I’m bored out of my mind. The chains rattle as I draw seemingly random lines and curves on a piece of paper one of the guards was kind enough to slip into my cell. A song runs through my mind, one I begin to hum out loud. I hear footsteps and look up.
“Hello, little one.”
I roll my eyes and go back to drawing. A hand gathers my hair and yanks my head up.
“I said hello, Carmillia.”
I stare deep into her eyes, so dark I can see myself reflected in them. I look away.
She grins and releases my locks from her claws.
“We’ll work on that. Now,” she peers over my shoulder, “what are you drawing?”
I shrug, flipping the paper over. I don’t trust her, at all. I know that she is feigning interest in my personal pastimes, in order to get on my good side. My mind drifts to Aidan. The witch must have sensed my sudden shift in mood because her nails are on me, once again, as she raises my chin so that our eyes meet. Her other hand shoots out and snatches up my paper. Still holding my face firmly, she narrows her eyes and assesses my work. (Of course, I’m not looking for her approval, so her next words are in one ear and out the other.)
“You insist on torturing yourself by drawing the eyes of a man forbidden to you?”
I don’t say anything, but lie there as the witch continues to verbally pick me apart.
“I don’t understand. He isn’t yours- he never will be. Why not just let go of him, now, instead of hurting yourself by hanging on to him?”
“Everything that leaves your mouth really is bullshit,” I growl with a chuckle.
The witch laughs softly, shaking her head and loosening her grip on my chin.
“I knew you were the right one. From the second I looked into those defiant little eyes of yours, I knew you were going to be a challenge.” She shakes her head, again. “Well, you have certainly lived up to my expectations, Carmillia, dear.”
I watch with slitted eyes as her fist closes around my paper, crunching and molding it into nothing but a useless ball. When she opens her hand, white, pulpy shavings float peacefully out of her hand, coating the already filthy floor of my cell. For some reason, I can’t take my eyes off of the paper as it drifts to the floor in shreds and mounds of powder.
“It would be best for both of you to let go. You can never have Aidan,” she casts a menacing glance at me, “and I will never allow Aidan to have you.”
With that final thought, the witch swirls her long cloak around her and, in a graceful flurry of black silk, exits the room. The clank! of the heavy metal door closing echoes through the tiny room and I curl up around myself, eyes fixed on the little white piles of paper forming around me. The same song from before picks up in my mind and I resume humming as if I was never interrupted.