Page 3 of Chains of Nightshade

Tap. Tap. Tap. Like a timekeeper marking the endless stretch of my captivity.

I lean my head back against the cold wall, my scales rasping against the stone. The magical barriers they've placed around this chamber pulse with a sickening light, casting shadows that dance across my prison.

"Centuries." I bare my fangs at the darkness. "You think you've broken me? You think this pit will hold me forever?" My laughter echoes off the walls, hollow and bitter. "I am Aurel. I've watched empires rise and fall. And when I get out of here..."

The chains rattle as I shift, testing them for the millionth time. "You'll learn what true vengeance means."

A flicker of energy brushes against my senses, so faint I almost dismiss it as another hallucination. But no—there's definitely something there. Someone. Above me, moving through the mansion's corridors with faltering steps.

My tongue flicks out, tasting the air. Human. Female. The magical signature is barely a whisper, like a candle flame about to sputter out.

"Well, well." I shift in my chains, stretching my awareness upward. "What do we have here?"

The presence pauses, and I catch fragments of emotion—despair, resignation, a bone-deep weariness that makes my lip curl.

I close my eyes, focusing on that weak thread of energy. She's carrying something, moving slowly. A servant then. The dark elves always did prefer human slaves for their menial tasks.

"Broken thing," I murmur, probing deeper with my magic. The binding spells crackle in warning, but I've learned to work around their edges. "So close to giving up. So ready to fade away."

Perfect. The corners of my mouth lift in a sharp smile. After centuries of failed attempts, maybe what I need isn't strength or complex magic. Maybe what I need is someone small. Someonedesperate. Someone who can slip through the cracks my captors have overlooked.

My coils shift against the cold stone, scales scraping as I process this unexpected discovery. "How the fuck can I sense her from down here?" The binding spells should block all magical connections, yet somehow...

I press my palms against the wall, extending my magical awareness upward. The chains burn in warning, but I ignore them. This connection, though faint, feels different from anything I've encountered in centuries of imprisonment.

"Magic." The word tastes like possibility on my tongue. "But not dark elf magic. Something..." My fingers trace the wall, following the thread of energy. "Something raw. Untapped."

A cold smile splits my face as possibilities unfold in my mind. The dark elves, in their arrogance, must have missed it. They see humans as nothing but tools, too weak to possess real power. But I know better. I've seen what desperate humans can do when pushed to their limits.

"Poor little thing." I laugh softly, tasting her despair in the air. "Ready to give up. Ready to die." My tongue flicks out, catching more of her essence. "But you might have one last use, hmm?"

The chains rattle as I shift position, focusing my concentration. If I can just reach her mind... make her aware of me...

"And if you prove useless?" I bare my fangs at the darkness. "Well, what's one more broken human in this cursed place?"

My tail slides across the floor as I consider the possibilities. The dark elves would never suspect such a weak creature. They probably barely notice her existence.

"Come closer, little mouse," I whisper, though she can't hear me. Not yet.

The energy signature moves away, but I memorize its feel. I'll find it again. I'll have to be careful—humans are fragile things, easily spooked. But with the right words, the right promises...

I bare my fangs in the darkness. "Finally. A way out."

3

VERA

The brush scrapes against stone, back and forth, back and forth. My knees press into the hard floor, sending dull aches through my legs. Not that it matters. Nothing really matters anymore.

"You missed a spot." The cook's voice cuts through my daze. "Right there, by the hearth."

I drag myself across the floor, my arms trembling with the effort. The weight of the brush feels heavier with each passing moment. Water sloshes from my bucket, creating new puddles I'll have to clean.

"Worthless girl." The cook stirs something in a large pot. "Can't even clean properly."

Cook has been preparing food in the kitchen since dawn, and I've been cleaning the workspace before then. I don't mind the dark, when the world is quiet and numb. It's the only time when I feel safe.

Two human servants enter the kitchen, their boots tracking mud across my half-cleaned floor. They don't spare me a glance as they grab their morning meals.

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