Chapter Text
Hatred.
The very idea has been woven through my soul like thread, It's as if I live off of it, and anger is no different.
For some reason, it's manifesting through tears right now. It's pathetic, he'd think it was weak- no. No. No no I don't care what he thinks. He can go die for all I care. I don't need him I'm not a child.
I watch my tears hit the floor, is it stone? I can't tell. My wrists hurt, they've been shackled and held up for so long, I can hardly remember how long. My neck too, shackled and chained to a wall too far behind me for me to see in the darkness. Is it dark? I don't care.
At least my back doesn't sting.
My eyes are heavy, I can barely keep them open yet for some reason I insist. I will not let them close I will not let even my sight fail me-
My days of thrashing and screaming and trying to claw my way out are long done, I have NOT given up. I am just too physically exhausted to bother. Imagine if those pathetic, disgusting robloxians could see me now. They'd probably revel in it. He probably would too, he always loved seeing me in distress, at least I think he did.
Well one day I'll get to see him like that, I'll chase him down in whatever new form he's cursed himself with, and plunge my swords into his empty heart with the same moves and techniques I incessantly and annoyingly begged him to teach me as a child.
I'm snapped out of my thoughts by a noise. Footsteps? What? I should be overjoyed, I've been isolated for the past- Father knows how long. But all I feel is irritation.
I don't recognise these footsteps, I don't like that. It doesn't sound like mother or father, either way I keep my head down. Whoever this is doesn't deserve to see my tear streaked face, I will not grovel at their feet for the chance of escape.
They kneel before me instead, what is this?? Why?? I still refuse to lift my head, I'm unsure if they're even aware that I know they're there. My hands twitch a little, trying to reach towards this stranger. I pray the chains didn't clink loud enough for them to hear.
They exhale quickly, it almost sounds like laughter. Do they find my suffering amusing? Have they come just to make a mockery of me? My hands tighten into fists, more tears begin to form, I'm not sad I'm frustrated. I try to lunge forward but-
They're holding me, they're lifting my face with their hand, their painfully soft hand. I can't tell if it's actually soft or just the first thing I've felt in a long time. My cries continue, but they're less rage filled now. What is the cause of this? Why am I still crying if I'm less angry?
I begin to wail, like a child. It's pathetic, if I had any control over this I never would've allowed them to see me so pitifully. They lean closer and use their thumb to wipe away my tears before letting me bury my face into their shoulder.
"Promise you won't attack me?" They speak, finally. They were so quiet for so long, like a character written by an author who's way too scared of mischaracterisation.
I nod, sobbing and wailing into their shoulder. They remove my wrist shackles like it's nothing, and gently rub their hands around my aching wrists. Once they're done I cling onto them like my life depends on it. It's pathetic. But they don't seem to think so.
They remove the shackle around my neck and oh so gently caress it to stop the aching there too, I hiccup. I then take in the biggest breath of air in a long time. It wasn't restricting my breath or anything, I just couldn't breathe too deeply without discomfort.
I fall forward, I haven't had to hold myself up in ages, I'd almost forgotten how. I wrap my arms around them and claw at the fabric on their back to make sure they won't let me go.
"Don't leave me here." I beg, my voice hoarse from disuse and all that wailing. They quietly promise they won't but I'm not too sure.
"I won't," they begin, caressing my matted hair now. "I have a proposal for you." They sound so in control, I hate it. I don't want to be under control anymore. I furrow my eyebrows but say nothing, they're all I have.
"Who are you?" I speak faintly, they look familiar but I have no idea who they are. They pick me up, bridal style. I feel so weak but I wrap my arms around their neck to hold me upright.
"I am Noli." They smile down at me as they walk, unbothered. Why is nothing attacking us? There are other angry prisoners here who will not hesitate to wipe out whatever they see. They must be a big deal.
Then I process what they said, recognition flashes in my eyes. I'd heard tales of this guy when I was a child, he seemed nothing like how the stories described him though. They made him seem terrifying but he's been nothing but kind to me. He did say he needed something so it could be that.
I nod and close my eyes, I'm exhausted. I'll unpack all that later. Sleep slowly takes me.
I wake up. I can't exactly clock where I am but my hair is clean and dry. I'm in a purple t-shirt and black shorts. There are bandages on my knees, they must've bled from all the kneeling I was doing. Not like I had much of a choice.
I reach to fidget with some of my hair but it's so long now that it doesn't take much effort, I decide to walk around and look for my captor? No, saviour sounds alright.
"Hello?" I call out, my voice is raspy. I need a drink. I'm in a hallway somewhere when Noli pokes his head out of one of the doors before shutting it behind him. He smiles at me, it makes me feel weird.
"I'm glad you're awake," While he's talking he approaches me, and I finally get an idea of just how much shorter than me he is. It's not a drastic difference but it's surprising. "I really thought we'd lost you for a minute there."
"We'd?"
"Oh, no. It's just me, that's just what people say." He laughs, is he laughing at me? I cut my thoughts off. I promised I wouldn't attack him so I can't get too upset.
"Understood." I assume I'll be living with Noli for a while, imagine if little me could see me now.
"Things are going to be different," Noli began "you were in The Banlands for seventeen years after all."
"Seventeen years!?" I exclaim, coughing after. I forgot how dry my throat was.
"I mean, I don't know. There's a lot of speculation, I've heard people say seventeen I've heard people say fourteen. But you age funny, right? It's probably all the same to you." He laughed again, it didn't make me mad this time, I felt weird again.
"I'm not sure." I don't look at him, I remember the feeling of his hand on my face and find myself wishing he'd hold me like that again- what? Didn't I just meet this guy?
I'm just touch starved, wait no- I don't need things like that. My attempt to convince myself is futile.