by Hedra Longstride
Drip. Drip. Drip.
It was inside her head now.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
How did that spell go?
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Time to get it out.
At first, while she was still feeling feisty, she walked round and round the four walls of the room. She had traced her hands up and down the walls, poked fingers into crevices, fumbled for loose bricks to possibly carve herself an alternative way out. She had even discovered a broken plank by the otherwise fully covered window. Through the large gash in the rotting wood she could watch the sun rise and set. Sometimes there were people walking out there, with their wands drawn as sources of light, but she knew sunlight from Lumos. A wand could not cast such a warm glow in a miserable
place.
Then, on the third day, somebody on the outside saw her lurking by the window and she was chained to a wall. They also replaced the rotting board with a brand new one, robbing her of her concept of time. As a further punishment her daily meals were withheld. Time disappeared and when the darkness advanced on her, painting her entire cell an oppressing shade of black, space followed.
It was inside her head now.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
How did that spell go?
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Time to get it out.
At first, while she was still feeling feisty, she walked round and round the four walls of the room. She had traced her hands up and down the walls, poked fingers into crevices, fumbled for loose bricks to possibly carve herself an alternative way out. She had even discovered a broken plank by the otherwise fully covered window. Through the large gash in the rotting wood she could watch the sun rise and set. Sometimes there were people walking out there, with their wands drawn as sources of light, but she knew sunlight from Lumos. A wand could not cast such a warm glow in a miserable
place.
Then, on the third day, somebody on the outside saw her lurking by the window and she was chained to a wall. They also replaced the rotting board with a brand new one, robbing her of her concept of time. As a further punishment her daily meals were withheld. Time disappeared and when the darkness advanced on her, painting her entire cell an oppressing shade of black, space followed.
She sang to herself to try to keep her spirits up. But an incessant dripping sound had appeared out of nowhere and she found it difficult to keep to her own rhythm. When she covered her ears to try and drown the sound out, the words did not flow as easily. The only thing left to do was to hum tunelessly, with no trace of melody or meaning. At least that way she couldn’t hear the water trickling down from the leak in the roof. When she finally fell asleep, feverish with exasperation, she dreamed of a lone tap that turned her voice into a monotone buzz.
Her stomach rumbled in the darkness, reminding her of its existence, reminding her of how weak she was without food. Her lips were chapped now and her mouth tasted of something rotten. The dripping continued, reminding her of the water source that was just beyond her reach. She imagined standing directly underneath the water, sticking her tongue out and tasting the liquid in her mouth. It would wash her clean of the taste of death, relieve the thoughts of desperation. But the drip was not nourishment. It was only noise.
It was cold, so cold that she pressed her bare arms against the wall to generate some sort of warmth. It was strange how the air could be so still and yet so cold at the same time. It was not the sort of cold that stopped at the skin. It was the sort of cold that seeped right through to her bones. And as she listened to the steady drip on the other side of the room, she knew that damp clothes and hair would be her end. Closing her eyes, she tried to convince herself that the drip would stay there. It wouldn’t come closer. It wouldn’t harm her. And yet the drip, drip, drip became louder by the second. The sound of her own sobs drowned out the screaming in her head.
The creak of the heavy wooden door brought food, water and rags to sleep under. It did not bring relief, though. The hole was still in the ceiling and the water dripped onto the floor, reminding her of its survival.
Her wand lay next to her, barely an arm’s reach away. It had been the reward for an obedient week. Or two, perhaps? Who knew. At first she had thought them foolish. Why give a witch her wand if you did not want her to escape? The raw rash that spread from her left cheek across her chest to her right hip served as one of the answers to the question. There were several other answers, the most notable being her leg that twisted to the outside from the knee down. Some spells resulted in hexes, others in cruel curses. She could not open the door. She could not free herself from her bonds. She could not heal her body. But she could attempt to heal her mind.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
It was inside her head now.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
How did that spell go?
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Time to get it out.
“Inanimatus Conjurus.”
It was barely a whisper and not nearly commanding enough. Yet, her belief would pull her through. She saw it in her mind’s eye. It would spring forth from nowhere, rising right under the drip. Somewhere… somewhere in the dark, she knew that her power was manifesting. Squinting into the darkness, she could almost imagine the bucket right under the hole in the ceiling.
And then, for the first time in a week (or two?), there was silence.
Until…
Clang. Clang. Clang.
It was filling the entire room now.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
That spell went horribly wrong.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Time to get out.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
It was inside her head now.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
How did that spell go?
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Time to get it out.
“Inanimatus Conjurus.”
It was barely a whisper and not nearly commanding enough. Yet, her belief would pull her through. She saw it in her mind’s eye. It would spring forth from nowhere, rising right under the drip. Somewhere… somewhere in the dark, she knew that her power was manifesting. Squinting into the darkness, she could almost imagine the bucket right under the hole in the ceiling.
And then, for the first time in a week (or two?), there was silence.
Until…
Clang. Clang. Clang.
It was filling the entire room now.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
That spell went horribly wrong.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Time to get out.