Tiriana

My body feels stiff with dried blood and filth. Every movement grates against my skin, the crusted layer cracking like brittle parchment. I’ve long stopped trying to guess how much time has passed—days, maybe weeks—but I won’t give in. I won’t beg Elira for mercy. I won’t beg her to stop.

I am Nightshade.

They can strip my body, they can try to crush my will, but they will never possess my mind.

The air in this stone cell is thick with dampness and rot, heavy with the metallic tang of old blood. My own, mostly. I curl tighter against the cold wall, pressing my knees to my chest....