The Dreadfort rose seven stories into the sky, and plunged seven deep into the ground. The deeper one went, the more chaotic and deranged the inhabitants became—lost souls whose sanity had long since crumbled under the strain of their imprisonment. If they had ever been sane to begin with.

Why had they dragged her down to this abyss, to what felt like the very bottom? It was a question that gnawed at her mind like a relentless predator. Here, in the heart of the Dreadfort, the walls themselves seemed to echo with the laughter of the insane, a cacophony of tortured screams and whispers that sent shivers down her spine. Madness reigned in this forsaken realm, where shadows twisted and writhed, and the faint flicker of torchlight cast grotesque shapes that danced in the corners of her vision.

If she had ever thought the creatures that crawled upon her skin in her cell were bad, they could not hold a candle to the horrors that resided in the lower depths with her. The very air was thick with the stench of decay, a miasma that clung to her like a shroud. From the dark recesses of nearby cells, she could hear the echoes of deranged laughter mingled with agonized cries, a chilling symphony that hinted at the twisted minds lurking just beyond her reach.

Here, the lines between sanity and madness blurred, and Amriel felt herself teetering on the edge.

"You see. You see. The moon is a lie. A lie. A lie." Chattered a soul in a cell down the row from hers. "It whispers secrets, you know. Secrets that only I can hear."

"Ha!" cried another voice, "No! No! The moon whispers its secrets to all, but who is to listen? Not I!"

"Shut up! Shut up," Threatened a darker voice, "Or I'll shut you up!"

“The moon doesn’t lie!” one woman shrieked. “It reveals! It reveals the truth!”

“Truth?” the dark voice sneered. “What truth can be found in a place like this? We are all damned!”

Amriel pressed her back against the damp stone wall, trying to drown out their mad whispers. Each utterance felt like a thread pulling at her sanity, weaving a tapestry of despair. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the incessant ramblings, but the fear and confusion clawed at her mind.

"The moon is a lie!" Repeated the first voice, "A lie. A lie, I tell you! Here and then gone!"

"Shut up! Shut up with your damned lies!"

"Titter. Tisk. Care to guess what time is it? No? Why? Because the moon is a lie!" the madman cackled.

"The moon is mad. Madder than us all!"

"Shut up! Or I'll make you shut up!"

And on they went, their voices rising and falling in a dissonant chorus, each line a frayed thread tugging at the seams of Amriel’s mind. The oppressive atmosphere of the cell felt suffocating, the dampness clinging to her skin like a second layer of despair. She pressed her palms against her ears, but the words slipped through, insidious and relentless, curling around her thoughts like creeping vines.

“Why are they here?” one voice rasped, quieter now, a tremor of fear underlying the madness.

With every exchange, Amriel felt the line between sanity and madness blur further, each word wrapping around her heart like iron chains. She had to escape this prison of voices, had to reclaim her own mind before it slipped away entirely.

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Why have they left me here? Her mind cried as she paced her cell endlessly. What did I do that was so bad as to deserve this?

As the hour of dinner approached—though the absence of sunlight had warped her sense of time—the unmistakable footfalls of the guard echoed through the cell block. Amriel sprang toward her cell door, her fingers wrapping around the cold iron bars as the guard approached.

"Why are you holding me?" Amriel demanded as she had for every meal since they had thrown her in the Dreadfort's cell. "Please, just ask your questions and let me go!"

And, as he had for every meal since, the Dreadfort guard, dressed in dark armor with his face hidden beneath the hood of his black cloak, ignored her. One of her cellmates, however, was not so silent.

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" cried the mad chattering cellmate down the row, "Shut the fuck up or I'll shut you up!"

Amriel let out a shuddering sigh, her shoulders slumping inward as if the weight of despair pressed heavily upon her. Shadows danced across the walls, flickering in the faint light that seeped through the iron bars. "I don't understand," she murmured her voice barely a whisper, thick with confusion. "I was so sure they just wanted to question me." Her heart raced with uncertainty, a gnawing dread settling in her gut. She wrapped her arms around herself, seeking comfort in a place devoid of warmth.

Any fleeting loyalties she had felt for the strange man who had crashed onto her floor that stormy night had long since evaporated, lost somewhere between the second and third servings of the gruel the Dreadfort cooks had the audacity to call food. She was more than ready to talk. Not that she really knew much more for them to ask.

As she glanced down at the bowl that had slid through the slot at the base of the door, Amriel was taken aback to realize it no longer turned her stomach. Instead, a gnawing hunger clawed at her, compelling her to contemplate even the unappetizing offering before her: a bowl of grey, congealing mush dotted with suspiciously suspended chunks she guessed were root vegetables, alongside the rare morsel of meat so tough she was certain it belonged to a very, very old animal, likely little more than sinew and bone. The thought of it sent a shiver through her, yet her stomach growled louder than her instincts, urging her to eat.

After choking down enough to sate her hunger, Amriel returned to her corner and curled up on the cold stone floor. The chill seeped through her thin cloak, wrapping around her like a relentless embrace. She pulled her knees to her chest, hoping to preserve whatever warmth she could muster. The dampness of the cell clung to her skin.

Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine herself immersed in the Vhengal Forest. She tried to picture the dense undergrowth, the towering trees, and the thick canopy above. The air would be alive with the sounds of rustling leaves and distant bird calls, a symphony of nature that felt worlds away from the cold stone of her prison.

In her mind’s eye, she could almost feel the soft moss beneath her feet, the vibrant colors of wildflowers peeking through the greenery, and the cool, refreshing breeze that often danced through the branches. Each breath she took in her imagination was filled with the rich, earthy scent of damp soil and blooming flora. She could see the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves, casting shifting patterns on the forest floor, and for a moment, the heaviness in her chest began to ease.

But just as her spirit began to soar, a loud clang echoed through the corridor outside her cell, shattering her reverie. Her eyes flew open, the vivid imagery fading as reality set back in. Amriel’s breath quickened, the tranquility of her imagined forest dissolving into the harsh reality of her cell.

Shadows flickered across the walls as the sounds of chaos grew closer, each clang of metal sending jolts of adrenaline coursing through her veins. The excited screams and shouts of her fellow cell mates rang in her ears. She moved closer to the door, straining to catch any clues about what was happening outside. The sounds were chaotic—shouts and the clash of metal, punctuated by the grunts of exertion. She held her breath, heart pounding in her ears. What was happening out there?

“Get back!” a voice barked, followed by the unmistakable sound of a struggle, the echoes of their movements reverberating in the narrow corridor.

A final, resounding crash echoed through the corridor. The sounds of struggle and chaos abruptly ceased, leaving an eerie stillness in their wake. Amriel held her breath, straining to listen, her heart pounding in her chest.