Despite the obvious difference in their height, currently they were almost face to face. He watched her, his sharp and hyper-clear sight picking up on her tiny pores, the translucent drop of sweat on her brow, and the softness of her small lips as she tightened and relaxed them.
He’d thought her eyes were the same as Wren’s, but they actually appeared icier in their blue, like the top of a frozen lake.
They were an odd contrast to her wavy hair, which appeared as though it was warm like the sun, streaked with bright orange and dark red. He was sure he’d seen many dusks and dawns cast such colours across the sky and clouds.
Her face was dirty though, since she had dark spots all over it. She needed a bath more than he did, and that was saying a lot coming from a Mavka whose own blood was clumping against his body.
His sight followed her as she picked up her bucket and shoved the arrows into it. Then she bashed on the door to be freed, stating she was done.
“The Duskwalker is still dirty.” The guard chuckled.
“If Wren thinks I’m going to wash him while his chest is open like that, tell her I’ll take a knife to my throat. She also didn’t tell me to. Now move.”
The male tsked behind his mask. “Fine.”
Then she was gone, leaving him alone with the scribbler.
She never got to see his chest closing up an hour later, nor how he writhed to free himself now that his strength had fully returned.
Ingram did wonder if she heard his bellowing and restrengthened roars reverberating through this wretched stronghold.
He hoped it gave them all nightmares for the rest of their days, which he intended to make short once he was freed from his bonds.
Ingram watched his unwanted companion as she used her mop to clean the edges of the room, only daring to come closer when she had to.
More of his blood had puddled around his knees from when they’d rotated him from lying on his back to kneeling once more.
The day after her last visit, they’d brought the doctor back, along with the teasing scents of dawn and fresh air clinging to their clothing. Since they couldn’t remove his organs without them disappearing, they’d decided the best course of action was to play with them while they were still attached.
He’d cursed them more the second time. He’d spent the entire course of their hands-on exploration telling them how he was going to kill them, eat them, take out their insides, and let them watch as he played with them instead.
He’d been left alone after that.
Ingram had been annoyed they hadn’t sent this female to him, so he could distract himself while he sat in suffering.
Only after his torso had healed the next day, was she brought inside – once more wielding a mop and bucket. He only knew what they were called, as she’d asked for them to be cleaned before she continued.
He was learning much from them: new words and tools, as well as what parts of his body were called.
Her name was Emerie. He had no idea if it meant anything, like his name did.
She is no longer wary about looking at me, he thought, despite knowing she still chose not to for whatever reason.
At least her gaze wasn’t filled with… sympathy this time. Wait, that may not be true. He still noted crinkles of it in her eyes, but it wasn’t as intense as the first time she was put in this room to clean it.
Perhaps it was because he was no longer visibly wounded.
He was healed, he was strong, and he fought to free himself as he did every moment he was trapped. If it weren’t for the coiling rope over every limb, including his waist and shoulders, he was sure he could have ripped a limb from himself so he could escape.
Ingram would have removed his own head if given the chance, so that he could heal his complete body later. He would have been free then, instead of… this.
Emerie looked more rested than the last time he’d seen her, but her features often tightened and grew exhausted before she regained some kind of will. Like when she slapped the mop head right at the puddle around his knees.
He let out a deep, rumbling growl.
“Oh, quiet you,” she bit out, her blue eyes darting from her task to his skull. “Growl and snarl, and have a tantrum all you like, but I have to do this.”
Ingram did, in fact, quieten. He tried to tilt his head, his sight threatening to shift dark yellow. Instead, it remained crimson, and he was beginning to forget what the purple colour of his usual sight looked like.
He hadn’t seen it in days, instead only seeing the red of his anger, the blue of his sadness, and the white of his fear and pain.
“Why even bother cleaning the ground when I will only dirty it later?” he asked with a snarl, his voice holding a treble bass like usual. “It is pointless.”
She flinched, likely unsure as to why he’d even spoken to her. Other than his incoherent rage gargles from when they cut him open, the only person he’d willingly spoken to was her.
This was only the second time.
But Ingram wanted to know what the point of all of this was. Why bother cleaning at all? Let there be a sea of his blood on the floor. He wanted it to stick to the bottom of their shoes, so they could remember him wherever they went, remember what they’d done to him. And, when he finally came for them, why he was rending them in two.
Her pale-pink lips hardened into a thin line before she released them. She eventually sighed. “It’s not like I want to do this,” she whispered. “I don’t want any part of this.”
“And yet here you are, aiding it,” he answered, aiming to unnerve her. He jerked forward so he could jostle his chains – wishing they would break so he could fall upon her. Other than a twitch on her cheek, she made no other reaction. “You watch, just as the others watch.”
She had been present the day before, standing there while they pressed their fingers into him the second time. He had not seen her face, but her scent had been there. At least, that was before his nose had clogged with his own blood that had poured from every orifice in his skull!
“I don’t want to,” she grumbled, turning her face away from him as she cleaned her mop in the bucket so she could continue. “You probably won’t believe me, but I’m against what they’re doing to you. It’s wrong. No creature deserves this.”
She is lying. She had to be lying.
She had a choice to be in this room with him, to follow their orders, to be a part of this terrible human army. She had chosen to be here, and therefore, had chosen to allow this to happen to him.
All these humans had chosen to be despicable, vile creatures.
They have no right to call me a monster. And he was tired of them calling him that.
“If that were true,” he started quietly, his tone as dark as possible, “then you would have freed me. You would not have allowed it to happen again.”
Her head dipped, and her shoulders slumped.
“I would have tried to, if I knew it would be successful.” She looked upon him once more, this time with a hardness in her icy eyes. “But it won’t be. Removing your chains and rope would be easy enough, but you would only find yourself right back where you are. The hallways are small, and you don’t know the way out. They’ll find a new way to trap you.”
“Do you think I would let myself be caught a second time?” He asked this, but he understood the reality more than she did.