A Mile From Gehanna's Gateway

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at this metal room shoves to me. The rusty smell of blood lingers around my nostrils as the vile od

in front of me. I even barely get fresh air since there is no suitable window. All I h

lthough, sometimes, I feel a bit guilty because I feared and hated them when I was little; I thought of them as little devils, as they never relented from

p me in a dungeon beneath the Smithy because it somehow turned out to be a blessing through the years. Reason is; I may have gotten too used to the dar

roll my eyes as I lean my head against the wall, a panging head

in darkness again. Yet, today, I know that his purpose slightly differs from the others, which makes me shi

im. It only explains why he wants me to suffer continually for the rest of my l

my cell. Perhaps, he put all those to avoid my escape, as he thinks that I could run through some weird means. This thought

close. I would block my eyes from the flash if my hands were not so heavy and stiff, though it

look at him. I try as much as I can to avoid eye contact because either his countenanc

I watch him with the corner of my eyes as he unlocks

stion meets my ears. I am not sure that starvation could kill, and I have attempted starving myself to death a num

w they heal slowly. As the flame reflects on his face, I can see his sharp eyes narrow to invite soft wrinkles that pull at its corners,

voice cracks out before he jolts, though he

t. I look like a mess for sure. Who knows, I may even be the bearer of the fishy smell since I barely have a bath, and my clothes ha

find it irritating that I would bear the child of someone thrice my Father's age. It sounds odd, yet it is the truth-the bit

am the one who holds the torch; a wooden stave with one end wrapped in torn materials that is soaked into a flammable substance to trigger fire.

. I narrow my eyes to shield it from daylight as I keep the torch near the old Blacksmith's coven whil

rkers who proudly keep their chins up as I walk along the hallway with Lord Owen, some tossing shady words to me. They seem to revel in the p

y wooden bed, my small table by it and two stools beside the latter. My eyes wander to the broken window, and I recall

than the ones I was fed in the dungeon. I usually had to eat here with him whenever I was free, I do

o whenever I walk into a group of people,

could not help but think that Katelyn is a real expert at gossip; it has not been up to twenty-eight hours si

t talking back at him. He usually does not let me touch the main dish, so I just watc

cutleries as I stand to stride to the bathroom. He seems a little different

s tainting the sink as insects crawl in it. These were not here the

ave been threatening to fall. I can see a pair of large, heavy eyes staring back at me in the mirror; their appearance has deviated