Bleeding Out

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When the sky turns gray
And everything is screaming
I will reach inside
Just to find my heart is beating
You tell me to hold on
Oh you tell me to hold on
But innocence is gone
And what was right is wrong


Author's Note: Imagine Dragons, because why not?
Oh! And today's dedication is for the wonderful LittleRedBling! She's another long-time follower, who read my stories even before Wattpad... so she's been around for like ages ;) And I'm honored that she's still stuck around to read my works 💖

***

A shove from behind sent her sprawling forward, and her bones shrieked with pain—a cry silent to all but her. As Carissa fell into the barred room, she curled protectively around her satchel. After searching it for weapons, they'd allowed her to keep it.

The other women and Akar were shoved in after her. There was a pregnant pause, as if the world held its breath in anticipation—or fear—of what was to come.

Though the nightwomen clung to one another, the men descended on them like vultures on carrion, ripping them apart from each other, shoving them to the gritty, grimy ground.

Hands touched and gripped her. Carissa held her breath, hugged the satchel tighter, and stared at the ceiling. Wreaths of slimy green oozed across the rock. The stones were mismatched. One was a smooth cobblestone, another a shard of granite, and a third was burnt and blackened.

One man was being particularly rough, and agony clenched her body. She stifled a whimper and squinted, so all was blocked from her vision but the ceiling above. The stones must have been from the ruins of other houses.

She swallowed tightly. This gray sky was likely the last thing she'd see before she died—whether it was within the next few minutes, hours, or days. The thought of days of enduring this awakened her senses to reality and the pain being inflicted upon her.

Carissa gritted her teeth. She would only have to endure this for a little while longer, and the men would soon tire of her.

They did leave her after a while—though she wasn't sure how long it had taken and how many men she'd been used by. Eventually, she'd closed her eyes lest she catch a glimpse of their faces. Just the thought of their faces and their expressions was enough to make her stomach clench.

She dragged herself to the edge of the prison room, her satchel strap tight against her neck as she pulled it with her, and she ignored several things:

Her shredded clothing.

The trail of blood left in her wake.

The bruises purpling her skin.

The hot bile simmering in her throat.

The watery weakness eating at her bones.

And the pain. Always the pain.

When she stopped, she told herself it was because she was close enough to the wall, where the shadows would keep her hidden, not because each movement of her body threatened to rip her apart.

Carissa forced herself onto her back, biting her lip to smother a pained scream. She must not make a noise or draw attention to herself, lest she invite more torment. Better a neglected doll with her seams gently unraveling than an abused doll having her seams yanked out.

Death's sickly sweet breath kissed her skin, tantalizingly close, but too far to grasp. How long until she could welcome its embrace?

She brushed her hand along the soft sides of her satchel. There was one thing she could do, one thing she'd promised herself until she'd been captured, one thing that might take the edge off of her transition from life to death.

Reading the letters.

She slipped out the first page. It was crumpled, the ink slightly smeared, the white of the paper discolored by dirt. She unfolded it, moving gingerly so as not to injure herself further.

Dearest Carissa,

My father informed me of our betrothal mere days ago, and I'm quite eager to meet you in person. In truth, I'd like to arrive to you myself instead of merely sending a letter—or I could have an entire entourage escort you back to the palace. But father has advised me against this. Though he arranged our marriage, he says it is by no means meant to violate our own desires. He says I should continue to communicate with you, but I must withhold further pursuit until you express an interest in me as I have in you. Though it pains me to do so, I agree with father. I don't want to force or pressure you into a marriage you don't want, so I shall await your explicit permission to visit.

I know you must be curious about why we were betrothed. Father tells me he arranged this marriage more for you than for me. Apparently, father had sensed you were inflicted with some sort of curse. I'm unaware of the details, but I know that this curse is dangerous. But don't be afraid; I will help you. I know it must be quite frightening to deal with things such as royal betrothals and curses at such a young age—though, at sixteen, I'm not much older—and I vow I will do all I can to assist you. Father says my powers can somehow counteract the curse. I'm sorry I don't know more, but I wanted to reassure you that I will pour myself into my training as I never have before. When we are wed, I will do whatever it takes to keep the curse at bay.

At first, I was surprised that father arranged this marriage for your sake rather than mine. After all, I'm his son. I can't explain it, but somehow I think he loves you even now, as if you're his daughter already. And if father loves you, I'm certain I will as well. Perhaps you'll even come to love me.

I haven't fully developed my Foresight yet, but for some reason when I think of writing on the next page I see... fire? How peculiar. I don't know what it means, but I think the next page of this letter will be burned sometime in the future. I do hope that doesn't mean something catastrophic will happen. Needless to say, I do believe I'll write some sort of gibberish on the next page before continuing the letter on the page after.

Though it pained her, Carissa dared to take a long, deep breath. The page he was referring to, of course, was missing; she'd burnt it herself long ago, and her parents had stopped her from burning more. To think the rest of his letters could have been lost to her if her parents hadn't intervened.

She read the next page.

I apologize for wasting so much paper and for the lines of nonsense you had to read.

As I was saying, please write back to me soon. I'd like to know you more intimately, so you can sooner be comfortable with us wedding and you won't have to live with that curse plaguing you. Naturally, the wedding will be yours to set, so you needn't fear that things will happen too quickly. Still, I urge to you reply as soon as is reasonable—and you can give your letter to the royal courier who gives you mine.

Though there are still many unknowns where your curse and our future relationship are concerned, this I do know: You need me. Without me, you are lost. And though we've never met, I don't want to lose you, Carissa. Please don't let me lose you.

Ever Yours,

Elon

Carissa stared at his signature, mesmerized by the rich darkness of the ink and the sleekness of the curves. Her breaths came sharp and fast, like arrows to her chest, as she stifled the urge to cry. To think that she'd had an opportunity to know this man during these past years.

Though she knew it would only pain her further, she read the next letter.

Dearest Carissa,

The nightmares I mentioned in my last letter have been getting worse.

Nightmares? The letters were probably out of order.

And the focal point of each nightmare is always the same: you. Sometimes I'm you and sometimes I'm simply watching you—both perspectives are nigh unbearable. I see things happening to you. I see your skin marred by the bite of a dagger, by the lick of fire, by abusive hands. And the pain—by my father's amulet, the pain.

You have yet to reply to my letters, so I dismissed these dreams as a result of anxiety and fear. But one particular nightmare was so intense and vivid I couldn't bear it. You were shaking, Carissa, shaking so hard. Pain wrapped itself around your bones, but that wasn't why you trembled. You did so because you were afraid. And then you entered a lavish room, where a large man stood waiting for you, and when he smiled, I felt fear on your behalf.

Then he used you, Carissa, as if you were naught but a toy for his amusement. Your shame and pain elicited laughter from his lips as his hands cruelly wandered what was not his, as he ravaged you. Never have I felt such fury and anguish. I screamed your name over and over, but I don't think you heard me. I leaned over you, so your face filled my vision and hopefully mine yours.

A burn had twisted and stripped the skin from your cheek. Your morning sky blue eyes stared past me as tears flowed down your cheeks. An expression of deep pain creased your soft skin. You were damaged but breath-taking in your beauty. Though my face was inches from yours, I don't think you saw me.

When I awoke, I finally realized it was my Foresight showing me what was to come. I raced to my Father and demanded an explanation. His smile was sad, and as he explained, his ancient eyes misted. He said there was much you had to endure before you agreed to be my queen.

I informed him I would be taking a score of knights on the morrow to escort you to the palace, regardless of how you felt about it. No betrothed of mine was going to be tormented and abused. I was going to keep you safe, regardless of whether or not you agreed.

Father agreed that I certainly had the capability of carrying out such action, but he asked me to think about the consequences of such an action. He said above all, what will be most vital to our marriage is love, and without choice, love is impossible. If I seize your right to choose, I seize your right to love.

Above all, Carissa, I will respect whatever decisions you make, regardless of whether or not I approve, and it's with a heavy heart that I make this vow. I wish I could make these decisions for you, but my father tells me that in doing so, I'd take away an opportunity for you to become stronger through such trials and for you to learn what it means to love.

Carissa snorted softly, so it didn't disturb her broken rib. She certainly didn't feel stronger.

You must think me terribly cruel for withholding my help when I have the power of Foresight, but my father is right: this is your decision to make. As ever, I will continue to write to you and encourage you to allow me into your life.

Though, admittedly, writing these letters has become harder. You've yet to reply, though it's been four years. At times, I feel as though my letters dissipate into the air and never reach you, though the courier assures me that they are. Regardless of your reasons for not responding, know that I shall write these letters for as long as it takes for you to come to me. If this lasts until I'm an old man with twisted fingers clenching a quill, then so be it. You are my betrothed, and I will wait for you.

And it's not only fear that I feel when I think of you. There's also something softer, a sense of loss. There was a ball yesterday, and I wondered if I'd had a dance with you, what would you say? Would you twirl when I'd spun you? Or perhaps trip, affording me with the opportunity to catch you? Do you even like dancing?

And then my thoughts wandered to the dances you must partake in at your village. I do hope the village boys stay far away from you. Though I wouldn't want to deprive you of any pleasure, I loathe the thought of young men admiring you when I can only do so from afar, and while I respect your decisions, I hope you don't become... overly fond of one of those boys. When it comes to the woman I love, I'm afraid I'm not particularly inclined to share.

When you read this letter, I hope you don't hesitate to ask me to come to you, so we can become better acquainted. Though my father was the first to choose you for me, I want you to know I've also chosen you. Though this was an arranged marriage, it certainly wasn't contrary to my own choice. I will always be waiting for you, Carissa, and never will I cease.

Ever Yours,

Elon

The black words seemed to liquidate, becoming ink once more and bleeding together. She could hardly comprehend someone had actually loved her as deeply as these letters implied—and the King no less.

She hugged the letters to her chest, the paper crunching beneath her grip. Sobs gripped her, and she allowed the pain to roll over her. Never had her heart ached so fiercely—not when Viltus has tossed her from his house or when Aleck left. She could barely breathe past the weight of regret.

Her throat itched, and she turned her head to cough into her elbow. Warmth splattered her skin, and when she lifted her head, she found blood sprinkled her arm. She dropped her arm and head, resting on the merciless ground.

Here she was: smeared in grime, tears, and blood, her very body collapsing in on itself. And yet somehow, she knew that if Elon could reach her, he would take her and love her just as she was.

***

Author's Note: If anyone wants a sneak peak of the next chapter, the link will be on my profile and included down below as an "external link."

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