Chapter 35

POV of ??

I could hear the clock ticking sounds being etched into my mind. It repeatedly made it's taunting noise while the days repeated itself over and over. 

People continuously entering and leaving. Some never made it out alive in the end. Especially with their mutilated bodies sprawled on the ground like a carpet.

I sat and waited till the time of horror dawned in on me. It marked the end of my day. How many times was it now? I've seemed to have lost track of time. Even with the help of my sketches on the wall. I should count them again.

I saw a whip at the corner of my eye being taken out from its case. I waited till the iron bars slid into the right of the wall before turning my back. There was no point in resisting. No matter how many times this happened, the pain was still there. That feeling latched onto my back and made its way to my nerves.

Should I start counting? From where did I start? Right. I know where I started it. From the left side of the room. It should be near that old brown stain. I looked and immediately found it. My first tally mark. I remember scratching that on the wall as a meaningless attempt at rebellion.

I could still remember the feeling. With my nails cracked and the skin of my finger torn apart by the harsh surface of the wall. Frustration and melancholy drowned him in its blues. Utter solitude.

 I found myself getting lost in the counting while I recalled back memories. Whether they were real or not, I wasn't sure. Once I started to reach the number 145, words started to pierce the inner of my ear. Blood splashed like paint on the messy walls. They mixed well. 

Blood from a filthy forgotten child with walls that were abused. Born and made with perfection, where did things go downhill? A cursed bloodline. A cursed fate.

"I don't know if you're purposely ignoring me but you should come to your senses soon." Killan stated while he wiped his sweat with his sleeves, placing down his whip. He then reached into his pocket, in search of a hair tie.

I looked back to see a man with void-like eyes. He seemed familiar, what was his name? I remembered it like it was yesterday when I had thought of the same exact question. It starts with a K and ends with an n. 

255,260,265. I continued. I felt like I had forgotten a task. What was it? Argh. The same voice making its way into my mind. Would it stop? I'm...tired.

"I hear you." I replied to the man, not looking away. 

"That took 15 minutes." Killan stated, adding a sigh to the end of his sentence. He glanced out from the small room and looked at his lord sitting on his throne comfortably. He walked out, not bothering to lock back the metal cage. 

"What made you come out? You aren't done with your usual session." Draven asked, his eyes lit. 

Kilan glanced back at the small cage. "I think we should stop. He seems to be unstable." he paused, " It would also be fine to start the training session earlier." 

"How long has it been? Giving up now?" Draven questioned, tapping on the table with his fingers. Tap,tap. Pause. Tap, tap. Pause. Tap,tap,tap.

"He seems to have lost his mind already. Any more physical or mental torture might even affect his swordsmanship skills you favour so much."

That gave Draven quite the reaction. He looked up to the ceiling and stayed like that. For a few minutes, immersed in his thoughts.

"Close the gate. I'll train him from tomorrow onwards." Draven gave his final confirmation with both his eyes closed. Head rested on his chair.

"I'll take my leave after I'm done. I need to get back to the office and deal with those kids." Killan rubbed his temples while he slotted his weapon back into its original position. Closing the door behind him. And he left. Silent as ever.

"767 days." Both of them said, Their voices resonated with each other. 

Silence filled the air. I stood up and heard chains following after my sound. I forgot it was there. I turned back. I used my index finger and scratched another line. I could see my nail being crushed by the pressure. 

Fake it till you make it, they said. Even if I convince myself to forget. I won't. This bloody curse. A stained disgusting bloodline. It was meant to be a gift from god to its favourite products. Blueblood. Aristocracy. 

How did they end up as mere slaves? Maybe it was because my mother was incompetent. Falling in the hands of the enemy, naming it as 'true love'. 

Was the form of abuse I saw was what they named as true love? Abandonment and neglect? If so, people must be brainless and blind. Why would they want such misfortune to befall upon them?

I took a step from the wall and realized what I had just created. All the lines connected. Straight hair of a woman reached the floor. Her gentle and compassionate eyes that enchanted people. Her tan and rough hands showed her commitment in the long harsh lessons of swordsmanship. But she gave it all up. For someone. The one who caused her downfall and her kingdom.

"You have an incredible memory along with a talent for acting. If only you were born in the right generation, you would've made an amazing actor. Such a shame." Draven mocked.

"What do you want?" I asked, not holding back my aggression towards him. 

"I've told you multiple times before. I want you to be one of my cores. My eyes and hands. My loyal fiend."

My eyes trailed every line of the drawing I had made. It was very..pretty. 

"If I do, what will I receive in return?" I asked, biting my finger and getting blood out. Dragging my finger along the lines of the drawing's hair. It dripped down and made a mess of the masterpiece. Her beautiful face deformed, it puffed and wrinkled. Her rough hands inflated like a balloon. She turned into one.

"Isabella's sword."