⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Winter had come early that year.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Though the stone walls confining her offered no glimpse of the world outside, Trinity knew by the chill that surged through her like a shock that winter had arrived. The unforgiving cold seeped into the marrow of her aching bones, clawing at her bare skin with icy fingers.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sleep provided no solace, for it was unnecessary. Reprieve arrived only when her injuries overwhelmed her, succumbing to unconsciousness induced by loss of blood. But even oblivion couldn't free her; as her body surrendered, he besieged her mind, conjuring illusions of indescribable agony with a pain so tangible that she could no longer discern between reality and fiction.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She did not know how long the gaps were between her screaming and waking; between the cessation of pain and its resurgence. Days, months, years — they bled together, indistinguishable like the red of her blood from the red of her hair. Time lost its meaning within his lair, a fortress of perpetual torment. A stronghold that might well be fake; another trick of the mind, spun by his dark magic.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The searing pain in her back, the fiery welts left by the lash of a whip — were they even real? And what of the warm blood running down her limbs like crimson rivers, flowing from where the flesh of her wrists and ankles had been devoured by the iron cuffs? Has she gone mad, and is this torture just a manifestation of her fractured psyche?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀A jerk of the shackles binding her. They jangle, but hold firm. Metal chafes against her raw skin, old wounds shrieking as they tear anew. Trinity inhales sharply through her teeth, swallowing her cry. Her eyes squeeze shut, then flutter open again. She turns over her bloody palms to gaze at them, flexing her fingers. Surprisingly, they still retain function even though her tactile sensations had dulled. Real.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Awake, are we, Gisella?” Dread coils in her stomach at that voice. Crooning and cold.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Trinity, my name is Trinity, she wants to correct him.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She had forsaken every part of herself that his hands had ever touched, and now she had nothing left but her name. Trinity.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He emerged with a swish of robes, flanked by two wights that shambled in after him, pulling two grand oak doors at the chamber's opposite end shut. The only exit was sealed.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Draven towered over most, his gaunt face wrinkled with age. A shock of gray streaked through his ebon-hued hair, his scraggly beard equally dark. He appeared human, with flesh, bone, and blood. Fake. A façade no easier on the eye than the skeletal lich Trinity was more acquainted with.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“You know,” he drawls, stepping toward her. Trinity instinctively recoils, but her restraints hinder her movement. “I wonder if you recall, Gisella—” The name grates on her ears. She hates it, but particularly loathes when it's spoken by him.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Trinity, Trinity is my name, she reasserts. A fierce fire blazes within her, its origins unclear; she ceased resisting him ages ago, perhaps years past. Yet, an unyielding flame persists deep within her, burning with the ferocity of the sun. It rages with such intensity that, were it not for the iron muzzle fastened to her jaw, she believes she could spew fire like a dragon, wild and untamed.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀With the swiftness of a viper, he strikes, seizing her throat with a bruising force. “That night, when everyone deserted you, abandoned you to the merciless waves,” he hisses, drawing near to her ear. “Who was it that came to your aid? I. It's by my grace alone that you stand here now, by my intervention that you were granted a second chance at life. Yet still, you dare defy me? To deride all that I have sacrificed so that you might thrive?”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Trinity’s eyes narrowed into slits and though her tongue was forcibly held, her disdain is palpable, etched into the sharp lines of her face. With a short gesture, Draven beckons one of the wights to come forth, and the half-elf’s mechanical heart palpitates as she watches him retrieve a slim blade from the undead creature’s grasp. He maintains a firm hold on her face, eyes boring into her, alight with fury, “You forget your place.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He grazes her temple with the flat side of the dagger. “You owe me everything, yet you repay my generosity with insolence,” his lips press into a hard line. “You have squandered my mercy for the last time. It’s time you learned the true cost of disobedience.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Lifting the dagger, the man angles it toward her eye, its metal glimmer catching the flickering firelight of a nearby brazier, reflected in the inky depths of her pupil. Just as the blade threatens to plunge into her socket, Trinity wrenches her head to the side at the last moment. The razor-sharp edge catches on the bridge of her nose, slicing a deep gash across her cheek as she twists out of his grasp, collapsing to the ground.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀That was the match that ignited his anger into an all-consuming inferno, her continued resistance stoking the flames of his wrath. Futilely, Trinity tries to break away, thrashing wildly against her restraints as Draven white-knuckles the dagger. With a guttural roar, he reaches out, grabbing Trinity by the hair and yanking her back with a savage force that sends shards of pain radiating through her skull.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Hold me in your tempest, Stormbringer. Trinity silently implores, her soul reaching out to Talos for deliverance, for liberation. She begs, begs and begs. But beyond the cold stone walls, the world lies tranquil, undisturbed. There is no tumultuous storm, no wailing wind to either exalt or condemn Draven’s savagery. Talos remains silent; he, like so many of his divine kin, remains indifferent to the plight of mortals, their pleas falling deaf on divine ears. In the face of such divine apathy, Trinity’s hope wanes. There are no gods here, only barren halls that reverberate with the hollow resonance of her screams.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Neither god nor mortal will come to her aid; if salvation is to be found, she must find it in herself. ㅤㅤㅤ