out of her cell for another day of breaking her bones, raping her in ways she’s certain that Ted Bundy never even thought of. What was worst in the beginning was when they would make her watch the other victims be burned alive and then eaten, as if the humans were just a garden-variety version of a deer. But recently they’ve stopped doing that. She doesn’t know why. But her dreams are there to remind her of the sights of burning flesh, the smell of blood boiling. Her dreams, it feels, are the only way to bring any emotion out of her.
In the beginning, DG keeps track of the days, planning and trying to escape -- both magically and non-magically (she thinks of the term ‘Muggle’ and realizes that this term, once upon a time, would have made her laugh.) But as the days pass and the escape attempts only bring on crueler, harsher punishments, she gives up.
The cell door bursts open and the one she realizes is called Colt is standing in the doorway, blocking a majority of the light from the hallway. “Come now, Princess, is that any way to treat me?” DG just continues to look at him, a blank gaze. He clucks his tongue and steps into the cell, grabbing her nearly re-healed wrist. She whimpers in pain, which just encourages him to bend it backwards, forcing her wrist bones to break, the cartilage and muscle to tear apart, blood gushing out where bone has broken through her skin.
“We have a treat for you, Princess.” Colt says, holding her hand as if the two of them are taking a casual Sunday afternoon walk. But he's still holding the back of her hand against her forearm and has a look that has never boded well for her. The escape attempts that she had tried to do with magic were blocked. She tried her sister's approach of clapping her hands, but her magic had rebounded on her somehow and she was slammed against the stone wall, giving her the first of numerous concussions. Then she had tried the way from a T.V. show called ‘Charmed’: ‘shimmering’ had her falling and breaking her arm -- this time her radius punctured her skin.
Her captors made sure that no matter what they do, in no way is she brought to death. There were a few times that she was close to dying and her daily prayer is to die, but they always make sure that she doesn’t.
When DG has attempted to escape not using her magic, it has always meant rape. Either it was human, animal, or inanimate object (sometimes two out of the three being used at the same time.) She used to beg them to stop, but now she lays there only whimpering. It wasn’t until Davis started using knives and lighting her skin on fire did she start screaming again.
Colt leads her to the common table, and DG knows they’re going to partake of human flesh or forgo the meal and have every man molest her. Colt forces her down into a chair, knowing that the bruises on her bottom he left there with the broom handle are protesting this. But DG notices with a modicum of surprise that the meat isn’t human, the drink cups aren’t filled with blood. The platters are filled with flaminca -- she recognizes the bright pink color. (She had shrieked when the cook unveiled it for the first time at Central City; no inside of any animal should be that color of pink.) The goblets are filled with an alcohol she recognizes that comes from a people to the south. The meal is done and Colt escorts her back to her cell.
“Get some rest, Princess. You’ve got a big day ahead of you.” The cell door clangs loudly behind him, his laughter echoing down the hallway.
DG sits down on the cot and idly waits for the nightmares to begin. This time, they come back with a vengeance. The images are too brightly focused, showing every detail that she would do anything to forget. She’s woken out of one when the door opens and someone whom she doesn’t recognize drags her out by her arm, not letting her attempt to get her footing. DG is dragged through parts of the building she doesn’t recognize before they reach two solid doors standing next to each other, reaching from ceiling to floor.
“Princess, before you go,” Davis says standing in front of her, his hand holding her chin in a bruising force. The sound of her head hitting the stone floor echoes throughout the cavernous room as she feels Davis’ hands sliding up her skirt and inserting the handle of a pistol between her legs. Her whimpers become actual screams as the objects that enter her become bigger and sharper.
When they are done and she is forced to stand up, her right wrist is hanging limply by her side and she is bleeding from numerous places. A captor she knows only by appearance and not by name spins her around by her hair to face the doors. They creak open slowly as if they haven’t been opened in a very long time.
DG stands there mutely, her throat hoarse from screaming. A bag is flung ruthlessly over her shoulder and she is pushed outside. “Well Princess, we’ve enjoyed our annual with you but it’s time for you to go home. Tell your mother and sister that the Longcoats say hello.” Then she is left alone, standing on a drawbridge.
She wonders idly if she is supposed to start walking -- and if she does and wasn’t supposed to -- what the punishment will be. As DG continues walking further and further away, she wonders where she should go and if anyone will know who she is. Her left arm is always at an angle due to repeated breaking and improper semi-healing before it was broken again. She knows she has scars on her face and over her body, with bruises to go along with them.
DG doesn’t know how long or how far she walks until she reaches a forest. Maybe since her captors haven’t come after her; they really did let her go. A hint of a thought crosses her mind that perhaps later they’ll bring her back to give her a proper punishment, but she exhaustedly lies down underneath a tree and falls asleep. The nightmares, as usual, come but they’re almost blurry in their image. The emotions she can still feel in overwhelming force.
She wakes up; the suns are shining, the woods are noisy and DG stands up and walks through it, just putting one foot in front of another. She doesn’t open the bag, for she recognizes the odor that comes from it, but she doesn’t set it down, either. This pattern continues for a while -- walk and sleep.
There’s a level of noise she hasn’t heard in a while (she thinks it was said to be an annual.) Stepping out of the woods, Central City rises up before her. With nothing else to do, she steps towards the gates. DG stops in front of a group of men wearing uniforms. But then a face is peering at hers in shock, surprise, and horror.
“Princess?” DG thinks she should recognize the voice. “Where have you been and what have they done to you?” A flurry of activity surrounds her and raised voices fill her ears; she is placed in a vehicle and driven to another building. The men in the truck are Tin Men, she realizes, but it doesn’t mean anything to her. She thinks it should, but it doesn’t. Now she’s on a cot, lying down, and a woman is standing over her, a grave look on her face.
The next thing she is aware of, it is night and there is a needle in her arm. She blinks and returns her attention to the ceiling. Her sister is now leaning over her, a look of happiness and sorrow sketched on her face.
“DG! You’re awake!” Azkadellia voices. “I know, sweetheart, that you may not be up for visitors but there’s someone here who needs to see you.”
Az walks to the room’s door and DG watches her do this, speak quietly with someone outside the door and then step aside so the unknown person can come in.
As pair of all too familiar blue eyes catches her own and his duster is flapping about him, showing DG that Cain wasn’t part of her captor’s meals like she was certain of, she starts to scream. And keeps on screaming.
Author: queenof1000days
Rating: PG-13/T.
Characters: DG, Cain, Azkadellia, and a very big bunch of scary Longcoats who would fit in just perfectly with Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer. Plus a few nameless Tin Men and a Healer.
Pairing: n/a (but peer closely, tilt your head, and do eight cartwheels in a row, you might see DG/Cain.)
Spoiler Warnings: Post-series
Warning: Character torture (if you can think it, it's done. Either implied or out rightly done.)
Word Count: 1,553; according to OpenOffice.
Summary: The times when she does sleep in this cell are the worst because she has to relive what she went through the day, only her psyche makes it into something even more horrible - the details are sharper, the voices are clearer, the touching is more intense.
Disclaimer: Disclaimer
Author’s Note: First, I cannot believe I wrote this. Secondly, there are huge warning labels here. This fic contains outright mentions of cannibalism, rape and torture. Third, thanks to alamo_girl80, caroly_214, effie214, queen_kiwi, & wings_unfurling for the resulting e-mails. And a huge thank you to alamo_girl80, caroly_214, effie214, and erinm_4600’s awesome jobs as betas.
DG dreads the nights the most of all. Or at least she thinks it’s night, because it is when she sleeps. The times when she does sleep in this cell are the worst, because she has to relive what she went through the day; only her psyche makes it into something even more horrible -- the details are sharper, the voices are clearer, the touching is more intense. The smell of roasting flesh is something she thinks is permanently entrenched in her nose. DG isn’t certain where her captors are getting their human captives to roast over the gigantic fire she sees every day as they drag her out of her cell for another day of breaking her bones, raping her in ways she’s certain that Ted Bundy never even thought of. What was worst in the beginning was when they would make her watch the other victims be burned alive and then eaten, as if the humans were just a garden-variety version of a deer. But recently they’ve stopped doing that. She doesn’t know why. But her dreams are there to remind her of the sights of burning flesh, the smell of blood boiling. Her dreams, it feels, are the only way to bring any emotion out of her.
In the beginning, DG keeps track of the days, planning and trying to escape -- both magically and non-magically (she thinks of the term ‘Muggle’ and realizes that this term, once upon a time, would have made her laugh.) But as the days pass and the escape attempts only bring on crueler, harsher punishments, she gives up.
The cell door bursts open and the one she realizes is called Colt is standing in the doorway, blocking a majority of the light from the hallway. “Come now, Princess, is that any way to treat me?” DG just continues to look at him, a blank gaze. He clucks his tongue and steps into the cell, grabbing her nearly re-healed wrist. She whimpers in pain, which just encourages him to bend it backwards, forcing her wrist bones to break, the cartilage and muscle to tear apart, blood gushing out where bone has broken through her skin.
“We have a treat for you, Princess.” Colt says, holding her hand as if the two of them are taking a casual Sunday afternoon walk. But he's still holding the back of her hand against her forearm and has a look that has never boded well for her. The escape attempts that she had tried to do with magic were blocked. She tried her sister's approach of clapping her hands, but her magic had rebounded on her somehow and she was slammed against the stone wall, giving her the first of numerous concussions. Then she had tried the way from a T.V. show called ‘Charmed’: ‘shimmering’ had her falling and breaking her arm -- this time her radius punctured her skin.
Her captors made sure that no matter what they do, in no way is she brought to death. There were a few times that she was close to dying and her daily prayer is to die, but they always make sure that she doesn’t.
When DG has attempted to escape not using her magic, it has always meant rape. Either it was human, animal, or inanimate object (sometimes two out of the three being used at the same time.) She used to beg them to stop, but now she lays there only whimpering. It wasn’t until Davis started using knives and lighting her skin on fire did she start screaming again.
Colt leads her to the common table, and DG knows they’re going to partake of human flesh or forgo the meal and have every man molest her. Colt forces her down into a chair, knowing that the bruises on her bottom he left there with the broom handle are protesting this. But DG notices with a modicum of surprise that the meat isn’t human, the drink cups aren’t filled with blood. The platters are filled with flaminca -- she recognizes the bright pink color. (She had shrieked when the cook unveiled it for the first time at Central City; no inside of any animal should be that color of pink.) The goblets are filled with an alcohol she recognizes that comes from a people to the south. The meal is done and Colt escorts her back to her cell.
“Get some rest, Princess. You’ve got a big day ahead of you.” The cell door clangs loudly behind him, his laughter echoing down the hallway.
DG sits down on the cot and idly waits for the nightmares to begin. This time, they come back with a vengeance. The images are too brightly focused, showing every detail that she would do anything to forget. She’s woken out of one when the door opens and someone whom she doesn’t recognize drags her out by her arm, not letting her attempt to get her footing. DG is dragged through parts of the building she doesn’t recognize before they reach two solid doors standing next to each other, reaching from ceiling to floor.
“Princess, before you go,” Davis says standing in front of her, his hand holding her chin in a bruising force. The sound of her head hitting the stone floor echoes throughout the cavernous room as she feels Davis’ hands sliding up her skirt and inserting the handle of a pistol between her legs. Her whimpers become actual screams as the objects that enter her become bigger and sharper.
When they are done and she is forced to stand up, her right wrist is hanging limply by her side and she is bleeding from numerous places. A captor she knows only by appearance and not by name spins her around by her hair to face the doors. They creak open slowly as if they haven’t been opened in a very long time.
DG stands there mutely, her throat hoarse from screaming. A bag is flung ruthlessly over her shoulder and she is pushed outside. “Well Princess, we’ve enjoyed our annual with you but it’s time for you to go home. Tell your mother and sister that the Longcoats say hello.” Then she is left alone, standing on a drawbridge.
She wonders idly if she is supposed to start walking -- and if she does and wasn’t supposed to -- what the punishment will be. As DG continues walking further and further away, she wonders where she should go and if anyone will know who she is. Her left arm is always at an angle due to repeated breaking and improper semi-healing before it was broken again. She knows she has scars on her face and over her body, with bruises to go along with them.
DG doesn’t know how long or how far she walks until she reaches a forest. Maybe since her captors haven’t come after her; they really did let her go. A hint of a thought crosses her mind that perhaps later they’ll bring her back to give her a proper punishment, but she exhaustedly lies down underneath a tree and falls asleep. The nightmares, as usual, come but they’re almost blurry in their image. The emotions she can still feel in overwhelming force.
She wakes up; the suns are shining, the woods are noisy and DG stands up and walks through it, just putting one foot in front of another. She doesn’t open the bag, for she recognizes the odor that comes from it, but she doesn’t set it down, either. This pattern continues for a while -- walk and sleep.
There’s a level of noise she hasn’t heard in a while (she thinks it was said to be an annual.) Stepping out of the woods, Central City rises up before her. With nothing else to do, she steps towards the gates. DG stops in front of a group of men wearing uniforms. But then a face is peering at hers in shock, surprise, and horror.
“Princess?” DG thinks she should recognize the voice. “Where have you been and what have they done to you?” A flurry of activity surrounds her and raised voices fill her ears; she is placed in a vehicle and driven to another building. The men in the truck are Tin Men, she realizes, but it doesn’t mean anything to her. She thinks it should, but it doesn’t. Now she’s on a cot, lying down, and a woman is standing over her, a grave look on her face.
The next thing she is aware of, it is night and there is a needle in her arm. She blinks and returns her attention to the ceiling. Her sister is now leaning over her, a look of happiness and sorrow sketched on her face.
“DG! You’re awake!” Azkadellia voices. “I know, sweetheart, that you may not be up for visitors but there’s someone here who needs to see you.”
Az walks to the room’s door and DG watches her do this, speak quietly with someone outside the door and then step aside so the unknown person can come in.
As pair of all too familiar blue eyes catches her own and his duster is flapping about him, showing DG that Cain wasn’t part of her captor’s meals like she was certain of, she starts to scream. And keeps on screaming.