He gasped in pain.

Blood trickled down his bare back, mingling with the sweat of fear. His blonde hair lay across his face, damp and limp with perspiration. A strand fell into his eyes, and he blinked repetitively, hands uselessly bound to the wooden frame.

"Again."

The prisoner stiffened as the next few seconds stretched out impossibly long. He could hear the whistling of the whip, filling his ears, his mind, his whole consciousness. His eyes stared blankly into space, anticipating what came next.

Liquid fire scorched his back, a thousand needles tearing his flesh. He cried out, his body spasming uncontrollably. Darkness threatened his vision, almost fainting there and then. Slowly, the pain dimmed from a roaring fire to a constant throbbing, and he gasped for breath, his chest straining his back painfully.

Coolly, the figure in a finely tailored shift got down from his perch.

"We had enough, yet, elf?" He leaned in closer, to study his victim closer. such a spirit, he thought. What fun.

Eyes a startling green focused on him, mute rage glazing them.

"No."

The interrogator laughed. It was a cold, hollow sound. He leaned in, his breath tickling the elf's cheek. "If you do not comply, there will soon be another. We have someone hunting her as we speak."

The victim's eyes widened, and for the first time, the man in the silk shirt saw fear in them. "No... Tamia!" The victim wrenched at his bonds helplessly.

"You bastard... leave her alone!"

The interrogator laughed again, the sound echoeing through the stone room.