Asuriel

Harmless, they said. As if they could feel the way the ichor shrieks through my very marrow as it slithered away from the sharpness and light that always comes with needles and knives as they poke and prod and seek. Harmless. If I could have scoffed at the word, I would have, but the clamps keeping my jaws from locking down, left my throat like pulled cotton. Harmless. So much less so than the body they kept chained down, so why bother with it? Let it sink back into my veins like a fatigued beast, let it sleep. Harmless.

More time has passed than I was aware. I've passed no familiar faces. Even the hall feels subtly different, though the gilt and velvet remain the same. I expected silken pillows and gauzy walls, but no. Despite cooperation, I was given no free pass. No upgraded suite. No small step up from clay to prize. Instead, my own gilded trinkets were stripped and sealed away. And I was assaulted by the noise of iron sparking over stone. Just like that, I find myself trading a cell, for another, colder prison. One with far more eyes, and far fewer windows.

And again, I must prove myself harmless.