The Cold Dawn

Elian woke to a dull, throbbing pain coursing through his body. Every breath felt like a struggle, each inhale burning his throat as if he had swallowed shards of glass.

His mind was sluggish, a haze of fragmented memories and nightmares blurring together into a suffocating fog.

He kept his eyes closed, hoping, if only for a moment, that it was all just a terrible dream. But the cold, damp sheets beneath him, stained with sweat and other fluids, were all too real.

He lay still, afraid to move, to feel the full extent of the damage that had been done. His body was a battlefield, and the wounds were too fresh, too deep, for him to fully comprehend.

The events of the night before were a blur of pain and fear, of forced submission and silent screams. Lord Cedric's voice echoed in his mind, the cruel words and twisted promises lashing at him like a whip.

"You're mine now... I intend to make the most of our time together."