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Post by Lector on Aug 29, 2013 13:18:14 GMT
He knew something was wrong. It had to be. Things were never this easy, not anymore. For the past year, he'd been a prisoner, struggling to stay alive in the dark recesses of this crumbling and forgotten palace, a relic from an age begone. Every moment was an impossible battle, and every excruciating second was a painstaking fight. As he gripped the rough stone, Lector closed his eyes. Not now. Just thinking of the agonizing torture he endured in this place brought forth something much more painful to the forefront of his mind, memories that would slow him down if he lingered on them for too long. He remembered happiness and his simple little life, the memories of which served as the only anchor capable of keeping him tethered to the land of the living. He was just a farmer's son who lived on the outskirts of the village. He had little knowledge of the world outside because he lived in blissful ignorance. So when the strangers came, he did not know just how much to fear them. How could he know? He was only fifteen and all of those fifteen years he'd spent sheltered by his mother and father.
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Post by Lector on Aug 29, 2013 13:18:57 GMT
He had to move. He could not afford to waste any more time, especially if this was going to be his one and only chance. He was the last of the captives still alive, presumably. There had been nineteen others, and the game that the monsters had been playing for the last year grew old for them and one by one, over the last three nights, the others were taken. He heard some of them scream. Sometimes he only heard silence. But they finally made a mistake when they took the last- Vincent. They left the door unlocked. When he could no longer hear the footsteps, or the sound of them dragging his paralyzed body, he ran as fast as his broken body could manage.
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Post by Lector on Aug 29, 2013 13:19:33 GMT
He had to keep running. He could not cling to the statue for much longer lest he jeopardize his escape. It had been quiet long enough for him to decide no one else was in the room with him. He'd never been in this part of the palace. He knew because he could see bright moonlight shining into the windows of the next room. They never took captives into lit rooms. There were never windows. Or if there were, they were always well covered.
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Post by Lector on Aug 29, 2013 13:20:13 GMT
Lector pushed himself as hard as he could, ignoring the blistering pain that came with each and every step. Only last week they had taken to peeling the skin off of his legs in patches and he was nowhere near healed. They'd stopped healing the wounds they inflicted, and instead left them to fester. As a result, the air stung his open wounds, but Lector could not stop to let the agonizing cries out. No, he kept running. Through statue lined corridor into the moonlit library, as it appeared to be. The wall opposite to the windows was made of bookshelves, though the shelves were actually starting to rot out, and the books themselves were lying in shredded and nearly disintegrated piles on the floor.
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Post by Lector on Aug 29, 2013 13:20:54 GMT
He could not linger on the sight of the shelves for too long because he had to quickly halt his progress when he nearly fell into the giant hole in the floor that was rotten and falling into the basement and catacombs below. "Damn it," he said, trying to gauge where the safest place to walk around was. What wasn't a hole in the floor was a pile of old wood and destroyed texts, and Lector sincerely doubted the dilapidated flooring could hold his weight on top of all the debris. With that in mind, it left only one option. The windowed wall. There was a space just barely a foot wide, but it was unobstructed.
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Post by Lector on Aug 29, 2013 13:22:00 GMT
He wasted no time sidling up to the wall, pressing his back as far against it as possible. Tears sprang up like weeds as the rough stone wall rubbed against one of the skinned portions of his calves, but tears or no tears, he was going to keep going anyway. Biting back a jagged breath, he began to inch sideways, preferring to hold his lungs in limbo until he crossed.
Yes, that was it. One step, another step, three more now…. As slowly as he was going, Lector knew that he was nearing the end of this torture. He glanced down below, and could tell that the hole revealed some kind of servants quarters, and that a hole was beginning to form on that level as well. Perhaps it was moisture leaking through the roof into the building below? He looked up to the ceiling, and sure enough he could see light tricking in from a hole in the roof two floors up.
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Post by Lector on Aug 29, 2013 13:22:55 GMT
Young Lector turned his attention behind him to check for anyone following, anxious to be free of this death trap. He nearly lost his footing when he saw a woman standing in the doorway he'd just come from. He'd been found. Though, Lector wasn't sure if he'd been found by a human or by one of the creatures. He'd never actually seen them in the light since the levels down below were always pitch black, except for the holding cell. This woman wore black leather pants, a man's style by the looks of it. She had a crisp white shirt, seemingly meant for a someone twice her size. It hung so loosely that, in its untied manner, nearly exposed her breasts. Was this his tormentor? Was this strange, petite woman with hair the color of wine really the perpetrator? The boy stood frozen, unsure if this was his savior or captor.
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Post by Lector on Aug 29, 2013 13:23:38 GMT
"Where are you going, Poppet?" The woman's voice was glorious, as bright and cheerful as newborn babe's laugh. Lector paused, feeling ashamed. Why was he ashamed? Why did he stop? The female did not move, only cocked her head in a curious fashion. Lector looked at her, intrigued. Something about that voice was familiar.
When there was no answer, the woman took a step forward, her boots making an echoing sound. How did he not hear the woman's approach? "Why don't you come back? You might fall to your death." She held out her hand with a warm smile, just outside the reach of the moonlight.
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Post by Lector on Aug 29, 2013 13:24:15 GMT
Something was wrong, but Lector couldn't figure out what. Maybe if he went to the woman, they could figure it out and escape together. Lector inched toward the friendly face, careful not to fall into the pit before him. Yes, he needed to go towards her. He did not recognize the woman's beautiful voice, so she couldn't have been one of his captors. He would have recognized the terrible screeches, and growls of the monsters below. As Lector slowly made his way, the woman nodded encouragingly. He looked into the stranger's red eyes and smiled… Wait, something isn't right. He paused, just feet away from the woman.
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Post by Lector on Aug 29, 2013 13:24:46 GMT
"What is it, Poppet? Come this way." The woman's eyebrows furrowed. Was that anger? No, anger doesn't suit such a beautiful woman.
Lector closed his eyes, slowly becoming aware of strange feeling within his head, as if a haze had creeped inside of his mind.
A thick blanket, smothering and desensitizing rested heavily within his consciousness. It had been there since he saw the woman.
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Post by Lector on Aug 29, 2013 13:25:04 GMT
"No, stay away from me." Lector opened his eyes quickly and started backing away.
He knew what was happening. It's the same trick they used to take him away that night.
He remembered the calmness, the false sense of security that came over him when he made that godforsaken deal.
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Post by Lector on Aug 29, 2013 13:25:51 GMT
The woman's face turned into a vicious snarl, seemingly enraged that Lector had fallen out of her thrall.
He moved as quickly as he was able across the small path, careful keep his eyes on the woman at all times. Now that he'd escaped from the mind game, he could more clearly see the creature before him. It was a woman, yes, but more monster than human. Her fingers were clawed dark gray talons, and stained red at the tips. The crisp white shirt was now a dingy gray with obvious blood spatter, and the wine color hair was only matted with gore. Looking at angular red eyes, Lector was shocked he couldn't see the truth before. The creature whose mouth was caked with dried blood, yet also dripping with fresh, was surely the one who dispatched with Vincent after they came to get him.
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Post by Lector on Aug 29, 2013 13:26:40 GMT
"Get away from me, you hag!" he quickly glanced behind and could see she was nearly to the other side of the room.
He winced as the wall scrapped his leg, but made no sign of stopping. The creature tilted her head back and let out an ear-splitting scream, one Lector remembered from a distant memory. No doubt that the other nightmare creatures could hear and would come running. He could not afford to let them catch him. Turning to face the opposite side, the doorway to freedom, he judged the distance and decided that it was worth the risk. He leapt into the air, hoping for freedom, but also prepared for the fall that would hopefully kill him before anything else could.
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Post by Lector on Aug 29, 2013 13:27:42 GMT
The scream continued as Lector hung in the air. Three eternities passed, or that's how he perceived it before, at long last, his body smacked hard against the smooth and sturdy hardwood.
He was knocked breathless by the impact, yet he struggled for enough air to scream in agony as the fall reignited old and fresh wounds. As he rolled over onto his back, whimpering in short gasps, he glanced over at the woman. His antagonist had fallen silent, and Lector wondered what kept her from following. He didn't care to linger to find out so long the creature made no move to pursue. His cracked from past injuries when he put weight on it to lift himself off the floor, but he used the pain as a strong reminded of why he was running. It was enough to get the momentum he needed to leave the library behind.
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Post by Lector on Aug 29, 2013 13:28:17 GMT
The rooms became a blur as he ran, stumbled, and tripped his way through the palace. Jumping like that had taken a lot of out of his frail body, and he could feel blood oozing out of a gash on his stomach that he had hoped was finally starting to heal. Apparently not. Weaving in and out of rooms, searching for any sign of an exit was harder than he imagined, and no doubt he was leaving a trail of blood wherever he went. It wouldn't be long now. His lungs burned with overuse and painful effort, and he doubted he could keep going.
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