There will always be pain. Always be a voice on the other side of the closed door begging to be let in. Ignore it, and it begins to knock. Harder and harder, louder and louder, until it's the loudest sound in your ear. So open the door. Let it in. Listen to its pleas and prayers. Accept it wholly, and then watch as it leaves in peace, shutting the door behind it, thankful that its one desire to be heard has been fulfilled.

There will always be pain. Always be a voice on the other side of the closed door begging to be let in. Ignore it, and it begins to knock. Harder and harder, louder and lou-

BANG!

Her back arches, scarlet red soaked arms pulling against the uranium chains that hold her inches off the ground by her wrists. Her mouth opens to scream, but nothing more than a faint sound of strangled air comes out. For cycles, she's been without a voice. I would've thought that they'd order me to heal her sore chords, but they haven't, and I've heard her pain ringing in my ears long enough to haunt me for the rest of my life.

The one with the scar – Arkyn as I call him, after Saint Arkyn the Desolate – normally enjoys the sound of her pain. Twisted and sick like the rest of the maroon clothed underworld walkers. Every time I see their clothes I remember what they did. I still can't explain it – how it all happened that night of the Elysian Ball. Saints it feels like years ago that the whole castle was overrun by madmen and wolves made not of flesh and bone, but entirely of water and glowing eyes that would freeze you where you stood, both of fear and awe.

The whole castle was in chaos. The woman before me was fighting, Jade Assassins that came out of nowhere were fighting other cloaked figures, and everyone else was pushing and shoving to get out of the castle as quickly as possible. I was a part of the stampede, carefully attempting not to step on the heels of the woman in front of me. That's when I felt it, the same feeling I get when someone nearby gets a cut or walks in with a sickness. A small tingling at the back of my neck that runs down to my fingertips, begging to be used - to help.

I pushed towards the nearest wall and found that a male no more than a year older than myself, had been shoved into a large vase. His head was already soaked in blood, and I didn't think twice as my healing magic had my body cleaving a path toward him. I got to him, thankful that he was still somewhat conscious. I just managed to get him upright against a pillar when I realized that the room had gone unnaturally quiet. There was only a small group of the crowd left, along with all the killers standing idle throughout the room. As a Sitara – a Virtuoso Healer, second in rank to the Anevay – I didn't have to count the bodies to know that more than three dozen people were dead. There was no sound echoing save for the torn voice of the one who now calls himself The Eternal. After seeing what he does to make the girl scream, I'm not entirely sure that the name is meant to portray the image of a God.

He stood atop the dais, the girl on her knees before him with blood dripping from her nose and looking too pale to be okay. The small tingle for the man's head suddenly felt so small to the screaming voice that begged me to help her. She felt so weak and so close to falling into a sleep that would last forever, yet she stared up at him entirely unafraid and fully prepared to keep fighting. Her heartbeat was strong, but her breathing was thin and her muscles too shaky to give much more strength. All the odds were against her and yet I believed that if whatever shadow wielding power the man had wasn't restraining her, she'd tear both him and Arkyn apart.

The man's voice was too quiet for my ears to hear, but whatever he said made even Arkyn flinch. That's when a wave of pure and unbridled power slammed into me. It was like being hit by a horse running full speed, only it made my nose bleed rather than throwing me against the wall and cracking my own skull. I've never felt sheer strength like that, not even with the Anevay. I'd say the name The Eternal seemed to make more sense, only it wasn't him who had broken free of restraints and had his hand outstretched toward the doors. It was her.

It all clicked then. He stormed in demanding that our King turn over the elementals to him, and when he made it clear that he had no regard for the lives of innocents, she stepped forward. With everything going on, I was too overwhelmed that I didn't even consider what his "finally," meant.

She's the elemental. She was the source of power.

A dozen water wolves the size of horses came trotting in at her command. Teeth bared, growls ringing, they didn't so much as blink at anyone who tried and failed to slit their throats or pierce their heart. I mean, how in ten hells do you cut water? The idiots didn't seem to understand, as they kept swinging and stabbing at the "animals."

It took all of one look from her, and then the wolves split up and began attacking those around them. Well, at first it seemed as if they were attacking them, but then I noticed that the people they were grabbing were those who fought alongside her. Her allies – The Jade Assassins. They weren't attacking anyone. They were getting them out, dragging them from their collars or legs just to get them out of the room. None came for me, as I jumped into the shadows the second I saw them launch into action. So I saw when she fell to her knees, saw as she still had her hand raised as if it was the only thing keeping the wolves in their forms. I watched as both The Eternal and Arkyn realized her intentions and moved to grab her, but a golden-eyed wolf leaped from the balcony and landed right in between them and its master.

They tried to kill it, tried the same useless stab, stab, swing technique the others did. Everything just went through the mammal and I had to bite my tongue when they shot an arrow thinking that since everything else passes through, it would do so as well and hit her. They fired the arrow and it bounced helplessly off of the wolf's skin. It was an effort not to laugh when the wolf seemed to give them a bored, "really," look.

Screams still sounded outside, an occasional growl here and there breaking through. Then she just...fainted. The golden-eyed wolf didn't pool to a puddle, nor did it seem to freeze or even blink, but after a few seconds, it simply growled once before walking down the dais steps. He just...let them take her as if she was no good to him unconscious so he didn't see a point in protecting her. I suppose I was just as worthless since the golden-eyed fairytale ended up getting everyone but me out of the castle. One of The Eternal's goons caught me trying to sneak out, and that's how I ended up unconscious and waking up in a cold, dark, and dusty four-walled room with nothing but two buckets and an old lump of feathers for a bed.

They didn't waste any time, and I found myself being forced to watch as Arkyn and, every now and then, The Eternal torture and destroy her for hours, and then I am forced to heal every broken bone, torn muscle, tendon, ligaments, blood vessels, and every inch of maimed skin until she's "good as new." As a Sitara, there is no greater honor than to get rid of her pain and give her tonics and medicine that will give her body the nutrients and health it needs, but as a person...I've had the thought of ending both our lives plaguing my mind after the first few days of this.

We already had a session – that's what they're calling these torture times, it's entirely repulsive – earlier this morning. Sometimes the sessions are an hour apart, other times they're days. The temple's clock doesn't sound here, and that's assuming that we're still in Fernweh. I haven't seen a single ray of sunshine or starlight in these days since the ball. Just my own cell and hers which is on the level below mine. Nothing but an empty bucket occupies the space here, as she can't even lift a finger once they've finished with her. So she just lays on the ground when I'm done, letting her thin shorts get soiled and underlings that cover her breasts stained with her stomach contents. I'm not even sure how she's still able to do so considering she doesn't eat.

Her once honed and strong body is now nothing more than the skin on bones. Her cheeks are becoming hallowed, her ribs and spine already visible, her hip bones protruding, and her stomach with nothing more than her organs to make it look as if she's still got something in her. I was keeping her muscles as strong and perfectly strengthened as they once were, but on the fourth day, she asked me to stop and heal nothing but the broken bits and pieces. We argued and I was winning the conversation until she argued that we could be down here for longer than either of us hoped. She pointed out that as the days grew longer and the food provided lesser, my energy would soon be spent and therefore my power useless. So I stopped the upkeeping, and she always makes sure that she's awake for when I go to heal her, and only until the door has closed can I feel her pulse slow into the sleeping rhythm I've come to monitor all night long.

I've seen mangled bodies before, so healing her isn't entirely the issue. It's having to stand against the wall and be forced to watch every hit, cut, and break. I hate watching, but I need to. However highly trained they may be, I've seen firsthand the focus and thought processing you lose when you're anger takes over. So I watch, making sure he doesn't end up doing something that could have her going limp and never moving again.

It's a burden to have been the one caught to do this, and sometimes I think that the golden-eyed fairytale purposely left me in the ballroom for this reason. Then I find myself jumping at every sound of her bones cracking, or something tearing or popping, and I have nothing but those words that the Anevay spoke to me to keep me from grabbing the knives on the guard's hip beside me,  chucking one at her heart, and driving the other in my own. I once took one of the basic classes on knife throwing when I was younger, so it's not entirely a fantasy. Still, I have nothing to ground me and nothing to offer her but my, hopefully, comforting presence. So I keep my hands folded before me, ignore death's rampant song that echoes in the room, and repeat those words over and over, praying that they're not an emblem of false hope.

She was right. We don't know how long we'll be down here or how long either of us will last until our bodies give out on us or they decide that we're both useless. I've lost count of the number of days we've been down here, but if she's still fighting then I can at least push through, and Siscilla's words keep me grounded, so I repeat them.

There will always be pain. Always be a voice on the other side of the closed-door begging to be let in. Ignore it, and it begins to knock. Harder and harder, louder and louder, until it's the loudest sound in your ear. So open the door. Let it in. Listen to its pleas and prayers. Accept it wholly, and then-