Innocent as Charged

Unknown POV

I fumble down pitch black corridors, allowing my father to guide me. He may not be here in person, unable to take his physical form, but his presence is comforting, the darkness like a warm blanket that protects me from the guards that would drag me back there.

Drag me back to that horrible room for the fifteenth time, to that horrible room filled with light, the room buried so deep underground that the surface is no longer visible. Any windows are absent or have been removed, barring me from talking to my mother, preventing me from living, trapping me in a timeless void of a life, the passage of it imperceptible.

I miss her. I missed my father. However, he's here not. Not in person, but as close as he can get without endangering himself. His power is too limited down here; they built it that way so none of us could escape, so all of us are powerless, so all we can do is suffer helplessly.

It's enough though. His darkness was capable of sneaking me past the first patrol of guards but there are many more before I can be reunited with Mother. Mother, whose hair I would regularly wrap around my hands as an infant while she coddled me and sang me lullabies.

My memories of her are fading, and I desperately cling onto the ones that remain; her dark coal black eyes; her loving embrace that she would often bestow on my siblings and I; her peaceful nature. I know I cannot hold onto the visions of the past forever; even now I am losing them, the artificial light down here driving out the safety of my father's arms and preventing my escape.

Mother and I parted when I was young and I was forced to fend for myself when she was imprisoned far above for no crime other than being of the Old Ones. The only way to see her is to flee this terrible place and reach the surface. Even then we can't talk or communicate, only watch eachother in silence, hoping that I can convey how much I miss her through my eyes alone.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel but it is being rapidly blocked by a pair of figures wielding torches: Father cannot safely protect me. Normally, he could have smothered out the lights and allowed me safe passage. He could have if I was imprisoned almost anywhere else except here. Hiding and waiting for the guards to pass is my only option as I'm too weak to trick them into believing I'm one of them.

Cover is non-existent in the straight tunnel - the torches will illuminate my crouched body immediately - and the corridor is too low and narrow for me to hide without one of them noticing me. The stone floor is cold against the bare soles of my feet and I can feel all the cracks and crevices of the wall under my fingers as the guards approach, my safety diminishing by the second.

My fingers clench into fists. I'm not going down without a fight. I'm not going willingly back to my fight. I refuse to give up. The guards send up a cry, discerning my shadowy figure from the surrounding darkness, the pair of them breaking into a sprint, their iron boots pounding on the ground, the hammering so deafening that resisting my impulse to run is impossible and my feet turn to flee, all thoughts of fighting forgotten.

I don't make it far.

Their legs are much longer than my own, and not for the last time I curse my short stature. A hand brushes the back of my tunic before roughly seizing it and dragging me away from the darkness ahead, away from safety even if that safety is in the direction of my cell, back towards the blazing light of the torches. A pair of cuffs are swiftly snapped over my wrists, something the guards have stolen from humans due to their effectiveness being much greater than rope.

Escorting me down the tunnel to my cell, the torches are agonising on my eyes, the sentry deliberately holding it so close to my arms that I can feel my skin beginning to blister from the heat. The darkness is forced to retreat, the firey torches driving it away until my cell is in sight. At the sight of it I begin to frantically struggle, my body thrashing, my mind engulfed in panic. I can't go back to that place. I can't face it. Not again.

They pay no heed to my sudden terror, and when I trip, they just drag me, the floor tearing the lower part of my tunic to shreds and grazing the skin underneath. Ignoring the pain, I continue to fight them; any pain I experience now will pale in comparison to what I will be subjected to if they throw me back in there.

My blows have no effect and they successfully subdue me, one if them giving me a brutal cuff around the head, resulting in my body going limp and my head lolling weakly while my mind screams for help. Tying me to the table, I can sense the light draining away my powers, my body weakening and the guards leave the room, no doubt to fetch the cruelest out of all of them.

They so not take long, returning with a tall, uniformed man whose sadistic tastes are disguised behind his slightly dumb expression. I know better.

"Someone has been misbehaving." It's all he ever says. We both know what he will do next.

I am unable to resist the restraints as he uncovers the tray beside him to reveal the worst weapon in his arsenal.

A hood.

This is not any hood; this hood amplifies the light around me rather than muffling it, blinding me yet my healing prevents it being permanent, meaning that each time he can return and inflict this torture on me again.

A scream forces itself out of my mouth before I can stop it and my heart is pounding in terror as he lowers it over my face. Agony suffocates my mind as light is diverted straight into my pupils, the level of it excruciating, and I desperately attempt to break my cuffs, attempt to teach my face and pull this thing off my face, to stop this torment. I need it to stop. I can't survive this. My throat is raw from screaming and I start to choke, my misery unable to be expressed except through the choked tears that pour down my face.

I'm sorry I couldn't reach you Mother. I'm so sorry.