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please don't close your eyes ... (pt. 2 E L I A N S)


“Did they do it to you?”


His hand was fumbling over the knob. The torture, she means, the hours of relentless, never-ending torture with no hope, no ability to keep time, nothing but pain, days of it, weeks of it, years of it. The hallucinations, the apparitions, the thoughts of suicide, the endless tears — the big bed and faked escape, the black-fire knives and the wrist-biting manacles, the whip (no, don’t think about the whip), the spiked mace — the words Sam’s uncle had hissed in her ear that made her sob so desperately —

“How do you think I was bitten?”

The blue eyes he lays on her steal her breath, he thoughts, her heartbeat.

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