Chapter 3
Arcadia
12•18•8993. 23:41.
An invisible force seems to grab me by the shoulders and yank me from my Abyss. Its fingers feel like they'll leave bruises, but my mind says it is not real.
"Magnus! Magnus... Mag-" I gasp out. I grip my short hair like a predator would to the skin of its prey as I struggle to control my breathing and swallow the panic in my throat.
I'm in a small cell with walls of cold, rough stone. I'm sitting on an uncomfortable metal bench. The ceiling is about seven feet up and the cell is about five feet in length and width. The stone walls feel as if they're boring into me, taking away my strength. Thin, steel, vertical bars frame one wall. The entire room feels secluded and empty, like the Abyss.
I'm suddenly aware of my pounding heart beating the top of my skull and I wince in pain.
I reach my left hand to the top of my head and feel that it is wet. When I remove my hand, blood sticks to my fingers.
"I've always liked that color."
My head whips toward the words and as my eyes begin to clear from the sudden movement, I make out a figure on the other side of the gate.
She's turned away from me and her thin, muscular back is against the bars. Her fiery red hair is short-cropped and is beginning to curl. It was most likely shaved a few weeks ago. Thin scars curve from her spine, around her neck, and over her shoulders, toward her collarbone like tiny snakes wrapping around her pale neck. They creep up her neck and hook around her jaw, like claws. She wears black shorts and a gray t-shirt. Surprisingly casual for a kidnapper. The same scars slither down her arms and legs as well, like lightning.
I try using my power to figure out who she is, but I can't. It's the cell. Something about this cell is taking my power away. Making me feel weak and vulnerable.
But I think I remember her.
"The color of blood suits you, Arcadia," she murmurs. "It accentuates that nasty scar of yours."
She turns her head toward me. Her green eyes sting and pierce my own as she picks at one of the cold bars with a chewed off a fingernail.
"I remember when you got that scar. It was hilarious," she says coldly. She moves her hand outward in a fist and mimes the movement of slashing with a dagger.
She smirks, seeing the seething look on my face, and as she returns to leaning on the bars, she gestures toward my cell door with a hand and two guards, one male and one female, unlocks and enters the chamber. I leap to my feet, ready to fight, but immediately tilt to the side, trying to fight the severe dizziness hijacking my brain. The guards pin my arms behind my back and put on strange looking restraints.
I stare into her eyes with hatred. Or attempt to. "What did you do to him?"
She smiles wickedly. "That's actually why I came here. I have some news."
She struts down the hall, hips swaying, and the guards drag me after her.
12•18•8993. 23:41.
An invisible force seems to grab me by the shoulders and yank me from my Abyss. Its fingers feel like they'll leave bruises, but my mind says it is not real.
"Magnus! Magnus... Mag-" I gasp out. I grip my short hair like a predator would to the skin of its prey as I struggle to control my breathing and swallow the panic in my throat.
I'm in a small cell with walls of cold, rough stone. I'm sitting on an uncomfortable metal bench. The ceiling is about seven feet up and the cell is about five feet in length and width. The stone walls feel as if they're boring into me, taking away my strength. Thin, steel, vertical bars frame one wall. The entire room feels secluded and empty, like the Abyss.
I'm suddenly aware of my pounding heart beating the top of my skull and I wince in pain.
I reach my left hand to the top of my head and feel that it is wet. When I remove my hand, blood sticks to my fingers.
"I've always liked that color."
My head whips toward the words and as my eyes begin to clear from the sudden movement, I make out a figure on the other side of the gate.
She's turned away from me and her thin, muscular back is against the bars. Her fiery red hair is short-cropped and is beginning to curl. It was most likely shaved a few weeks ago. Thin scars curve from her spine, around her neck, and over her shoulders, toward her collarbone like tiny snakes wrapping around her pale neck. They creep up her neck and hook around her jaw, like claws. She wears black shorts and a gray t-shirt. Surprisingly casual for a kidnapper. The same scars slither down her arms and legs as well, like lightning.
I try using my power to figure out who she is, but I can't. It's the cell. Something about this cell is taking my power away. Making me feel weak and vulnerable.
But I think I remember her.
"The color of blood suits you, Arcadia," she murmurs. "It accentuates that nasty scar of yours."
She turns her head toward me. Her green eyes sting and pierce my own as she picks at one of the cold bars with a chewed off a fingernail.
"I remember when you got that scar. It was hilarious," she says coldly. She moves her hand outward in a fist and mimes the movement of slashing with a dagger.
She smirks, seeing the seething look on my face, and as she returns to leaning on the bars, she gestures toward my cell door with a hand and two guards, one male and one female, unlocks and enters the chamber. I leap to my feet, ready to fight, but immediately tilt to the side, trying to fight the severe dizziness hijacking my brain. The guards pin my arms behind my back and put on strange looking restraints.
I stare into her eyes with hatred. Or attempt to. "What did you do to him?"
She smiles wickedly. "That's actually why I came here. I have some news."
She struts down the hall, hips swaying, and the guards drag me after her.
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