Maelys
Water had soaked into the cloth holding her, leaving Maelys shivering as it leached the warmth from her body. She could feel the stone underneath her, cold and hard and immalleable without her touch to connect their essences. Somewhere, she heard the muffled drip of water.
Breathing was the true struggle, however. As soon as the cloth grew damp, it sealed off what little air she had, and Maelys had to tilt her head back in an attempt to pry open an air-hole through the twisted top of the cloth cocoon that held her.
As soon as she did, she began to feel tickles on her face.
To her dismay, she realized it was bugs. Legs and feelers touched her ears, her nose, her lips. Maelys panted through the rag, the confining darkness around her alive with cold, tiny bodies. She kicked, twisted, and panted, gasping for air, gasping at the pain in her ribs, gasping at the tiny bites along her neck. As time went on with her helpless to brush her tormentors away, their bites grew deeper, more confident, seeking more flesh.
They’re eating me, she thought, fighting sobs. They’re eating me alive.
Somewhere above her, she heard someone laugh. It echoed all around her, loud and crisp and cruel. Maelys sobs ended in a terrified whimper.
“Still alive, then, child?” a familiar voice called from above. “You won’t be as soon as those insects find you. But until they do, perhaps you could answer a question of mine.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
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When Maelys could not answer, Laelia coldly went on, “Does it feel the same?” She seemed to savor the way the words bounced against the stone, reverberating, concentrating her cruelty a thousand times.
When Maelys said nothing, Laelia continued, “Does it feel like it did when you spied on me? Karl said it would. I want you to die feeling like you did when you sold your life for that crafty hag in her tower. She used you, you know. She knew I’d find out, and she’s washed her hands of you. They’re not even sending out search parties.”
Horror crashed through her at Laelia’s words. No one was looking for her? What about Aneirin? How long had it been? What if he was already at his ranking?
Misery clawed at her throat.
“So I ask again,” Laelia called from high above. “Does it feel the same?” Moments ticked by. Then, “You think on that as you die, child. Someday, in the afterlife, I’ll expect an answer.” Footsteps echoed into nothingness.
It did feel the same, Maelys realized. The same difficulty breathing, the same tightness around her legs and chest, the same leeching cold...
She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t the same, that she wasn’t in the stone, that she was wrapped in wet cloth and the stone would help her if she could only reach it, but as the time went on and the darkness and tightness of the place squeezed at her soul, Maelys remembered how it felt on those brief instances when the stone would not release her when she asked.
When it would hold on and continue holding on until she placated it with happy memories or gentle persuasions. Laelia was right. It felt the same.
As Maelys lay there, the safe, familiar feeling of being encased in stone morphed into a horrible, helpless sensation of being unable to move. It replaced the hope in her mind of somehow reaching out and touching the stone under her back with a flash of revulsion. It was just for an instant, just enough to register in the back of her mind, but it was the last barrier.
Maelys began to scream.