She whirled around. Green eyes scanned her surroundings, trying to penetrate the pitch black darkness, while hands gesticulated wildly in front of her, as if a defense from an upcoming attack.
Minutes passed and nothing happened, but that did not calm Ariana. Her breathing became more ragged, the fever which had not so long ago released her, held her in its clutches once more. Mouth dry, she tried to swallow, but found that she was unable to do so.
She was not alone. Why was she not alone?
Still as a statue, Ariana waited. She leaned against the cool stone wall, closing her eyes. Cold, how wonderfully cold was the wall-
Ariana screamed. Her shriek cut through the silence as blade might through flesh; the whole chamber resonated with the sound, echoing it back towards her.
A cloth was looped around her neck. Rough in touch, it cut her off from air which she soon so desperately needed. Her attacker stood silently behind her, having caught her by the wrists.
Seconds lapsed as she tried to free herself, but found that she couldn’t. Her assailant’s grip became stronger, the fabric left her with less and less air. Airana couldn’t breathe, she was suffocating.
Scenes before her eyes, a flood of them. Blood, blood everywhere. Not always her own, not always spilt by accident. And people. Faces appeared in front of her, only to blur and dissolve, leaving her with nothing again.
The material around her neck grew more taught, the coarse cloth a blistering, ever tightening rope.
Sounds. Laughter? Whose? Siena’s? Lesander’s? And smells. Death smelled like mint to her.
Ariana knew that she would die; she knew that from the moment she had been thrown in here, into this cold, damp cell with no windows. Deprived of sunlight and at the mercy of the watery, tasteless gruel that was called food, she withered, just as a flower might wilt in unfavorable conditions.
How many years was it? How much time had lapsed since all this had started? Was it worth it?
No, no it wasn’t.
Air. She desperately needed air, frantically holding on to what was let of her life. The looming over her walls seemed to enclose upon her; fire blazed in her chest and throat. Blood pulsated in her ears, pounding a rhythmical beat. Loud, so loud, it sealed her consciousness, cutting her off from anything else.
Her lips parted, as if wanting to say something, but not a sound could be heard. They closed again, a cold, lifeless stare in their stead.
Ariana of Saindon was dead
***
The door opened.
“Done,” said the man, closing it behind him. He was clad just as any other guard, the Tower’s insignia on his sky blue uniform. He smiled brightly at the guards stationed at the cell and left, aware and yet oblivious to the stares that followed him.
...That was unexpected.
