The silence was almost oppressive. He shifted uneasily on his side, eyes wide open despite the way his body ached and the heaviness in his limbs. Sylvie’s quiet, shallow breaths told him she wasn’t asleep either. Was it even night? With the only light available being that of the occasional torch it was hard to tell what time it was or how long they had been imprisoned.

He shifted his position one last time and finally sat up. “Sylvie?” he asked quietly.

She sat up immediately, not making any pretense of having been asleep. “I think it’s time,” she said, her tone unusually low.

Nestor swallowed and then nodded. They had been trying to plan their escape for the last three meals. How often the guards brought the meals was beyond him. Trying to memorize guard routes was difficult when you weren’t sure how much time passed.

“There hasn’t been any screaming for a while,” Sylvie continued, still in her flat tone. “I don’t think anyone is here to do it--it’s probably night.”

“Are you sure about this?” he couldn’t resist asking one last time. “We could still get you to the surface.”

She shook her head, adamant, but tired. “I don’t think I’d be able to find the cell again, even if I did manage to find the crew and they didn’t move you. Together or nothing.” As she spoke she reached beneath her bed roll and pulled out the pair of tweezers, as well as a pin that had fallen from one of the guard’s uniforms.

Nestor took the tweezers and wrenched them apart, breaking them in two. Three makeshift picks. He ran his finger along the edge of one of the broken tweezer ends, feeling at the slight hooked end. It wasn’t as deep as a normal pick. Too shallow and he’d never be able to set the pins, but it would have to do.

He stuck the tweezers into the lock, holding his breath to keep his hands steady. There were six pins, evident by the six tiny stops he felt as he pushed the pick along. He pulled back and carefully pushed the first pin up, a tiny click told him he had gotten it into position and he let out a slow breath of satisfaction. One down.

He could feel Sylvie’s eyes on him as he set the next two pins. A part of him was surprised to find that he didn’t feel self conscious under her accessing gaze, rather it was comforting in a strange way.

“Is it working?” she asked quietly, just a little too much hushed excitement in her tone.

He smiled to himself, knowing full well she wouldn’t be able to see it in the low light. “You’d make a good thief,” he said as he set the fourth pin. Two more.

“Excuse me, sir. I am an upstanding citizen!” The grin in her voice told him far more than looking at her face could have. “I would of course be skilled in anything I tried though,” she added.

He slid the fifth pin up, but heard no click. Frowning he lowered his pick, feeling the pin come with it. “Skies take it,” he muttered. “You’re going to get that chance now.”

“What’s wrong?” Sylvie asked. She settled down beside him.

“The tweezers don’t have enough of a hook--I can’t set one of the pins,” Nestor explained as he grabbed the uniform pin with his other hand. “I need you to hold the pick in the lock steady while I get this thing usable.”

Sylvie took hold of the tweezers as Nestor bent a hook into the pin he was holding. Never before had he wished for his lockpicking kit this badly. Or even just picks that he wasn’t afraid of bending out of shape as soon as he used them. “Ok,” he said. “I’m going to slip this past the pick you’re holding and set the next pin. Hold it steady.”

Sylvie nodded and he pushed the second pick in. It became painfully obvious in that moment just how much wider the tweezers were compared to a normal lockpick, but the pin still managed to slide along. Feeling the bump that told him he had made it to the fifth pin, he slid it under and up, the pin sliding up begrudgingly. “They really need to service their locks,” he muttered through gritted teeth. At last he heard the tiny click and let out a sigh of relief.

“Did you get it?” Sylvie asked.

He didn’t answer until he set the final pin moments later. “Yep. Now I need you to push your pick to the back and twist it like it’s a key.”

She did so and they listened as the barrel clicked into place. Sylvie tentatively pushed at the door and they both sat there nearly frozen as it creaked open.

The weight of what they were doing seemed to settle on Nestor as he stared into the shadowy passage. What would they do to him if they were caught? What would they do to Sylvie?

“Ok,” he said before those thoughts could get the better of him. “Let’s go.”

Sylvie was already on her feet and before he knew it they were both out of the cell and moving along in the dark.

Theirs had been the only occupied cell in the hallway, it seemed. They had of course not anticipated meeting other prisoners, but the sight of so many empty, forgotten cells made him uneasy. Had they been occupied at some point? Where were the people now?

“I think it was this way,” Sylvie said softly. She had her hand on the wall, feeling her way through the darkness.

Nestor shook himself. One thing at a time.

They moved in silence, hesitating at the smallest sounds and staring far too long at corners where the darkness seemed to pool like liquid. After what felt like a small eternity, the inky darkness gave way to pale light glittering on the stones.

This light however was not the silvery light of the moon, or even the bluish tinged light of the day. It was orange and weak, flickering across the walls and the cobbles like a living thing.

Torch light.

“Wait,” Nestor hissed, grabbing Sylvie’s arm.

She tilted her head in a silent question.

“It’s a torch,” he whispered.

As he spoke the light seemed to grow brighter and he watched as Sylvie’s eyes widened in alarm.

This had always been a risk. They had planned for this, hadn’t they? He gently pulled on the door of the vacant cell they were standing next to and it creaked open. He motioned to Sylvie to follow him and they both stepped in, closing the door as quietly as they could after them.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

They huddled in the furthest corner of the cell, watching as the weak torchlight grew brighter and the decided ting of shoes on stone sounded. A lone guard walked past, his torch wavering in his grip and his eyes staring dead ahead while blinking slowly. He yawned and continued on his way.

Sylvie let out a sigh of relief the moment they couldn’t hear the guard’s shoes. “That was too close,” she muttered.

“Much too close,” Nestor whispered. “Come on, they’ll notice we’re gone soon.” He pushed the cell door open, flinching when the hinges protested the movement. Did no one service anything down in the prison?

“Who? More people asleep on their feet?” Sylvie snorted. Still her steps were careful and quiet as she followed him out.

“Whenever they decide to feed us,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

“Then let’s be long gone by then,” Sylvie said. She pulled his hand away from the cell door he was trying to close quietly and pushed it shut herself. “Skies above know the sight of more gruel will end me.”

They came to a heavy wooden door a few minutes later. Light seeped out from the crack at the bottom, a deep red light that was definitely not the outside world, but light. Had they gone through a door like this to get to their cell in the first place? Only hazy, nearly delirious memories swirled across his mind’s eye. Being beaten was not great for the mind.

“Do you remember this?” he whispered to Sylvie.

She tilted her head then slowly shook it. “Might be an alternate way out?” she said hopefully.

With a final glance at her, he pulled at the door, almost surprised when it swung open easily with no hint of the creaking that every other door in the prison had insisted on.

The flood of light that washed over them had Nestor blinking against it. His breath caught painfully as his eyes adjusted and he was suddenly trying to slam the door closed, but it wouldn’t budge.

The light in that room wasn’t from any torch or even a gas lamp, instead a golden, almost cage-like object sat atop a table, something within glowing unnaturally, menacing red.

Beside it a woman lay in a chair with a mess of wires attached to her and the glowing thing. With a start, Nestor realized that she too was glowing bright red, or at least half of her was.

“Oh my…” Sylvie trailed off beside him.

Trance like, Nestor found himself wandering further into the room. A part of him screamed to run, but he couldn’t make himself follow through.

Crystals jutted out from along the side of the woman’s neck and out of the exposed section of her arm. They encased her hand completely, as though it were some sort of demented carapace. Smaller ones covered a portion of her face where they disappeared into her hairline. It was just like the man they had seen being dragged away, but unlike his, these were glowing. They dimmed as the woman let out a slow breath and then brightened once more as she took another in.

“She’s alive,” Sylvie said softly.

Nestor jumped, almost having forgotten that she was there.

Sylvie reached out a tentative hand to touch the woman and Nestor smacked it away.

“Don’t! We don’t know what causes that!” he urged. “It could spread to us.”

“We have to help her,” she whispered, never taking her gaze from the glowing woman.

“We need to save ourselves!” His voice came louder than he had intended and the woman groaned in her chair. They froze as her eyelids fluttered and slowly opened to fix on him.

His breath caught as he stared back. One of her eyes was brown, maybe light hazel, but the other glowed molten red with a small black void where the pupil should have been. Even the white of the eye had been turned to a red shifting pattern.

“Who…are you?” the woman rasped. She swallowed and rubbed at her throat with a grimace. If her skin on the outside had been coated in crystal, what did the inside of her look like? She stared at them a moment longer and her eyes widened. “You’re not guards!” Her voice was strange, almost metallic, as if she were speaking with vocal cords turned partially to stone.

“We…” Sylvie trailed off and met Nestor’s gaze desperately. He shook his head but she was already turning back to the woman. “We can help,” she said, starting to reach for the woman’s hand. “We can help you escape.”

She laughed, a harsh sound like gravel being ground beneath wagon wheels. “Too late. You must hide!”

“But--” Sylvie broke off as the sound of boots on cobblestone began to echo.

“Hide!” the woman hissed. Her glow flared brighter as she glared at Nestor and Sylvie. The steps grew louder.

Nestor grabbed Sylvie’s arm and pulled her to the corner where stacks of crates stood. They ducked behind them just as the wooden door swung open.

A second woman wearing a nearly floor length red dress stepped in. Her hair was tied into a bun atop her head and her arms were clasped behind her back.

She regarded the crystalline woman and nodded sharply. “You’re awake, Mary. Very good.”

The crystalline woman spat at her and the second woman merely stepped to the side.

“No need for that,” she chided the captive woman. “You’re fairing much better than some of the others, I would think that would be cause to celebrate.”

“What have you done to me?” the crystalline woman demanded. The second woman stepped into Nestor’s view of her, but he heard a faint gasp of pain that set Sylvie tensing up beside him.

“Your nerve receptors are still functioning, even through all that crystal,” the second woman said, almost boredly. She took a step back, letting Nestor see the crystalline woman fully once more. “That’s unexpected.”

The woman glared at her, her glowing eye seeming to bore a hole through her captor.

The second woman didn’t seem to mind. Instead she turned to the strange object wired to the crystalline woman. “It’s truly remarkable, isn’t it?” she asked, near reverence in her tone. “Any ordinary one should have shattered by now, but we can charge this one! The uses are endless!” She carefully disconnected the wires running from the object and cradled it gently in her palms.

The red glow coming from within that golden cage faded suddenly, leaving the room lit solely by the crystalline woman.

“You don’t realize it, but you’re helping us change this world for the better. A noble sacrifice.”

The woman in the chair just groaned weakly. Her crystals were fading, still brightening with each breath she drew in, but with each exhale they dimmed further.

“You barely know how to use it,” she spat as her glow dimmed to such that Nestor could only make out her outline and the shadow were the second woman stood.

A cold laugh echoed through the darkness. “You think I’m not aware of what I hold?” she asked in a dangerously light voice.

“You’re a child struggling to understand her new toy. You will destroy this world before you ever get a chance to save it.” A bit of the crystalline woman’s glow came back with her words, casting the second woman into the garish red glare.

The woman snorted and set the object back on the table. “If that’s how you feel,” she said through gritted teeth as she began to reconnect the wires. “Maybe you’ll feel better as a part of it.”

A shrill sound filled the air and Nestor’s blood ran cold. The golden thing flared back to life, it glowed bright, somehow hungry.

From the chair, the woman continued to scream. New, glowing crystals erupted along her chin, spreading to the other side of her face and down her shoulders. The room grew brighter, casting everything before them into sharp relief. Through it all the second woman watched, her arms clasped neatly behind her back and unflinching against the screams.

The cries changed pitch, turning to a low gurgling until they stopped with a pitiful squeak. Slowly, the crystalline’s woman’s glow faded, but the glow of the object remained strong.

The woman gasped and her head fell limply to the side. Both eyes had turned fully red, but the black dot in their center seemed dull, uncomprehending. Her crystals no longer pulsed in rhythm with her breathing, but barely held any light at all.

The woman in the red dress slowly stretched out a hand to the side of her now fully crystalline neck. Nothing happened and she withdrew it, shaking her head in disappointment. “I thought you’d be able to survive that, Mary. Pity.” She stepped away from the limp woman.