Fire was his only light in the darkness, his only feeling- pain. Wounds long healed were split open once more and blood flowed freely, coating his skin wherever they hadn’t already branded it shut.

He shuddered, a familiar terror gripping him as he staggered through the hall. Madness called for him to hide in its embrace, to bury himself in the coffin of his mind. Time was meaningless in such a place, his waking terror extending minutes into a lifetime. How much more could he bear?

A soldier held a chain around his neck, dragging him onward into the abyss. He staggered forward, legs shaking as they struggled to hold his weight. He nearly staggered into the guard as they came to a halt. The man recoiled from him, but whether out of disgust or fear, it was hard to tell.

The door to a cell opened.

“In,” The soldier commanded.

He obeyed, shuffling into its confines. This was the peace between his hell. A time where he could rest in the quiet dread. Bars surrounded him, encircling a straw mat and a pile of shit left by the previous occupant. He settled far from the latter, straining with the effort of settling onto the cold stone.

He had a vague awareness of eyes upon him from the surrounding cells. Some perhaps even recognized him. His gaze drifted to his mangled hands. Where before one finger had been missing from each, now three more blackened stubs greeted him. He clenched his fists, the fresh pain barely registering.

He closed his eyes, trying to remember her face. It was what had gotten him through this before. Droplets trickled along his cheeks, but whether it was tears or blood was impossible to tell.

He could still see her; envision the day they were married. The first day he held his baby girl in his hands. There was good in the world- a reason to hold on to. He had one purpose left in this life, and he would see it through. Reaper take him and those who sent him here, but he would do his duty.

Marc was right.

A sob escaped his lips unbidden. How long would it be? A week? Two? A month? Longer? His hands shook at the thought, and he clenched them once more, thinking back to her. He could almost hear her voice calling his name.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“James?”

A humorless laugh escaped his lips. Perhaps he was already mad.

“James,” the voice called, more confidently this time.

He froze, turning his head to look into the adjoining cell. His heart stopped. She was there, reaching to him through the bars of his cell. His lip quavered. He didn’t want her to see him like this- her last memory being this broken shell of a man. He curled into himself, hiding the shame of his ravaged face where they’d taken his nose and ears.

“Not like this. Not like this. Not like this,” he whispered into his knees, willing it all to stop.

It didn’t.

Hilda’s voice cracked. “Come to me. Please,” she begged.

A wretched sound escaped his lips.

Her voice broke as she spoke. “When I vowed, I’d stand by you through age, trial and tribulation, I meant it,” she said, “Don’t leave me now.”

James shook, her words like a lance through his heart. He winced as he revealed to her the singed hole where his nose had once been and the blackened scars along his skull.

She didn’t recoil.

She reached out to him, reiterating her first request.

“Come to me.”

Crawling on broken hands and bloodied knees, he obeyed. His ravaged body fought his every command, but there was nothing that could keep him from her. He reached to her, and their fingers touched as he collapsed to the floor, gasping.

Her hand was in his, and he felt her fingers grasp him tight. “To me,” she whispered with a strength and determination that brought fresh life to his limbs.

With a final effort, he heaved himself forward as she pulled him, and he fell against the bars of the cell. He was close enough to see his face reflected in her eyes. Disgust filled him but, in her look, he saw only love. What had he done to deserve such a woman?

His lips worked as they looked into each other’s eyes, but no words came out. Her hands stroked his hair soothingly.

It was Hilda who broke the silence with the most important question in the world. “Is Lissa safe?”

James gave a shuddering nod, watching as fresh tears appeared in his wife’s eyes.

“They think I’m her,” Hilda whispered.

James’ throat tightened. “They’ll-” he trailed off, unable to say the words.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I know what they’ll do,” she said, “But if it keeps her safe-” she trailed off.

He took a shuddering breath. “When?”

She stroked his cheek, wiping away something wet. “A week. Maybe two.”

He was going to lose her again.

“Why are we cursed?” he whispered.

Hilda firmly grasped his head in her hands. “Our lives have been a blessing because we had the joy of each other and because we raised a perfect daughter,” Her voice broke, “This is not the end, James. I will find you dark of the veil and we will watch her remake this world together.”

He reached through the cell with a broken hand and caressed her cheek. She leaned into it, seeming to savor his bloodied touch. The thought of Marc with his daughter turned his stomach, but there was no point in telling Hilda. He didn’t want to sully these last moments any more than they had already been tainted.

“We were supposed to die old and in bed together. We agreed on it long ago,” he whispered.

She took his hands in hers. “I’ll settle for together.”