Sandy Does Angsty April
Um, so...thanks to covenmouse for beta-ing this for me.
And to verisimilitude9 for the conversation that triggered me thinking in this direction.
And to lovelylytton for stomping all over my heart so I don't feel so bad about sharing this. :)
She used to think of prison cells as dark and dank, cave-like rooms which, if one were lucky, might span five paces in any direction. Her reality was a spacious, well-appointed chamber.
The bed (not a hard slab, chained to a concrete wall) was quite comfortable--luxurious, even. Much better than the bed in her dorm room. Several stocked book shelves lined the walls, and a comfortable chair, perfect for reading, sat in one corner; even the lighting was decent.
There was even a chess board, connected to one outside her cell to allow interaction with her jailers.
Yet, for all of that, she was in Hell--or at least what she would have imagined Hell to be, if she believed in such a place.
Her cell was barred by a forcefield which would allow neither matter nor magic to pass through it. At regular intervals--time had lost all meaning long ago--the barrier was altered enough to allow through a small plate and cup.
The food was always overcooked and dry: meat so overdone it was almost desiccated, vegetables so burnt it was hard to tell what they had originally been. However, this was not some cruel attempt to keep her malnourished; each plate still contained the appropriate vitamins.
Food had never been that important to her. She was more bothered by the small cup containing only a few ounces of sports drink. It was enough to keep her from dying of thirst, nothing more.
What at first glance seemed like a lovely cell, as these things go, was a torture chamber. There was no bathroom, no sink, and rather than being cold, it was uncomfortably warm.
Her own stench no longer bothered her. The itching of dirty skin and the lice crawling on her scalp had become a mild annoyance.
She laid upon the bed, too weak to even read, and licked her chapped lips with a dry tongue. Her eyes remained fixated upon the other side of the barrier, unable to look away.
Just beyond the barrier was a pool, full of beautiful, pure water. In the middle was a fountain, flowing constantly so that she could both see and hear the life-giving substance...but nothing more.
They hadn’t hit her, not once, since she’d been captured. They didn’t have to.
She closed her eyes and her weak body forced her to sleep, though it wasn’t any relief. In her dreams she swam in the ocean, laughed in the rain, took her shoes off in the snow. But, just like the fountain, such things were well out of her reach, doing nothing more than taunting her.
She woke to footsteps outside the barrier, but did not otherwise stir. It would either be Beryl to see if she were broken, or one of the others to keep her company or stand guard as a “meal” was passed to her.
Ami was relieved--as much as was possible--to see that it was Kunzite.
She wasn’t sure she could tolerate Jadeite’s attempt to ease her confinement. The young general meant well, but his constant flow of one-sided conversation was not always welcomed. Nephrite would have quietly read to her, recognizing that she lacked the strength to do so herself. Kunzite, however, would simply sit outside her barrier, seemingly relaxed, and keep her company. In her more alert moments she thought there should have been a fourth, but if there was, she never saw him.
Seeing who it was, she smiled. Or rather, she tried to smile. She didn’t need a mirror to know that the expression fell far short of her intention. Content that she was safe--relatively--for the time being, her eyes closed again, and she drifted off to a mercifully dreamless sleep.
When she next opened her eyes, it was to Beryl watching her through the barrier. A servant woman, frightened seeming but otherwise nondescript, stood trembling beside her.
“I’ve decided to show some mercy to you, though you refuse to give yourself to me.” The red-haired woman gestured to the servant beside her. “You are going to be cleaned. I’m sure you must be absolutely miserable, not having gotten to wash in two weeks.” Beryl smiled, a look of beneficence that seemed wrong on her usually cruel features.
The barrier was changed slightly to allow the servant to cross in, though Ami still could not feel the water beyond. Brushes and small alcohol wipes were all the trembling woman carried, not enough water to provide her any relief, much less power.
Yet, suddenly, there was a source of water that she could reach. A source that was moving towards her and would soon be in physical contact. She turned, with some effort, to see Beryl smirking as she watched. No wonder the servant was terrified, she was meant to be a sacrifice.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Ami forced herself away from the temptation, and (had she the ability to do so) would have cried at the realization that she was tempted. There was enough water there to hydrate her tired body and provide the power to escape her prison, if she dared to take it.
If she did, she would be no better than the woman holding her prisoner.
The scrubbing seemed to take forever. Ami’s nails had dug deep rivets in her dry skin before Beryl carefully extracted the servant from the cell.
“Try not to get too dirty before your cleaning next week.” The red-headed demon smiled, a predator teasing its prey, before she left, taking the servant with her.
And to verisimilitude9 for the conversation that triggered me thinking in this direction.
And to lovelylytton for stomping all over my heart so I don't feel so bad about sharing this. :)
She used to think of prison cells as dark and dank, cave-like rooms which, if one were lucky, might span five paces in any direction. Her reality was a spacious, well-appointed chamber.
The bed (not a hard slab, chained to a concrete wall) was quite comfortable--luxurious, even. Much better than the bed in her dorm room. Several stocked book shelves lined the walls, and a comfortable chair, perfect for reading, sat in one corner; even the lighting was decent.
There was even a chess board, connected to one outside her cell to allow interaction with her jailers.
Yet, for all of that, she was in Hell--or at least what she would have imagined Hell to be, if she believed in such a place.
Her cell was barred by a forcefield which would allow neither matter nor magic to pass through it. At regular intervals--time had lost all meaning long ago--the barrier was altered enough to allow through a small plate and cup.
The food was always overcooked and dry: meat so overdone it was almost desiccated, vegetables so burnt it was hard to tell what they had originally been. However, this was not some cruel attempt to keep her malnourished; each plate still contained the appropriate vitamins.
Food had never been that important to her. She was more bothered by the small cup containing only a few ounces of sports drink. It was enough to keep her from dying of thirst, nothing more.
What at first glance seemed like a lovely cell, as these things go, was a torture chamber. There was no bathroom, no sink, and rather than being cold, it was uncomfortably warm.
Her own stench no longer bothered her. The itching of dirty skin and the lice crawling on her scalp had become a mild annoyance.
She laid upon the bed, too weak to even read, and licked her chapped lips with a dry tongue. Her eyes remained fixated upon the other side of the barrier, unable to look away.
Just beyond the barrier was a pool, full of beautiful, pure water. In the middle was a fountain, flowing constantly so that she could both see and hear the life-giving substance...but nothing more.
They hadn’t hit her, not once, since she’d been captured. They didn’t have to.
She closed her eyes and her weak body forced her to sleep, though it wasn’t any relief. In her dreams she swam in the ocean, laughed in the rain, took her shoes off in the snow. But, just like the fountain, such things were well out of her reach, doing nothing more than taunting her.
She woke to footsteps outside the barrier, but did not otherwise stir. It would either be Beryl to see if she were broken, or one of the others to keep her company or stand guard as a “meal” was passed to her.
Ami was relieved--as much as was possible--to see that it was Kunzite.
She wasn’t sure she could tolerate Jadeite’s attempt to ease her confinement. The young general meant well, but his constant flow of one-sided conversation was not always welcomed. Nephrite would have quietly read to her, recognizing that she lacked the strength to do so herself. Kunzite, however, would simply sit outside her barrier, seemingly relaxed, and keep her company. In her more alert moments she thought there should have been a fourth, but if there was, she never saw him.
Seeing who it was, she smiled. Or rather, she tried to smile. She didn’t need a mirror to know that the expression fell far short of her intention. Content that she was safe--relatively--for the time being, her eyes closed again, and she drifted off to a mercifully dreamless sleep.
When she next opened her eyes, it was to Beryl watching her through the barrier. A servant woman, frightened seeming but otherwise nondescript, stood trembling beside her.
“I’ve decided to show some mercy to you, though you refuse to give yourself to me.” The red-haired woman gestured to the servant beside her. “You are going to be cleaned. I’m sure you must be absolutely miserable, not having gotten to wash in two weeks.” Beryl smiled, a look of beneficence that seemed wrong on her usually cruel features.
The barrier was changed slightly to allow the servant to cross in, though Ami still could not feel the water beyond. Brushes and small alcohol wipes were all the trembling woman carried, not enough water to provide her any relief, much less power.
Yet, suddenly, there was a source of water that she could reach. A source that was moving towards her and would soon be in physical contact. She turned, with some effort, to see Beryl smirking as she watched. No wonder the servant was terrified, she was meant to be a sacrifice.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Ami forced herself away from the temptation, and (had she the ability to do so) would have cried at the realization that she was tempted. There was enough water there to hydrate her tired body and provide the power to escape her prison, if she dared to take it.
If she did, she would be no better than the woman holding her prisoner.
The scrubbing seemed to take forever. Ami’s nails had dug deep rivets in her dry skin before Beryl carefully extracted the servant from the cell.
“Try not to get too dirty before your cleaning next week.” The red-headed demon smiled, a predator teasing its prey, before she left, taking the servant with her.