Birddddy

I'M GOING TO DIE out here. Snow-the soft, fluffy kind that melts on contact-seeps between my bare toes as I stumble blindly through the dense forest. My lungs are pumping air faster than my legs can make ground, but I don't slow. I don't stop. My ragged dress swishes against my busted up knees, mopping up some of the watery blood running in rivulets down my calves. I've lost count of how many times I tripped and fell and got up again, the terrain as foreign to me as it is dangerous.

And seemingly never-ending.With my heart hammering against my rib cage, it's nearly impossible to hear anything over my thundering pulse. The air feels like it's thinning and I can't catch my breath, my vision squeezing into tiny pin-pricks as the little holes burned into my retinas begin to fade, finally adjusting to being outside. The sun doesn't even seem to be out, and yet it's so bright, so glaring. Like the world's been lit up from the inside out, coming from all directions, and with nowhere to escape it. Just keep going, I tell myself. Just a bit farther. Somewhere, a crow caws, followed by a loud whoop! Terror grips me, and I freeze, halting in place. Legs spread, knees wobbling, arms thrown out at my sides as I swing my head every which way, wildly looking about. Pine trees the size of which I've never seen before surround me from all sides, towering so high they nearly blot out the snow-swollen gray sky. I can't have been out here long, but time doesn't seem to want to work the way it should these days. Seconds feel like hours, and hours feel like years... And then other times, like now, a blink is an entire lifetime. Leaves rustle above me. Ca-caw! I suck in a sharp breath, and I run. My vision continues to tunnel, setting a path for me to follow as I grip branches and climb hastily over the gnarled roots hiding beneath the snow. I'm aware of the deep ache that has taken up residence in my toes, spreading up my calves, sinking into my bones. Even my nipples hurt, practically burning, the thin scrap of lace and silk dragging over my pebbled skin like a serrated knife's edge every time I move.If I knew it was winter... I shake off the thought. It's not like that would've stopped me. Leaves rustle louder now, or maybe it's just my heart pounding blood through my hollow, exhausted body, drowning out everything else. Fighting to bring life back into it, even if it's just to carry me closer to death. The rushing in my ears grows louder and louder, as I run faster and faster, knowing, somehow, my time is running out. And all I can think is, all I can pray is- Please. More whooping and cawing sounds from somewhere behind me, closer now than they were before. A branch snaps. Footsteps thunder closer. A frustrated, guttural whimper climbs up my throat, breaching from my lips, as I grab the thick base of a tree, and all but catapult myself forward. I'm choking on air now, fingers trembling, knees buckling, eyes stinging. In my periphery, wings flap. Black and far too big to belong to a mere bird. Not... real... Even my thoughts are slowing. Another sound erupts from me, and I lunge forward, and then- There, a voice gasps in my head. A break in the trees. The burning in my eyes intensifies as I draw on what little energy I have left and throw myself toward the blinding white light, reaching out like it could grab hold of me and carry me away from this place. Carry me home. I'm running, stumbling, throwing myself forward. Faster, faster, so close-Snow and dirt kick up next to me as I skid to a sudden stop, arms windmilling at my sides. My eyes bulge as I take in the massive ravine below, my body careening forward. No- A strong arm swoops around my midsection at the last possible second, so sudden and forceful, it nearly knocks the air out of me. My long, straggly hair whips past my face as I flop forward, held back by nothing more than rigid muscle, as I'm yanked back from the ledge. I don't even realize I've started kicking out and clawing at the arm holding me hostage until a deep, slightly accented voice barks, "Enough!" followed by a string of unintelligible Russian. At least, I'm pretty sure it's Russian. I ignore him, bucking like I could wiggle my way free. Sounds erupt from me that are more animalistic than human, but I can't find it in me to care. A low, drawn-out whistle sounds from somewhere behind us, followed by someone saying, "That was close." The man holding me huffs, all but dragging me away from the cliff's edge. There's still a loud rushing in my ears as I kick and grunt protests, but it sounds less muffled and more like the angry rush of water dozens of feet below us, crashing through the rocks and ice. "Let. Me. Go!" I grit out, my voice thick and raspy from a combination of disuse and dehydration and desperation. The man actually listens, tossing me unceremoniously on the hard, snowy, muddy ground. I shakily push to a stand, chest heaving, arms spread out at my sides, as I dart my gaze around, looking for a way out. My long, knotted hair whipsaround, slapping my frozen cheeks like little ropes, half frozen themselves. Three figures surround me, the same ones who visited me in my cell earlier. Two boys around my age, almost mirror images of each other. Twins. And him. My gaze drifts and lingers on the man who just saved me from certain death. Even at the thought, I cringe, wrinkling my nose. I pivot side to side, half-turning in a stuttered circle so as not to turn my back on any of them. But all the while, I keep my gaze fastened to his. Corvin, I remember from a distant, fuzzier time. That's his name. Briefly, my mind is overtaken by images of tall, dense shrubbery, white blossoms, and twinkling fairy lights. Of suited men, and far-off classical music warring with the gentle lap of waves. The memory tastes of sea salt. And fear. My knees start to buckle, and I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, shaking it off. There is only winter here. A harsh, unforgiving winter. Even my fear tastes muted now, like it's been frozen right along with my blood and dirtcrusted toes. Someone clucks their tongue a couple times, then in a low, guttural voice, says, "Thought you could just fly away, did you?" My eyes flash open to collide with a set of cold, unimpressed, steel-gray eyes, and again, I'm thrown back to when I first saw that harsh, too-perfect face. This time, the memory tastes of blood. My teeth chatter lightly despite my best efforts to put a clamp on it; the tendons in my neck straining as I clench my entire body. "Fuck you," Imanage to bite out harshly. Corvin's eye twitches, but otherwise, he remains as stoic as ever. Coldness radiates from him degrees cooler than the air trying to steal my breath. Fucking bastard. Someone chuckles behind me, and I tense, holding back a flinch. "Hear that, Corvin? Pretty sure that was an invitation." Unlike Corvin, this guy's voice is softer, lighter, like there's a joke to be found in each drawled utterance. While I can't say he doesn't have an accent, it's definitely not as identifiable as their ringleader's. Far more subtle, easy to miss, and impossible to pinpoint its origin. Definitely not Russian though. Corvin cocks his head. His dark brown hair is short but looks to be a little longer on top, where it's been combed back. His face is smoothly shaven, drawing stark attention to a jawline that could cut diamonds-a startling contrast to his full pink lips. I hate that I notice this about him, but it's impossible to ignore. No wonder he's able to get away with what he does. His piercing gray eyes remain steady on mine. "That what you want, Ptichka?" I can no longer tell if I'm shaking from the cold or from anger. "No," I spit. This time, it's his mouth that twitches. He takes a step forward, so I take one back. He does it again, and I do the same. It's like we're waltzing without touching, following some rhythm only we know, yet can't hear.More snickering reaches my ears, and I whip my head around when I realize just how close it sounds. The only twin I've heard speak so far-the one with a long, jagged scar down his left cheek and the laid-back drawl-lifts a hand and wiggles his fingers at me in a wave. "Hi there," he purrs. Behind him, his brother ducks his head, watching us through thick, dark lashes, his brown eyes hard and unreadable. I don't mistake the silent warning there though. I stumble back, only to crash into a broad, solid chest. This time, Corvin doesn't brace an arm around me to try to restrain me. He simply stands there, cold and unmoving, as I whip around to face him once more. The two of them close in on either side of me. "S-stop," I stutter out, clenching my fists as I desperately try to hang on to my anger. My eyes burn as I ping-pong my gaze between the two, taking in their contrasting frames. Where Corvin is a tall, broad, looming figure, towering over me by half a foot, the twins are closer to my height of 5'5". They're on the leaner side too, with long, graceful necks and narrow features. And they're young. Young like me-teenagers. Unlike Corvin, who looks to be in his mid-twenties. They all have dark hair-their only commonality, it would seem, at least on the surface-and dark eyes of varying shades. Corvin's, a steel-gray, and the twins', a murky brown. And while I wouldn't go so far as to say their skin is pale, their complexions seem to be almost washed out. Like they've been deprived of the sun; the twins especially. Somewhere overhead, leaves and pine needles rustle loudly as several crows burst free, swooping over the ravine. Screeches fill the air, echoingoff the cliff's edge, and Corvin's mouth does that twitching thing again, prompting another shudder to roll down my spine. Instinct has me facing him head-on rather than the boy with the jagged scar down his face. Somehow, I just know who the bigger threat is here. "Scared?" Corvin whispers, eyes hooded as they drop to my lips. I try to force a swallow, but the shivers that have taken over my entire body are making it impossible. "P-p-please," I find myself saying. My voice cracks with a whimper, and I hate it. Hate that I'm showing them any kind of weakness. But I'm past the point of caring. I just want to go home. He lowers his chin, and he says softly, "Ezio," still not taking his gaze off mine, "I think it's high time we show our new little pet where begging gets you around here, yes?" I still, and then I try to straighten my spine and pull my shoulders back, but all it does is shrink the space even further. Now Ezio is pressed right against me, his front to my back. He's somehow looming over my shoulder despite only having a couple inches over me. He hangs his head forward, his shoulder-length brown hair curtaining around us, the ends teasing my bare shoulder where my dress has ripped, nearly hanging off me. Hands come around my waist, long fingers stretching around and nearly meeting in the middle. I've always been on the thinner side, but this... this is too much. The implication has my stomach sinking like a rock. "H-how long...?" My voice is near soundless, cracking, before fading off completely. A dark brow arches slightly. "Does it matter?" My face feels like it's breaking, shattering, where tears have started to freeze to my face. I want to tell him, Of course it matters, you asshole. Ofcourse it fucking matters! But all that comes out is a pathetic little whine, almost a sob, but not quite. "She's freezing," Ezio says in a quiet, unreadable tone right next to my ear. Corvin nods shortly. "That she is." My gaze drifts just past him, seeking out that wide open space where I now know a cliff juts out, breaking off into a deep, deadly ravine. It was almost over, I can't help but think sadly, realizing just how screwed I am now that they've caught me. Something tells me that was my only ticket out of here, and I'm not about to get another anytime soon. Corvin inhales deeply, his chest rising fully before dropping with a gust of air over my scalp. Unlike me, he's dressed for this weather in a fitted black leather jacket that's zipped up to his neck. Probably not the warmest choice, but then again, he's not the one being starved down to the bone. Throat thick with tears, I say, "If you're g-gonna k-kill me, j-ju-just d-do it-t-t." At first, he doesn't say anything. Even Ezio is pointedly silent behind me, his hands an unwanted source of warmth around my middle. I catch myself just as I start to press into it, sucking in a sharp breath, trying to make myself smaller. He chuckles like he knows exactly what I'm doing. Chilly fingers find my chin, lifting it so I can meet Corvin's cold gaze. "Now why would we do something like that?" I grit down on my molars, biting back a fresh wave of shivers, and rip my head away, glaring at some unseen spot beyond him. He huffs, almost like he wants to laugh, but his demeanor remains flat and unaffected."So feisty," Ezio rumbles. I can hear the smile in his voice. I squirm, but it's no use. Whatever strength got me this far isn't so much as waning, but winking out completely, there and gone before I can even hope to scrounge for any scraps. Corvin says something in what I'm now certain is Russian, and Ezio snickers against my neck, his breath warm, and smelling of coffee and something sweeter. My attempt to pull away is pathetic at best, prompting him to hold me even closer. With some of the chill warded off by their bodies, exhaustion is quick to settle in. I feel heavy, weighed down in a way that belies my current emaciated state. I force my tired eyes up as Ezio holds me upright, keeping me from sinking to the cold, hard ground. Corvin's brow knits, lips pursing. He opens his mouth like he's about to say something, but whatever it is, is interrupted by a long, resounding vibration that echoes through the trees, reverberating off the jagged cliffside below. Several more vibrations closely follow. Is that... Are those church bells? I feel my face try to scrunch up with confusion. It falls flat, either from the cold or the exhaustion. I'm fading fast. Ezio sighs, and Corvin steps back. "Dinner time," is all he says. "We'll revisit this later." I'm honestly surprised my stomach doesn't grumble at his announcement. Then again, I can't even remember the last time my stomach did grumble. When it registers that Ezio is handing me over to Corvin, I finally snap out of my daze.No!" I gasp more than yell. My hands are sluggish as I bat at him, trying to break free from his ironclad hold. "N-no!" Don't take me back, please don't make me go back. I think of my cell, of that cold, dark place with hardly any light. I think of the stone walls surrounding me and the thin cot on the floor I've woken up on too many times to count. I plead and scream, or at least, I try to scream. But it's all garbled and broken-airy and high-pitched. I don't sound human. I don't even feel human anymore. Corvin mutters something, and then he's lifting me by the waist, throwing me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing. My upper body hangs over his back as he hooks his arms around the backs of my thighs, just under my ass. My dress has ridden up, exposing me to the frigid air, but I hardly notice. Stark, blinding fear like nothing I've ever felt before rushes through my veins, nearly whiting out my vision, and I claw pathetically at his back. He says something, but I'm too far gone to even tell if it's English or Russian. Lifting my head, I watch through blurred vision as the twins come together just before me, standing shoulder to shoulder, in some weird, freaky synchronized movement. Ezio is no longer smiling. If it wasn't for his scar and his slightly longer hair, I wouldn't be able to tell the two apart. They're even dressed alike, in dark gray wool coats, black jeans, and black, heavy-duty boots. "Please," I whimper, my neck tendons straining as I try to keep my head up. My filthy hair cascades down past my face, swinging all around in thick, wet ropes that are half-frozen. Ezio glances down while his brother stares right through me.

A sob works its way up my throat. "Aquillus," Corvin says simply. I blink, and then he's there. The quiet twin. The one with the vacant eyes that are far more terrifying than Corvin's cold, merciless gray ones. My mouth opens as our gazes connect, but I realize it's too late. Just as quickly as he moved toward me does his hand come up. Something metallic glints in the corner of my eye, and then pain-sharp and quick in my upper arm. My fingers jolt as a shocking sensation radiates up to my neck and down my spine, bringing a quiet yelp from my lips. A needle. He steps back just as the world around me dims, tilting, and the pain grows distant. The whooshing is back, and I swear I hear wings flapping just over my shoulder. Blackness swoops in, curling over my vision, shrinking it down into nothing. I try to speak, but I'm already gone.

DRIP. Drip. Drip. I measure my breaths with each little ping of water in the otherwise silent room. It's the only other sign of life, save for the organ in my chest that just won't quit. I'm pretty sure if I could just will it to stop, I would, and I don't mean the dripping. It's been a long while since I feared I'd go mad from that sound. It's the silence I dread now. The moment that dripping stops, and I'm left alone with nothing more than my own thoughts. I can only hope my heart gives out first. I hum quietly under my breath, using the slow drip-drip-drip like a metronome to keep count.

At my sides, my fingertips idly tap against my thighs as I stare blankly up at the ceiling, letting my mind wander, chasing some distant, forgotten melody. The stone ground is cold and hard under my back, but I barely pay it any notice. After eating my meager scraps-the first meal I've been given inwhat feels like days but might have only been hours; it's impossible to tell -I was too worn out to crawl over to my cot. So I collapsed where I sat, dead center in my eight-by-eight feet cell. Inhaling deeply, I wince when my stomach cramps. I hope the stew they gave me wasn't bad, but I wouldn't put it past these assholes to poison me with spoiled meat. They knew I'd devour it regardless. I already learned the hard way where not eating would get me. So long as I'm a good little girl and do as I'm told, they won't punish me. Not that I'm really told anything. Other than the time I made my escape, I haven't actually seen or spoken to a single soul. And the longer I fight off sleep, the longer I have to wait for food. Whoever delivers it-either Corvin or one of the twins, I assume-only enters my cell now when I'm unconscious. I guess they learned their lesson too when I broke free that day. I frown, knowing something about that isn't right. Wasn't I alone when that happened? But I'm still too exhausted, too hungry, to try and make sense of any of it. Nothing makes sense anymore, not here in this hole in the ground where the air is cold, but stale. All I can rely on is that stupid fucking drip-dripdrip. Even my body no longer feels like mine. It hasn't since I woke up. At least...not since the first time I remember waking up. Who knows how many other times I broke consciousness, only to lose recollection of it in a drug-induced fog? My eyes drift downward, taking in the smattering of fading bruises and scabs the size of a pin-prick peeking out through the dirt caking my arms. Track marks, I think dully. Lovely. My eyes linger on the tattoo on my wrist.Normally I'd have it hidden with bracelets, or last I remember, covered up with concealer. I flip my arm over and blink up at the ceiling, making peace with the pang in my chest and the lump that I can't swallow away no matter how many times I try. It's dark in here, but either my eyes have adjusted, or there's light coming in from somewhere other than just the grate in the ceiling. A grate that looks into some room above that remains mostly dark, and always quiet, with the exception of occasional footsteps. Then again, maybe I just imagined it. Another lingering side effect of the drugs, just like the weird shadows that hover along the edges of my vision. Or you're just dying. The thought brings a weary sigh to my lips. I don't know what drugs they were pumping into my system, but I miss them. I miss that endless nothingness where I stopped existing. With the exception of when they dragged me back in here after finally making a break for it, it's been a while since I've been knocked out. I swallow thickly as I remember waking up fully that first time, however many days or weeks ago, and realized what was going on as it all came rushing back to me. The panic that overtook my body... My eyes slide shut, and I focus on the music playing in my head instead. Count my breaths in time with each note. Sniffing, I go to reach up and wipe my nose when my fingers brush against the paper. Rolling my head, I blink slowly at the litter of origami birds surrounding me, adjusting the one I just knocked over so it's once more in an upright position, its pointed little beak facing toward me.The first time I found one sitting next to my dinner tray, I hurriedly opened it, hoping there was some message inside. Something offering a clue as to where I was, or, even more far-fetched, reassurance. Help. Like I was in some movie or book instead of living out an actual nightmare. It shouldn't have upset me when I found that it was nothing more than a blank, now-crinkled white sheet of paper. Completely and totally fucking useless. Mocking, even. I screamed that day. Screamed a lot. I banged my fists on the walls until I bled, cursed the world out, and even threw my dinner across the cell, hitting the cobbled stone wall with a clatter of hard plastic and a wet splat. It felt like an interminable amount of time before they attempted to feed me again after that. So long that I vaguely remember giving in and scraping what smelled like rotten stew off the floor once the hunger pains became too much to ignore. It wasn't my proudest moment, nor my smartest if my bowels or the stench I've long since stopped noticing were anything to go by. The next time a paper bird showed up, I squeezed it in my hand as I scarfed down my meal, so tight the sharp edges dug little grooves into my palm that lasted throughout the day... or however many hours it was before I passed out from sheer exhaustion and an over-full belly. When I woke up, the tray was gone, but the slightly warped bird was still clasped in my hand, tucked safely against my chest. At first, I thought I could track time in here by how many birds I collected. But I soon realized how futile it was, when time between meals stretched and shrunk for seemingly no rhyme or reason. Sometimes, what feels like days separate one meal from the next. Other times, it feels like the literal blink of an eye-one meal being exchanged foranother while I sleep. It's taught me to sleep any chance I get, all in the hopes that when I wake up, I'd either find myself in my own bed back home, or there'd be a tray of food waiting for me. Even then, though, I don't always wake up to more food. Those are the times I wish I didn't wake up at all. I move my eyes around the space next to me, taking in my collection. Sixteen birds. I've been awake now for sixteen birds. Probably more than that, but the birds are all I have to go by. Still humming, I reach out a sluggish hand, clasping the one nearest to me. My newest addition. Taking great care not to bend its fragile wings, I bring it to sit on my chest as I stare back up at the dark ceiling. Petting its paper beak with shaky fingertips, I hum more loudly, my voice cracking so much, I've long since gotten used to it. I already chugged down the little cup of water they provided with my meal, unable to help myself. My eyelids grow heavy as sleep once again pulls me under, the music slowing and ebbing into something even less tangible in my head. Senseless images and thoughts trickle in, and I don't fight it. While I can't ever guarantee what will happen when I wake, I know it'll at least bring me that much closer to either food... Or death.

A LOUD CLANG HAS me jolting awake. Light, the first I've seen since I made my pathetic attempt to escape, slashes into the small enclosed space, momentarily blinding me as I weakly push myself up into a seated position. Wincing, I tuck the bird I'm still holding close to my chest with one hand, and with the other, I partially cover my eyes, blinking hard as I try to adjust my vision. The metal door is now open once more. A body blocks the doorway, silhouetted by the light coming from behind him.

It's probably not all that bright in reality, just like the day I got outside and thought the sun exploded. But it feels like knives slicing through my corneas all the same. "Get up," a voice barks, his tone as harsh as the faint Russian accent curling around his word. Swallowing painfully against my parched throat, I find myself doing as he says, pushing shakily to a hunched stand. My dress is torn and ragged, stiff and too big on me now. I'm sure it reeks of piss and grime, but it's been so long now, I'm used to it. Footsteps thud across the concrete floor, drawing closer. I curl my shoulders up by my ears, blinking rapidly. Someone makes a gagging sound. "It smells like death in here." "Trust me, Ez. This isn't death," Corvin replies dryly. You would know, I think bitterly. He stiffens next to me, and somewhere nearby, a short laugh sounds. Shit, did I say that out loud? Corvin hisses something in Russian to his... friend? Brother? Who fucking knows or cares.Ezio, I think, recalling his name vaguely. The other one I can't remember. Something unusual though, just like the other two, but longer maybe? I was drugged almost as soon as it was said. Just another thing lost to me. More footsteps approach, and I shift away from the light so I can see better. Corvin stands in a sea of discarded paper birds, some of which are bent and scuffed black now from the dirt on his shoes. He gives a single cursory glance at my collection, brows wrinkling faintly before smoothing out once more. In the corner of my eye, I watch as Ezio bends down to pick one up. He rolls it around in his hand, lip quirking up as he turns his head to the side. His mouth opens, but Corvin interrupts him before he can say anything, or shed any sort of light on which one of them is responsible for these weird little gifts. At least, I assume it's one of them who's been bringing me my meals. "Tell Griselda to ready the bath." Ezio sighs and gives a single nod. "Yes, sir," he murmurs, mouth still curved into a smirk. It pulls at the scar on his cheek, giving him a roguish look. I swear I can feel Corvin's eye roll. My younger captor eyes me up and down one last time, his nose wrinkling in obvious disgust, and then he turns on his heel, disappearing through the open door. Now that my vision has mostly adjusted, I can make out the black ornate wall lamp jutting out from the stone wall. It's like something you'd see on the streets of Victorian London. Memories dance through my head of an earlier time. The day I woke up to find my cell door left open. I didn't question it or take any time to look around. I just... ran. Blinded by my desperation, I darted out of my cell,hardly sparing a glance both ways. I vaguely remember the three figures standing at one end of the hall, and at the opposite end... Another door, and it was already open. Just like mine. So busy frowning, trying to figure out what feels so wrong about the scene playing out in my head, and rolling around his statement, wondering who Griselda is, I don't immediately notice Corvin has moved closer. My instincts are slower than ever, more of a hindrance at this point than of any help. Or perhaps my body has just finally given up, succumbing to its fate. I try to find it in me to care. I really do. Deep down, I know it's there- that drive to survive-but I'm having a hard time wading through the fog to find it. I'm fucking tired. A large, warm hand grips the nape of my neck in an unforgiving grip, snapping me out of my scattered thoughts. I freeze, before trying to pull free, but it's no use. He all but drags me up against him, so my knees knock, legs trembling like those of a newborn foal's. A choked whimper escapes me, and Corvin's eyes narrow down at me. "Aquillus," he murmurs. That's it, that's the other one's name. Aquillus. My wide eyes dart toward the door. While I heard more than two sets of footsteps, I didn't see the other twin until now. He must've darted right into the shadows once he entered the cell. A tall, lean figure steps out from next to the door, the lamplight from beyond casting a slash of yellow over his blank face. Unlike his twin brother, his dark hair is several inches shorter, reaching just below his ears. The top is much longer, though, curling messily over his brow, hanging over his eyes. He tips his head so he can see me clearly, his eyes more focused than I remember last time, but still dull and unreadable.A phantom pain shoots through my arm as I now recall our last encounter. The memory is fuzzy at best-more physical than mental. Shivering, I recoil from him on instinct, despite my earlier musings. As much as I miss that nothingness from the drugs, I can't help but fear it too. Corvin makes a sound under his breath, almost like a laugh. He says something in Russian that has Aquillus dragging that unnerving gaze from mine to his. Something works across his face, almost a smile, but not quite. It's the most emotion I've seen the younger guy wear in the brief, fuzzy moments I've seen him. Still, he doesn't say anything. He does move closer though, and it's then that I hear the sound of plastic creaking. My head is still being held in a firm grip, but I'm able to dart my gaze down to what Aquillus holds in his hand. Corvin reaches for the half-full water bottle with his free hand. He brings it to his mouth, releasing the sports cap with his teeth, before lifting it to my chapped lips. My stubbornness takes a backseat to some primitive drive inside me, one that has me greedily sucking the water down, tipping my head back as he squirts it down my throat. This time, Corvin does chuckle as I near-choke on the tepid water flooding my mouth, droplets sliding down my cheeks and dripping off my jaw. It's a deep, rumbling, wicked sound that feels like nails scraping across my brain. "Damn, look at her face," he says. "So greedy for it." I tense as Aquillus comes into my line of sight, stopping mere inches away from my face. I shoot my wide gaze to his, and this close, I can almost make out my reflection in his dark eyes, masked only by the light coming in from the hallway beyond."You'd think we just pulled our cocks out," Corvin goes on with a cruel laugh. I start choking on the water. While it's not that cold going down my throat, it feels frigid sliding down my neck, my chest. Aquillus tilts his head, but doesn't say anything. I swear something like curiosity moves through his gaze, lighting up his furrowed features, even if it's just for a moment. "Maybe we should give her a taste of that instead, yeah?" Corvin taunts, ripping the bottle away from me and tossing what's left of it across the floor. He tugs me closer, lifting me until I'm practically on my toes. He bends down, running a nose over my temple, his hot breath fanning across my cheek, warm and smelling of something sweet, but pungent. Whiskey, or maybe Scotch. "She's gotta be starved. Lonely..." he says. "Hollow." My body ices over at what he's saying and wordless protests squeeze through my clenched teeth as he grips my wet chin with one hand, tipping my head back. The other twists my hair and pulls, yanking back until my neck tendons scream, threatening to snap. He looks down at me, his nose pressed right against mine. So close, I can feel it flare. His dark, soulless eyes bore into me. "That what you want, Ptichka?" he says softly. "Will that make you feel better?" Rather than spit in his face like I want to-like I'm pretty sure I did at some point, but I can't remember when, or if it was even real and not just a fantasy I concocted to pass the time-I clamp down on my molars, jutting my chin up at him in silence.His mouth twitches. Not quite a smile, but not in displeasure either. His gaze flickers down and around, and this time, I know it's a smile. A mean one as he hums to himself. "I bet it got real lonely in here. Real boring too. These birds your friends? Did they help?" My brow wrinkles as I try to keep up with what he's saying, what I... think he's implying. Aquillus makes a noise at the back of his throat, the first I've heard from him that I can recall. I flick a glance at him through the corner of my eye at the same time Corvin side-eyes him. He doesn't immediately say anything. Slowly, then all at once, Corvin eases his grip on me, shoving me off him. Not expecting it, I stumble, nearly falling flat on my ass. He catches my elbow at the last second and makes a sound of disgust as I stumble for balance. "Yeah, on second thought, we might want to wait 'til she's clean." He tugs on a greasy strand of hair with his free hand; it looks nearly black in this lighting. "Who knows what might be crawling up inside her?" I shudder at the thought, but also feel oddly vindictive at the thought of them being disgusted by me. A small victory, even if it's short-lived. Grabbing the paper bird still clutched in my hand-the one I forgot I was holding-he all but rips it away from me and throws it on the floor. Something splinters in my chest as I cast a long, forlorn look at the paper birds scattered across the cell. Are they gonna take them from me? I wonder, dimly aware of Aquillus making another soft huff. "Davai," Corvin says, gripping my elbow before stomping toward the open door with me in tow and Aquillus at our back.Glancing over my shoulder, I catch Aquillus just as he crouches down, picking up the bird Corvin just chucked away like it was nothing. Dark brown eyes lift up through even darker lashes, a piece of hair curling over his brow. Before I can make sense of the storm of emotions glaring back at me, I'm pulled away, given no choice but to walk forward. My eyes bounce around the narrow passage as Corvin drags me down the hall opposite of where I made my escape. It's all dark, mottled cobblestone, just like the walls that lined my cell, broken up only by the sparsely lit lamps. It's as if we're in some kind of medieval castle. Or walking down the cobbled streets of old London. It can't be more than fifteen feet between each door, my cell smack-dab in the middle, confirming what should've been obvious from the start, what I've been so reluctant to admit to myself. They let me go. They wanted me to go, to run, to escape. I was too blinded by fear, clouded by hunger at the time, to see what was right in front of me. And after I woke up, after they locked me back up, I was too... angry and devastated and exhausted to acknowledge the truth. It was a test. Or maybe just a game? They did seem to enjoy... hunting me. Taking their time, yelling out and cawing and screeching like fucking vultures swooping down on their prey. I risk another glance back, longingly eyeing the door I know leads to a staircase, then to a cellar door, and then to freedom from this cold, dark, timeless place. Aquillus appears, blocking the only exit I know of. Movement draws my gaze down to his hands, where something long and sharp glints in theyellowy torchlight. A knife. My gut hollows as my gaze lifts, clashing with his blank, distant stare. I don't realize my steps have halted, until Corvin growls something and throws me forward, putting himself behind me as he guides me toward the only other way out of here. Wherever it may lead. I was wrong before. This one isn't just any old door. It's an elevator. And not some shotty old thing like you'd expect down in the bowels of the earth, but something silver and polished with an insignia engraved in the middle. Wings, with some kind of symbol or sigil intersecting them vertically. The whole thing screams money. And pretentiousness. My heart thuds as a memory flits across my mind. I only glanced back a couple times when I escaped, checking to see how close my pursuers were, and what I could make out was mostly blocked by dense, unchecked growth speckled with snow-pine and fir trees, weeds, and vines crawling up the side of a looming gray stone building. Between the thick surrounding forest and the holes burned into my retina from seeing daylight for the first time in who knows how long, I couldn't really get a good look. Plus, I had more important things to worry about, like running for my life. Coming to a sudden stop inches from the sealed metal door, I teeter into Corvin's side. He grips the stiff, tattered fabric pooling around my waist, twisting it in his hand as he pulls it tight, steadying me. He jabs his thumb into the button on the right of the elevator door, and I frown when I spot the little two-by-four inch panel above it. Thin crosshatch green lasers appear over a small screen, and Corvin leans forward, lining up his face. What the fuck? It pings, and Corvin's face is briefly lit up green before he steps back. The doors slide open, and I still when the small, enclosed space comes into view. I don't know what I was expecting, but rich, mahogany floor-to-ceiling paneling and dark gold carpeting were not it. Nor was the gold chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Without a word, Corvin drags me inside. I don't even try to fight him on it, knowing it's pointless. He's taking me upstairs, and I'm not about to piss him off and make him reconsider letting me out. I think of that little rectangular grate in my room. The one I swore would light up sometimes. There were a couple times I thought I even heard muffled voices beyond the quiet footsteps. A sign of life beyond my little hole in the ground. When they just ignored my screams, I gave up completely. Told myself no one was actually there, and I was just imagining it. It was easier that way. Now, though... now I'm not so sure. Aquillus steps in after us, tucking himself into the corner by the button panel. He's twisting the knife aimlessly in the air, like it's his very own fidget spinner. Behind me, Corvin inhales deeply, as if he's the one who has to brace himself for whatever's coming.It's not until the door seals shut that I remember the drip-drip-drip I now leave behind... And wonder just how far I've fallen, when I realize I never got to tell it goodbye.