An hour passed.

A guard approached the cell, carrying a wooden tray.

He was a large man and had a thick beard and tired eyes.

He slid the tray through the gaps between the iron bars.

There was bread, a hunk of cheese and a pitcher of water.

It was decent food. Far better than the slop at the slave market.

"Eat," the guard said. His voice was gruff, but not unkind.

Marcus crawled over to the tray. He broke the bread in half.

He handed the larger piece to the girl.

"Here," he said.

The girl took it. She took a small, delicate bite.

Marcus looked at the guard. The man was leaning against the wall opposite their cell.

He wasn't leaving. He was stationed there.

"Why is the food good?" Marcus asked. He took a sip of water.

The guard looked at him. There was pity in his eyes. Genuine, deep pity.

"The Lady..." the guard paused. He looked toward the stairs to make sure he was alone.

"The Lady likes her toys to be healthy," the guard said quietly. "If you are weak, you break too fast."

Marcus felt his stomach churn. He put the bread down.

"She wants us to last," Marcus realized.

"Aye," the guard said. He looked at the floor. "She does."

"How long?" Marcus asked. "How long do people usually last down here?"

The guard hesitated. He shifted his weight.

"Depends," he said. "The adults... a few weeks. Maybe a month if they are stubborn."

"And the children?" Marcus whispered.

The guard winced. He looked away. He couldn't meet Marcus's eyes.

"They break faster," he muttered. "But she tries to keep them longer. She likes them more."

Marcus felt a surge of rage. It was hot and blinding.

"You just watch?" Marcus snapped. "You stand here and watch her do it?"

The guard's face hardened. But the pity remained.

"I have a family," the guard said.

"If I leave, she will hunt me down.

If I try to escape alone, she will come for my family.

If I try to stop her, she might put me in the cell like you two."

He pointed a thumb at the bars.

"I do my job. I feed you. I keep watch. That is all."

He turned away. He refused to speak more.

Marcus looked at the girl. She was eating her cheese.

She chewed slowly. Methodically.

She didn't seem to care about the conversation. She didn't seem to care about her fate.

Marcus picked up his bread. He forced himself to take a bite.

It tasted like sawdust. But he swallowed it.

He needed to be strong. He needed to find a way out.

For his own sake. And maybe for the little girl's as well.

He looked at the heavy lock. He looked at the thick bars.

He looked at the guard's sword.

Maybe if he lured the guard close...

Maybe if he feigned illness...

His thoughts were interrupted by a sound.

It came from above. From the upper floors.

It started as a low whimper. Then it grew.

It became a scream.

It was a sound of pure agony.

High-pitched. Raw. Terrifying.

It pierced through the stone ceiling. It echoed down the spiral staircase.

It filled the damp air of the dungeon.

Marcus flinched violently. He dropped his bread.

His heart slammed against his ribs. His breath caught in his throat.

It was a child.

There was no mistaking the timbre of the voice. It was a young child.

The scream went on and on. It rose and fell in waves of pain.

Then it stopped abruptly.

Then it started again. Louder. More desperate.

"No! Please! No more!"

The words were faint, muffled by the stone, but they were audible.

Marcus pressed his hands over his ears. He wanted to block it out.

But he couldn't. The sound was inside his head.

He looked at the guard.

The man hadn't moved. He stood like a statue. His face was pale, but he stared straight ahead.

He was used to it.

"What is happening?" Marcus gasped. He scrambled to the bars. "Who is that?"

The guard looked at him. His eyes were dead.

"The second floor," the guard said. "She started early tonight."

"Is that... is that Elowen?" Marcus asked.

"Aye," the guard said. "She likes to warm up on the older stock before she visits the new ones."

The screaming changed pitch. It turned into a gargling sob.

"Why?" Marcus pleaded. "Why is she doing this?"

"Entertainment," the guard said simply.

"She gets bored. She likes to see what happens when you push a body past its limit.

She just loves to see others in pain. To see them scream. To break their minds.

To her this isn't wrong. To her this thing is similar to normal people satisfying themselves."

He looked at Marcus. He gestured vaguely upward.

"That one up there? It is a girl. Maybe three or four years old. She has been here for two years.

Elowen seems to be fascinated with her. Even I haven't seen the girl myself, but I heard she is... kinda special."

Two years. A four year old.

Marcus felt bile rise in his throat.

"She keeps her alive?" Marcus whispered.

"She has healers," the guard explained. "She hurts them. Then she heals them. Then she hurts them again. Until their mind breaks beyond repair."

The guard leaned closer to the bars. His voice dropped to a whisper.

He looked at the girl in the corner.

"The girl is pristine. The Lady will want to see how long it takes to make her scream like that."

Marcus turned to look at the girl.

She sat perfectly still. Her hands were folded in her lap.

Her head was tilted slightly to the side. As if she was listening to a distant melody.

Her expression was blank.

There was no fear. No horror. No tears.

She just listened.

The screaming above reached a crescendo. It sounded like something tearing.

Marcus trembled. He backed away from the bars.

He retreated to the corner of the cell.

He curled into himself. He wrapped his arms around his knees.

He had been in dangerous situations before. He had faced death.

But this was different.

This wasn't a battle. This wasn't a plot twist.

This was cruelty. Pure, unadulterated cruelty.

He was helpless. He was locked in a box while a monster sharpened her knives upstairs.

And tomorrow, she would come for them.

The scream cut off into a sudden, ominous silence.

Marcus waited for it to start again.

But there was only the drip of water. And the ragged sound of his own breathing.

He looked at the girl again.

She turned her head slowly. Her black eyes met his.

Marcus shuddered.

He realized then that he wasn't just afraid of Elowen.

He was afraid of the girl sitting next to him.

Because while he was falling apart with terror, she looked like she was simply waiting for her turn.

And she didn't look worried at all.

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