90 Prisoner (Part 1)

Accounts of Ashlen, unknown location, October 2017

Drip.

Where am I?

I hear a single droplet colliding with a pool of liquid. A drop of water, a droplet of blood, collecting into a bucket full to the brim. Another drop whoops before hitting, adding to the contents of the tin, rippling and spilling over. A chimera of liquid tinkling around marble halls. Infinite. Infinite echoing hallways.

Drip.

A bathroom, am I on a bathroom floor? It's so cold, colder than it should be and it's filthy.

I make an effort to rise, my thighs scratch along dirt and stone. I grunt, it takes a lot of effort. I'm parched, so thirsty it's uncomfortable. Everything aches. I feel brittle as if I'm on the verge of disintegration.

Drip.

The discomfort is only dulled by the confusion and overwhelming fatigue. It feels like I'm suffering from a brutal hangover. I'm so groggy, my limbs are solid like lead, rusted at the hinges. I can barely move.

Something is tickling my face. What is this? I don't like it. Wet feathers brushing my arms and legs. I force my eyes open to darkness. There's scarcely a shred of light. Even with my improved night vision it's difficult to see.

Drip.

I feel something crawling along my cheek. My nose itches, is there something inside it? Bugs? Spiders!

I yelp weakly as my throat is horribly dry, huffing dusty air out my nose to rid whatever is in it. I end up pathetically whimpering as I throw my heavy hands over my face like the useless dead extensions of myself that they are. Hardly functioning but more or less shaking the creepy crawlies off. I'd have a heart attack if my heart hadn't already stopped, just kill me now!

I rock with all my dwindling energy in a panic, my stomach clenches and my breaths rasp. The rattle of chains pang the ground and jangle against each other.

"Be still, Petite. The insects cannot harm you," a familiar yet hoarse voice calls, like bells buried in sand.

"June," I croak, "Is that you?"

My head feels like a bowling ball as I lift it to peer through the massive room, not a room, a cavern. This must be a cave.

Perched against the jagged wall is Juniper. Her head hangs heavily, black hair draped like curtains in front of her face. It's tousled over her arms and pooling on the dingy floor in spirals. Her arms and legs are motionless as if she's some kind of broken marionette.

"What's going on?" I rasp, "Where are we?"

My vision and hearing are beginning to clear. The brain fog is lifting but the crushing fatigue remains. So damn stiff, it's like Medusa worked her stone curse on me!

The skittering of tiny paws paired with soft squeaks causes me to curl in disgust. Rats too? Sickening…

I watch a group of greasy furred rodents hug the wall by Juniper with sore, dry eyes. Their whiskers bounce as they scent the air. They pace the wall, scurrying about in search of something edible, a few rear on their hind legs then back on all fours working up the courage to go near June's stagnant frame.

One brave rat creeps over to the palm of June's limp hand, nose twitching as it sniffs along. He jolts away then back again as if to weigh the risk.

The animal squeals with an ear piercing cry as June snatches the thing in her fist like a carnivorous plant. I twitch rather than jump at the suddenness of it. The black furry thing squirms in her grip, ugly bald tail whipping around as it continues screaming.

The pack of rats scatter, squeaking and crying out in alarm. Their appliffied little pulses like woodpeckers drilling into the side of my head causing a debilitating migraine. Air forces through June's mouth in a horrid low twist as she crushes the rat to her mouth and chomps down on its spine.

She hastily slurps, crunching the bones of the diseased animal. I can't stop myself from audibly expressing my own aversion as my face twists in revulsion. Disgust and horror that my own mouth is watering for its dirty pinch of blood. The flesh wound is a fragrant burst that makes me realize I'm legitimately starving. My whole body seems to lean into its tiny heartbeat that reaches a climax speed and then… Nothing but the agony of silent famine.

The rat, stiffened and empty as taxidermy, clatters to the floor with her heavy hand. She breathes out roughly with visible relief. Heat flees the lifeless rodent corpse; drained, cold and rigid. Dead. Similar to how I'm feeling, except my skull is pounding with need and my stomach seems to be eating itself.

"Catch one if the opportunity presents itself," June pants out the suggestion, her frail tongue grabbing the morsels at the corner of her mouth, "it offers slight mitigation."

"Are we going to die?" I whisper.

There's a pause before my answer, "...I don't know."

I take a ragged breath, "I'm scared, June," I feel one painful tear leak out of my face, "I… I don't want…"

"Shhh, Shhh," Juniper attempts to sooth with soft hushes, one eye peeking like a twinkling sapphire beyond her mask of hair, she sends a lethargic wave of calm to me, "There, there."

I attempt to crawl to her which feels impossible and then become aware of the extra weight keeping me in place. I've been shackled and chained to the floor, and June is practically mounted to the wall.

"I've made quite a mess dragging you into this," she conveys dejectedly as my eyes widen, drilling into her. I've heard this before. I know what her next line is and mouth the apology along with her, "I'm so very sorry."

I tremble, my chilling visions are playing out. But where are the wall torches and robed figures? These visions are a sick joke. Was all of it leading to my impending finale?

'Don't think like that, Ashlen. You have crazy, ruthless June with you. She's lived for at least a hundred years, someone like that isn't just going to roll over and die.'

"We'll get out of here," I swallow, unsure of my own statement and squeak out, "right?"

I hear another drip instead of an answer.

I clear my dry throat to no avail, "Tell me what I need to do."

'Yeah right. I can barely move or even speak. What the hell can *I* do?'

"I'd be surprised if you had the means to stand on your own," she acknowledges my unspoken doubts, not sugarcoating our situation, "Notwithstanding these silver manacles, they've throughly bled us."

Bled us? I guess that explains why I feel like I'm about to crumble and wither away at any given moment. And why I'm so excruciatingly hungry.

So what then, we just wait for our captures to finish us off?

A complex series of locks scrape and rotate on cue of the dreaded thought. An old metal gate groans as it moves aside. I attempt to shrink into the floor, but there's nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.

"Little dove," Juniper whispers, staring beyond me, "your mind belongs to you alone, guard your thoughts."

Guard my…? Damn it! I don't know how to block out a mind reader! I wish she kept me blissfully ignorant. Now I'm even more stressed out!

I'm so exhausted and just not strong enough. Honestly, I have no idea what's keeping me alive and conscious right now.

An uncontrollable trepidation causes my body to convulse, 'We are going to die…'

"Ashlen," she's staring at me. An approaching orange light illuminates the harsh line on her sunken face, her cheeks bones are jutting out. Even skeletal and sickly it doesn't entirely corrupt her beauty.

"Be strong," she encourages in her gravelly exhaustion.

I close my eyes, feeling cool dirt and stone press against my cheek.

I'll try. All I can do is try, but it feels so very… hopeless.

Torches flare to life and the walls seem to stretch revealing the spaciousness of the cave. The cultish robes pour in, pale wrists exposed as they reach to ignite the wood stakes protruding from the rocky walls. This seems a tad theatrical.

I might have been strangely fascinated if I didn't feel like absolute crap and scared enough to pee myself. Which speaks volumes because that's not even a function I'm capable of anymore.

Juniper is worse off than I am. Although she's propped against the wall she doesn't have much slack. Silver cuffs are digging into her neck and wrist as she slouches over. That looks dreadfully uncomfortable but she obviously doesn't have the energy to remain upright.

The group drifts in to encircle us, taking their places like mindless spirits. They look like grim reaper impersonators minus the scythes. The cloaks are varying dark colors, rich yet plain fabric, all free of embroidery or buttons.

Most of them have hoods hung well over their head, creating a black hole where a face should be.

The ceiling is low, some of the taller ones nearly brush the bumpy rocks above their heads. Rusted iron devices are scattered haphazardly about. I suspect one of the objects to be a retired mining cart, it's missing a wheel or two.

They scarcely make a sound. Only the constant leak plunking it's occasional drop, the whooshing flicker of the torches and my own labored breath in my ears.

I glance to Juniper anxiously for guidance that she's in no position to offer. I'm not sure how long I can stand the suspense before having a melt down. My shallow breaths come faster.

She hasn't moved, still dipped forward and leaning into her restraints. Her face is mostly obscured but I swear I see the faintest smirk painting that roguish mouth of hers.

I locate the source of my amplifying fear. I want to vanish into the rocky floor as the presence nears. Heels deliberately clack on the stone, I feel the vibration beneath my haggard body. The touch of heels has perfect rhythm with identical pressure applied to each step. This unknowable dread rises with every click. The sound fills the cave with perpetual echoes.

*Clack. Clack. Clack.*

Coming closer, coming *closer*. My stomach is flipping inside out.

The silent group grows even more quiet as it nears. Some bow their heads, cowering and freezing over like grotesque ice sculptures. It seems I'm not alone in my anxiety.

The clicking stops and I spot loose fabric ripple in my vision like silk drapes blowing from a balcony window. A gentle wave from the dank breeze swoops in through the unseen entry. Ghostly, hardly a swishing sound of cloth on cloth.

I'm horror-stricken without explanation, there seems to be a weight pressing me into the gritty floor.

She parks right in front of me and I just stare at the toes of her expensive shoes peeking from the skirts. It takes a big dose of courage to lift my gaze.

I scale her lean body until I see a white face peering down at me disdainfully. Slender and hard but almost lost in her storm of orange hair. She has no hood pulled over those rich locks. Brilliant thick hair, stretching out like a setting sun.

And her gaze… it's absolutely terrifying.

Dangerous yet contained like the eye of a hurricane. Her exotic eyes are two black diamonds drawn with artful perfection, abstract raindrops pulling away from each other and separated by the fine slope of her nose.

Abundant lashes fan on display, dark with a hint of that shimmering fire found in the strands of her massive mane.

She's the most breathtaking of the da Vinci painted Madonnas sprung to life. Even the illusion of a sunlight halo spreads in circling rays around her head.

As I gawp I realize it's actually not some trick of the light but glinting decorative spines forming a crown shape. A hairstyle a mystical witch might wear, accessory pins keeping half of her rapunzel-like hair piled loosely on her head.

A nearly flawless angel disguise, but a divine being could never have eyes so cold. No remorse or empathy exists within those hateful depths. The only passion being a festering sadism.

She calculates with shifty pupils, flicking from place to place like alert chameleon eyes. Finally they land on mine. It's like two icicles raining down and slicing in.

Her dark river stone irises begin to radiate, plunging with wide scope and illuminate in dark specks, spreading like a star gone supernova. The deepest of purples and blues. Her irises are disproportionately large and just endless.

The overwhelming infinity of galaxies and nebulas swirling in omega. My breath is stolen from my lungs. I stare, hurtled deeper into a bottomless abyss. I'm terrified, lost and suspended in the void of starry oblivion.

I slump in further collapse, drained when she severs the connection. It's as if she were holding me up by wires with her gaze alone, sucking all the air from the massive room.

A gasp is caught in my throat as those terrible eyes float away. I'm tempted to hyperventilate, it's like I'm suffocating on terror, choking on it.

I feel instant relief as her heels clack forward putting distance between us. She approaches Juniper slowly, that awful power is eking from her. Usually I'm scared for the ones who confront June, but this time, I'm seriously afraid for *her*.