Dawn is breaking, but where she is now--no ray of sunshine will ever fall upon her face.
The door opens with a creak and from the distance blood-curling screams of agony and sheer despair enter the sparely lit room like uninvited guests. Her chin rests against her breastbone, each breath she takes is shallow and rather painful.
Blue eyes are tired, eyelids are heavy and swollen. If she just keeps them closed she might stay in her perfect little bubble a little while longer, where she is not stripped down to her underthings and hanging on a hook like a pig in the slaughterhouse.
In a wondrous dream, where no bruises adorn her pale skin like a morbid, inscrutable painting.
In a world where she is not the very last of her kind. As long the Mother Confessor‘s pure heart beats... Her heart isn‘t pure anymore.
This isn‘t real.
The traitorous voice in her mind pulls her back ever so often, especially when she drifts further away to rather carefree days of her life. These memories from past ages seem millennia ago, speaking to her in the languages of ancient times. It is hard to tell how much time has truly passed, but Kahlan can feel herself slowly fading away.
Every future has a past, but Kahlan has come to a point where she believes she has no future.
Come back to me.
The door closes again and the dungeon falls eerily silent once more.
But there is one thing she has learned during her involuntary stay as a much honored guest, that appearances are deceptive and here even more than anywhere else.
The prickling of her skin tells her what she needs to know - but is not yet ready to see.
Someone is there.
The only thing Kahlan can hear is the raspy sound of her own breathing. Muscles are tense and her skin aches under the constant strain. When blue eyes flutter open eventually, her gaze catches a faint movement, she looks in direction of the door.
You have nowhere to hide.
Her vision is blurry, much like the day Aydindril stood in flames and was burned to the ground.
Still Kahlan can see women and children run through an ocean of embers that once was a place she had called home. With time passing, faces have blurred together, but the cries and wails of agony, the smell of burned flesh are still clear, echoing in her mind as if it happened only yesterday.
It was the day Richard died. Cara. And Zedd.
Nowhere to go.
Choking on a sob that rises in her sore throat, Kahlan blinks against the tears that are welling up and focuses her attention on something that spreads underneath the door into the room, then really, she can‘t think about that day now--or ever again.
The stream slowly spreads further, tainting gray stone-tiles crimson. For a moment Kahlan is completely mesmerized and watches the dark puddle as it gets larger by the second.
Like a torch being ignited Kahlan realizes what it is--and where it must come from.
Tick, tock. Tick..
Turning her head to the side, Kahlan finally sees who keeps her quiet company.
The lone big chair with armrests stands in the middle of the spacious room and its occupant sits motionless and just stares at her. It must have been a quarter of a candle-mark since the Mord‘Sith entered the private dungeon room where Kahlan has spent the last six days or so. Or a lot more, maybe less.
Kahlan could ask, if she could already speak again, but then she doesn‘t think Denna would answer. She‘s been awfully quiet since she forced her Agiel down Kahlan‘s throat.
Denna has crossed her legs and her arms are stretched out on the armrests, with a look of utter serenity on her face.
Considering that she is covered with blood-splatters from head to toe--all over her leathers, even dried sprinkles on her face and in her platinum blonde hair--Kahlan thinks that it's quite the display of indifference, even for Denna. It is the messiest Kahlan has ever seen her look.
Even with Kahlan on her knees--head buried between her legs, breathing toneless moans into the air when she comes undone faster than a Mord‘Sith needs to get out of her leathers--she still manages to look put together. Kahlan can do nothing but envy her for that. It easy to focus her sole attention on Denna, then by now, Denna is all she has left.
Think of me and only of me.
It is Denna‘s voice she hears in her mind day and night, even if the blonde Mord‘Sith has not spoken to her in days.
Kahlan wonders, if it is a sign of being broken already. Or maybe, it is enough that Denna can make her say crude things while she fucks her hard against the stone-wall of her chambers.
Kahlan can‘t tell for sure, but that‘s one of the amenities of being a Mord‘Sith‘ pet.
There is no need to wonder about anything any longer, then Kahlan has a Mistress now, to do it for her.