Page 148 of Nocturne

He dragged me out of the cell, his laughter echoing as the dungeon door slammed shut behind us.

* * *

Bapo thought I was useless. He thought because I was a woman, I wasn’t capable of outsmarting him. If he had even an iota of mind in that monstrous head of his, he would have observed that in all the time he had chased me through the forest, I’d never taken the same route twice. He’d have observed that, slowly but steadily, I was getting a lay of their land.

He’d also observed that I could hold my breath underwater for long. Longer than I pretend that I cannot. He’d have seen that I was putting on a show of paranoia whenever he threw me in the lake or chased me through the forest. I was pretending to be scared while I adjusted my body and mind to the surroundings. Hoping that someday, when I escaped, they would come to use.

By the time I was thrown back into my cell, Willow was crumpled on her floor. I could hear her cries, and when I saw her half-naked form and burned flesh, I understood what had happened. The mark is given after the “unsullying” process happens.

In the time I had taken to yet another hopeless chase into the forest, the monsters had come to take yet another soul. Left it in tatters and crying. I couldn’t let her lose her will. I couldn’t see another woman lose her sanity just to make things easy for those bastards.

“You’ll find a pitcher of water in a corner. Drink some and get ready.” I told her.

She rose and looked at me, her red-rimmed eye shining in despair. I don’t see a lot of hope in them, and for some reason, I made it my job to instil the hope back into them.

Maybe it was because she had so vocally stood up to Bapo while he took me away, or maybe because she was concerned that I was here despite her being stuck here, too. We were in that hell together, and we only had each other to rely on.

“For what?” she asked.

“For hell.”

* * *

Things had fallen into a pattern—one no human could ever truly adapt to. Torture had a way of chipping at you until the sharp edges dulled, but they never disappeared entirely. The pain lingered, constant, like an old wound that wouldn’t heal.

But I was glad for Willow.

We both hated that we were there. No one deserved that hell, but having her kept me from completely losing my mind. The men had claimed her like they claimed every woman, and it didn’t take long before she fell pregnant. It seemed to be a mark oftriumph for them. They tested the women regularly, announcing the results like it was some sick victory.

The pregnant ones received different meals. I noticed the food was coated with something that made Willow sleep longer than usual. At least it gave her a few hours of oblivion, though it didn’t erase what they did to her.

They didn’t beat her—not physically. But that didn’t stop them from violating her in every other way imaginable. At first, Willow fought back, kicking, clawing, and spitting. Her fire was relentless, and for a moment, I believed she could burn them. But that place was designed to snuff out fire. Fighting only got her hurt, and she stopped eventually.

We had a pact. If we ever found a sliver of a chance to escape, we had to be physically ready. That meant keeping ourselves alive, eating whatever scraps they gave us, and not wasting strength fighting battles we couldn’t win.

But every time they came for her, I saw it chip away at her soul. And every time Bapo dragged me off for his own twisted purposes, I felt a little more of my own slipping away, too. There were nights I woke up after being drugged, my throat raw from abuse, and I thought about ending it. Just finding a way to stop the endless cycle of pain.

It didn’t mean the hell had become any more bearable—it hadn’t. No one could ever adjust to the scale of depravity that thrived there, all under the guise of serving a higher purpose. But at its core, their actions weren’t about faith; they were about power.

Vir sought to unseat the king, clawing for control. His followers, desperate to elevate themselves from the insignificance they loathed, latched onto his vision like parasites. They wielded theirdominance over women as if it were a divine right, reducing us to tools for their ambitions. The ones they deemed ‘unworthy’—those who failed to meet the twisted criteria of their god—became sacrifices, their suffering a grotesque offering.

To them, we weren’t a threat. We weren’t people. We were expendable. And that, perhaps, was their gravest mistake.

It was one of those nights where Willow and I sat facing each other, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows on the walls. She’d been marked with the second sigil earlier that day, a deep, ugly brand burned into her skin. When she tried to grab the rod and use it as a weapon, they broke her hand.

Someone had patched her up, tying her hand in a makeshift cloth cast and giving her a green concoction that dulled the pain. But it also made her groggy. Her eyelids drooped, her breaths shallow.

We never closed our eyes unless we had no choice. Sleep only came when the food was laced, and we couldn’t afford not to eat. Hunger here was a cruel master, and the lessons for disobedience were unforgettable.

“I have a sister,” Willow murmured suddenly, breaking the silence. “She’s probably losing her shit right now, trying to figure out where I am.”

“Maybe she’s close,” I offered, though I didn’t believe it.

Willow laughed weakly, the sound turning into a hiss of pain as her broken hand shifted. “Don’t lie, kid. You’re laughably easy to read.”

“I don’t think that’s going to work in my favour,” I rested my head on the wall behind me.

“Maybe in a world filled with nothing but goodness, it could be appreciated. But in the world we live in, you have to learn to lie through the teeth, steal without conscience, and survive without guilt.”

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