Chapter Text
No one will help you, pet. No one but me.
Anastasia tried to ignore that voice in her head as she was ushered into another tent, this one much more opulent than the one she had been confined to. The fabric walls, adorned with intricate patterns, allowed dim to filter through, casting a muted glow upon the polished surfaces within. Little lights, with no visible electrical source, illuminated the space even more so that Anastasia could look upon her tormentor.
The male who had questioned her previously, draped in leather armor, sat upon a crude throne that loomed over the room. A smattering of rugs adorned the ground, preventing the cold from the earth from rising into the rest of the tent.
Anastasia’s eyes scanned her surroundings for any clues as to where she might be. Maps were sprawled across a worn wooden table and her eyes strained for a closer look. She could make out the shape of two islands with lines and symbols scattered around the page in ink. It did not look like a map of New England that she had ever seen – or anywhere else she recognized for that matter. None of it made sense to her – the drawing on the map did not resemble any country that she knew of.
A chair scraped loudly across the ground as it was brought forward to the table with the old map in the center. Anastasia, her movements restricted, was forced into a seated position by rough hands. Another male swiftly secured her restraints to the table, leaving her hands laid out flat against the wood and rendering her immobile once again.
The leader's eyes, piercing like shards of ice, fixed on Anastasia as she was brought before him. The dark-haired male - her captor - stepped back, giving ample space for the leader to approach her.
His voice, low and commanding, resonated through the tent in that guttural language. But Anastasia couldn’t string any meaning from them. She shook her head in a futile attempt to communicate her lack of understanding. If she had been able to communicate with them, would they let her go?
You are too much of a prize, pet, to be let go.
The leader's impatience simmered beneath the surface, his gaze hardening with each passing moment. When her silence persisted, he gestured to one of his subordinates, and the dark-haired male re-entered the tent, his presence an unspoken threat.
Anastasia's wide eyes darted between the leader and the silent menace circling her. The leader's commanding tone brooked no defiance, and any semblance of courage that lingered within Anastasia at the beginning of the day dissolved into a paralyzing fear.
The dark-haired male, acting on the orders that she did not understand, circled behind Anastasia. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see what appeared to be a mallet clenched in his right hand. His movements were silent, and the fear of what he would do hung over Anastasia, increasing with each passing minute.
The leader pointed at the larger of the two islands on the map – at a small symbol on what appeared to be a mountainside. It was further removed from all the other symbols, and Anastasia felt herself deflate. If that was where this camp was located, there was nothing else around for miles. They were well and truly remote out here. She peered closer at the map, trying to make sense of it all. But the land drawn on that piece of parchment was as foreign to her as whatever language they were speaking.
“Is that where we are?” Anastasia asked, knowing that her question would be pointless. But maybe – just maybe – if he could hear the confusion in her voice, he would understand that she did not know anything.
The male's finger traced a route on the map, leading from the mountainside to a location along what appeared to be a winding river. He hissed a question, his tone impatient.
“I don’t know where that is!” She insisted, her frustration at talking in circles bubbling to the surface.
His gaze shifted to the dark-haired man standing ominously behind her, a silent command hanging in the air between them. Without uttering another word, the dark-haired male stepped into her line of vision, wielding the mallet with brutal force. He brought it down on Anastasia's hand with a sickening impact, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from her as stars momentarily dotted her vision. The excruciating pain reverberated through her, leaving her breathless and disoriented.
As Anastasia was focused on the throbbing pain radiating from her hand, she could hear the shuffling of papers on the table. When she looked over, she could see a new map sprawled across the surface of the table. The same islands were on the map, but this one showed a more detailed, comprehensive view. Her interrogator’s finger landed on the small island to the west of the larger one, and he hissed another question at her.
She shook her head, hoping that he would see that she was being truthful in her responses.
He once again pointed to the small island, his voice laced with venom as he repeated his question. His eyes narrowed when Anastasia failed to provide the answers that he was looking for.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” she managed to choke out, tears threatening but held at bay by the overwhelming stress of the interrogation. The pain in her hand, coupled with the relentless questioning, left her feeling weak and vulnerable.
The leader's response was swift and brutal. His hand, calloused and unrelenting, struck her face with a sudden, ruthless force. The impact reverberated through Anastasia's body, but she couldn’t flinch back bound as she was. He barked some more unintelligible commands, and when she continued to offer no coherent response, he raised his hand once more.
He gestured once more at the map, at the small island that Anastasia did not recognize. His voice was now a thunderous grow as he demanded something else of her. He spoke quickly, unleashing a torrent of words that held no meaning for Anastasia. She could only shake her head, “I don’t know what that is.”
Sensing the leader's escalating rage, the dark-haired male took the mallet to her fingers once more, intensifying the brutality of his blows with each unanswered question.
The echoes of her cries reverberated within the confines of the tent.
Anastasia's body tensed with each strike. Darkness pressed in from all sides, suffocating and relentless, until it finally swallowed her whole.
-x-
Anastasia's consciousness resurfaced in the dimly lit tent, a throbbing ache pulsing through her body. Blinking against the dim light, she struggled to make sense of her surroundings. For the briefest of moments, she believed she had woken up in her apartment, after a horrible dream and slept away most of her day off. But as her senses returned to her, and she became more aware of the throbbing pain in her mangled hands, the understanding that this was most definitely real washed over her.
A female with wings – an Illyrian, as the voice in her head had called them – entered the tent, her silhouette backlit by a muted glow. The sound of the leathery wings rustling accompanied her movements as she carried a tray laden with some questionable-looking food. The aroma, an unsettling mix of unfamiliar herbs and charred remnants, wafted through the air. The tray was placed before Anastasia, and she couldn't help but regard the unappetizing contents with suspicion. She wouldn’t put It past these monsters to try and poison her.
Anastasia squinted at the winged figure, her eyes adjusting to her presence. The female's wings, though terrifying, bore the telltale signs of clippings as they hung unevenly across her back.
Somehow, a spark of courage returned to Anastasia, and she gestured to the wings at the female’s back, “Did they do this to you?”
The female looked taken aback by the bluntness with which Anastasia spoke, and the gesture to the clipped wings. She looked back at the wings hesitantly and extended them outward as if answering some question that Anastasia hadn’t asked. Anastasia looked on, horrified, as she could see the mutilations up close. Scar tissue ran across the bottom edge of the wing, where it seemed as if the veins that were faintly visible throughout the wings seemed to stop abruptly.
Summoning all her courage, Anastasia grabbed the wrist of the female, holding it between her own shackled hands. She searched the female’s eyes, hoping to see something, anything that might indicate that she would help her.
“Help me,” Anastasia pleaded, “Help me get out of here.”
The female didn’t speak English, and she most certainly wasn’t speaking whatever language the monsters in this camp did. But at Anastasia’s words, something flickered in the female’s eyes. Anastasia latched on to it as if it was her only hope.
“Please,” She repeated, “I don’t know what they want from me – I didn’t do anything.”
A string of incoherent syllables erupted from the female’s mouth, and her eyes turned downcast towards the bare ground of the tent. Wrenching her hand back from Anastasia’s weak grasp, she turned to make her way back out of the bare tent.
The courage that had welled up in Anastasia earlier morphed into something else entirely. At the site of the female’s back turning away from her please - mutilated wings be damned – Anastasia burned with fury.
“You’re a monster, too,” She hissed, saliva spraying out like venom. The female paused momentarily as if understanding the rage pent up within her. “You’re just as bad as them.”
Without so much as a backward glance, the female left the tent.
-x-
Anastasia staggered through the sinister forest landscape, the moon's sickly glow revealing twisted trees that clawed at her with skeletal branches, scraping her already raw skin as she plunged further and further into the dark woods. The air hung heavy with an ominous stillness, and her labored gasps for air were the only sound that reverberated through the unsettling silence.
As she sprinted, the trees contorted into grotesque shapes, their twisted branches slashing at her. They tore through the fabric of her already threadbare clothes, leaving her arms and legs marked with angry welts, as if it conspired to return her to her captors.
There was something lurking here - chasing her through the mountain forest, she could feel it closing in behind her. Its monstrous form materialized in the shifting shadows overhead – somehow it was everywhere and nowhere all at once.
Branches lashed at her, leaving raw welts and scratches on her skin. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the sickening laughter of her pursuers. The sound echoed through the forest, resonating off the trees until Anastasia couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from. The air thickened with fog, obscuring her vision, and strengthening the suffocating grip that this god-forsaken forest had on her. It clung to her skin, dampening her clothes, and amplifying the sensation of being trapped.
As Anastasia continued running for her life, her pursuer closed in with relentless determination. Its monstrous form, a nightmarish silhouette with wings spread wide, materialized from the shadows overhead. With each agonizing step she took, the creature's presence loomed over her, casting a suffocating shadow that she just couldn’t escape from.
The twisted trees continued to claw at her, but her desperate escape couldn't outrun the inevitable. The demon seized her in its death grip. Powerful talons closed around her, and she felt the cold, unyielding touch burning her skin.
The demon's wings, black as the abyss, wrapped around her in some twisted embrace. Anastasia could feel the leathery texture against her skin, making it crawl with disgust and fear. Panic seized her as the creature's relentless hold tightened, and the air around her seemed to thicken. She could see the clouds of her breath against the obsidian leather of its’ wings.
Worries gnawed at her as the demon's bat-like wings wrapped around her even tighter, it’s vice like grip on her only getting tighter and tighter. She could not pretend to know what the winged demon wanted, but she was certain of one thing: it was never letting her go.
I will never let you go.
-x-
Anastasia's eyes shot open with a start, her breaths quick and shallow. The forest, the winged demon, and the suffocating grip of the black wings vanished like smoke in the air. In their place, the harsh reality around her settled around her once more.
The dimly lit tent surrounded her, its fabric still tinged red with the blood and gore of her previous interrogations. The metallic taste of fear lingered in her mouth and the air hung heavily around her – much like it had every morning in her recent memory.
At least there had been a routine to her captivity. Dragged from the dimly lit tent that served as her prison, she faced a merciless cycle of torment as she was interrogated for answers that she did not have. Without fail, she begged and pleaded for them to have pity on her – to let her go. But her tormentors, either ignorant or indifferent to her innocence, only found new ways to subject her to horror.
Once the daily ordeal ended, she was carelessly cast back into the tent and left alone with her nightmares. In the shadows of her subconscious, winged demons materialized, chasing her so that she never knew a moment of peace. Even that voice in the back of her mind taunted her.
You’re weak, the voice chided as she finally let the tears fall after a particularly brutal interrogation, I thought you would be stronger.
“I’m sorry,” She choked through the tears, embarrassed that she had disappointed it. Hearing voices in her head – she knew she must be going mad. Especially with how often it berated her, calling her weak. But the voice – velvety soft and male – was the only familiar thing to her.
And she wasn’t ready to let it go just yet.
I know, pet.
Anastasia’s shoulders released tension that she did not know she was holding as the voice called her 'pet’. She knew she was going mad – driven to it by her confinement. But she felt immense relief that the voice wasn’t angry with her. That she was still it’s pet.
"Can you help me?" She asked the darkness around her, despite knowing that it would be of no use. Night after night, she asked the same question. And night after night, the voice offered only cryptic responses.
Only when you come and find me.
She looked helplessly down at the chains that bound her wrists together, “That’s never going to happen.”
It will, pet. the voice reassured, and Anastasia, in her desperate loneliness, found an odd comfort in its words.
It was that fleeting comfort that gave her the courage to ask, “What can I call you?
There was a brief pause, and for an instant, Anastasia worried that she had somehow offended the voice – her only friend in this hell hole.
Call me … Cian.
“Cian,” She repeated, letting the name roll off her tongue. The name resonated through her mind, and for a moment, the mysterious voice felt a little less distant, a little more tangible. She repeated the name one more time, but as it rolled off of her tongue, she could sense that it felt wrong, “That’s not your real name, is it?”
Most certainly not. A small, breathy chuckle echoed in her mind. But it will be work for now. Come and find me, and I will tell you. Come and find me, and I will give you whatever you desire.
Anastasia latched on to that promise. If she could escape - find the source of that voice – then she could find her way home.
Away from these sadistic demons.
Along with the seemingly endless torture, the winged monsters that were keeping her seemed to take pleasure in starving her as well. Food – oftentimes spoiled and inedible - was brought in sporadically by females who kept their eyes averted, refusing to acknowledge the torment that Anastasia was forced to endure. Water was brought in only slightly more often. The dark-haired male seemed to really enjoy offering up a tin of water, and watch as Anastasia practically salivated over it, before jerking it back just out of reach before she could grab it.
It was a little game he liked to play.
Anastasia was on to him, though, after the first time he tried something of the sort. She could sense that the male wanted to break her. And while she couldn’t stop her natural reaction to the daily torture that she was subject to, she wouldn’t give him this as well.
The dim light of the tent flickered as the dark-haired male entered, holding a tray of gray looking porridge and a jug of water. There was nothing appetizing about the meal at all – there never was – but her mouth watered anyways. Her stomach audibly groaned at the sight of the tray. The male must have heard it because a serpentine smile crossed his lips. He placed the tray just beyond her reach, the sight of the food teasing her and causing her stomach to cramp. A cruel smirk played on his lips as he observed her futile attempts to stretch towards it, the chains rattling with each strained movement.
Closing the distance, the dark-haired male approached her with his hand outstretched. Unable to back away, Anastasia could only flinch as the pads of his fingers grazed her cheek, his touch unexpectedly gentle as he cupped her face. For a fleeting moment, the gesture seemed almost caring, almost intimate.
Then, with a sudden, savage motion, he struck her across the face.
The impact reverberated through her skull, and the metallic taste of blood flooded her mouth. Although she couldn’t see it, she could feel her lip tear in two. Stunned, she blinked away the stars dancing in her vision. When her vision returned to her, she could see the cold male staring at her with nothing but disgust in his eyes.
Illyrian scum, Cian sneered, he is beneath you, pet. You will make him pay for that, one day.
Whether it was Cian’s words or just pent-up frustration, Anastasia spat at her captor.
The dark-haired male wiped away the spittle on his shirt with a cold expression, his eyebrow raised at her foolish challenge. A sudden rage twisted his features, and with a swift motion, he shoved her violently to the ground. The impact jarred her already battered body, the pain radiating through her like fire.
Before she could react, the male unleashed a torrent of kicks down upon her. The tent seemed to close in on her as she crumpled beneath the relentless assault, the world around her blurring into a chaotic whirlwind of pain and darkness.