It’s not enough.
“More,” I growl.
The witch grins, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. “You’ve had enough.”
“No, more.” I lunge at her, but the chains snap, biting into my wrists and ankles, jerking me back. I can’t even reach the metal bars that cage me like a feral animal on display.
Pain slices through me, sharp and insistent—reminding me of everything I have endured. But it barely registers compared to the fire raging in my throat. It consumes everything.
I need more blood. It’s all I can think about.
I need it or I’ll die.
But death is what I want. I want to die.
I don’t remember why. Just that death will be a welcome escape.
From the pain. The world. The torment.
Pain, death, blood, kill.
The words float around in my head until I can’t remember which one I want more or which one I’m supposed to care about.
Blood, no death…I want death. Please, let me die.
A vial of clear liquid is held out to me, “Drink this.”
I stare at the container. “Why?”
I can sense others here, other than the female witch who has been with me day and night since I arrived. But I can’t make out their faces, their scent, nothing about them. I know I have family, friends, people I used to care about, but I can’t remember any of them.
“It will cure you.”
Cure—the word bounces around in my head with very little meaning. Cure isn’t possible. Even if it was, I want death. I choose death.
I swat the drink from the witches hand. Magic catches the glass vial before it hits the ground. The witch waves her hand and the vial floats back into her hands.
Pain radiates through my back as a whip controlled by magic strikes me, splitting my back open.
I fall to my knees, bracing myself for the endless strikes that I know are coming.
One lash…my body twitches.
I brace harder.
Two…I grind my teeth together to keep the growl from escaping.
Three…it erupts out of me regardless.
“Why are you doing this? You can just force him to drink the cure,” comes a female voice, one I recognize in the deepest part of my brain.
I should care about her. I know I should, but I don’t. I don’t care about anyone anymore.
My life is pain, kill, blood, death. Those four words are all I care about anymore.
“What fun would that be? Besides, I need him to agree to taking the cure when this is all over. It’s not a one time thing. I need his cooperation,” the witch says.
I laugh at the next strike.