Page 87 of Rescuing Sophia

But there’s no escape from the darkness. It becomes a livingthing, wrapping itself around me, squeezing tighter with every breath I take.

I try to keep my mind from unraveling, to remind myself that this is just another of Malfor’s tactics—a calculated effort to break me. But knowledge does nothing to ease the terror.

When sleep finally comes, it is fitful and broken. The silence is oppressive, the darkness absolute, swallowing me whole. My dreams are filled with Luke’s cries and the hollow sound of Malfor’s voice, a taunting whisper that follows me even in the depths of unconsciousness.

Each day, the routine is the same. The door creaks open, and the sudden burst of light blinds me. Malfor’s shadow looms in the doorway, his eyes cold and empty as he beckons me out of the cell.

My body protests as I force myself to stand, muscles stiff and sore from the previous day’s torment. But there is no time to recover. No respite. He drags me from the room, his grip unyielding, and forces me back into the cruel world he controls.

The task is always the same—approach the wall. My collar buzzes as I near, a low hum that quickly intensifies into sharp, biting shocks. I try to brace myself for the pain, but it’s impossible. Each step sends a fresh wave of agony through my body until I’m trembling, my legs barely holding me upright.

Malfor watches, his expression one of detached amusement as I struggle. His voice, calm and collected, cuts through the haze of pain.

“You know what to do. You can’t stop until you touch the wall.”

But I can’t. I can’t bear the escalating pain, the shocks that feel like fire searing through my nerves. My legs give out, and I collapse to the ground, gasping for breath, tears streaming down my face.

“Pathetic,” Malfor mutters, but he doesn’t let me stop. Not until he’s satisfied that I’ve been sufficiently broken for the day. Then, he drags me back to the cell, tossing me inside like a discarded toy, and locks me in the darkness once more.

The cycle repeats day after day.

Each day, I brace myself for the agony, but it’s a battle I loseevery time. The collar buzzes as I approach the wall; its hum is a cruel whisper of what’s to come.

The shocks start as a sharp sting, then quickly escalate, turning my nerves into live wires. The pain is blinding, each step a monumental effort as my body convulses in protest. I grit my teeth, trying to push through, but my legs buckle, and I collapse before I can reach the wall.

Malfor watches, arms crossed, his gaze cold and unfeeling.

“Again.” His voice is a whip that lashes my spirit.

He never lets me rest or gives me time to recover. He drags me back to the starting point, and I try again, and again, and again, until my body is trembling, soaked in sweat, and my vision blurs with tears.

Days blend together, a relentless cycle of pain and failure. Each time I fall, Malfor’s sneer deepens, his disappointment palpable, but he doesn’t let me quit. Not until he decides I’ve suffered enough for the day, and he throws me back into the darkness of my cell.

Slowly, something shifts in me, a tiny ember of defiance that refuses to be extinguished. I brace myself differently, mentally fortifying myself against the pain. I focus on the wall, forcing every ounce of willpower into my legs, driving them forward even as the shocks sear through my body.

The pain is excruciating, but I fight through it, each step a victory in itself. Then, one day, something incredible happens.

I touch the wall.

My hand, trembling and raw, presses against the rough surface. Agonizing shocks still pulse through the collar, but I hold my ground, refusing to let the pain drag me down. Tears stream down my face, but they are tears of triumph.

Tears of joy.

I did it.

I finally did it.

Malfor’s gaze sharpens as he steps forward, studying me with approval. A twisted smile curls his lips as he reaches into his coat and pulls out a small scrap of fabric. He tosses it at my feet.

“Congratulations.” His voice drips with condescension, but I don’t care. “You’ve earned this.”

I stare at the cloth for a moment until the realization sinks in. He’s offering me a reward. A small scrap of clothing, a pitiful token in exchange for the torment I’ve endured. But in this hellish existence, even this scrap feels like a victory.

I reach down, my fingers closing around the fabric, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I have something to cover myself with.

It’s a small, pitiful comfort, but it’s mine. I wrap it around my body, feeling the rough texture against my skin. It doesn’t hide much, barely covering my chest and shoulders, but it’s more than I’ve had since this nightmare began.

Malfor watches with a satisfied smirk. “Don’t get used to it,” he warns, his tone sharp. “Clothing is a privilege. One misstep, and I’ll take it away again.”

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