Camilla watched herself speak, she felt herself speak; she heard herself speak. Each time she felt a foothold in her own mind once more, it seemed to slick over, slipping and falling down into the abyss. She couldn’t understand why she said the things she said. She understood little. Was she trapped like this for all eternity? Only minutes into her imprisonment, Camilla had discovered her captor. She understood then, and tried to end her own life, but she was no longer in control of her body. Breaking a neck, cutting her throat, and burning herself to a crisp only hurt herself in her mental prison. Her actual body remained unharmed, unfazed, and utterly out of her control.
The field dropped, and she jumped on Bas. Hugging him, and kissing him deeply, she refused to let go. She saw herself gently press her chest and hips into his, just as she would herself. Camilla didn’t want to admit her own growing feelings for the strange man, but it seemed that her own prisoner had fewer scruples.
Their lips parted. Bas’s eyes were wide while the entire time while Athea chortled.
“I thought you had died!” She told Bas.
His cheeks were bright pink and refused to meet her gaze. Staring through her own cage, Camilla thought that his coyness was absolutely adorable. But fury came over her. Bas was hers! Not some bitch from mental fuckery! Regret fell over her then. They had weeks where should have told him how she felt, but she didn’t. He was distant for some time, and perhaps some companionship would help ease his entry into his new world. Did she believe his story? Of course she did. It was too outrageous to be a lie.
Camilla screamed, slamming her fists into her mental prison over and over again until only a bloody, mangled mess remained. They reformed into hands, and she continued her barrage. It felt like hours, until she’s fell back, slumping to the ground. She was not tired, there was no exhaustion in this world, it was only torcher. Camilla did something for the first time in a long time. She cried. Yes, Bas had her remembering her terrible childhood, but those tears were false. She was an expert on having people feel the way she wanted them to feel. She was an actor after all. But the actual tears fell and fell hard they did. Thinking of the wasted time and her potential eternal entrapment in her own mind, she sobbed into her hands. Memories came over her, memories she told herself that she was over with. That was just as much of a lie as those tears she showed Bas. Why did she do that? Why did she lie all the time? If Bas trusted them enough to tell him who he really was, couldn’t she? Couldn’t she be honest with herself and this odd family of hers?
The vastness, the emptiness, the void consumed her. Only her senses were active, watching and hearing the interactions. She could smell his scent, sweat and determination. She felt his lips, chapped yet soft. She heard his sharp intake of breath, but refusal to pull away. She felt him pull her in once more, ignoring the others. His hands were strong and subdued, as if needing her as much as wanting to protect. She could feel all this, and yet, she couldn’t feel any of it. Seeing him reciprocate her feelings had her crying all the more.
“Sayla…”
He whispered, barely audible. She listened for more, but nothing came. Resolve flooded her chest, emotions burst from her like a dam. Camilla forced herself to her feet and continued to crush her body against the impenetrable prison. She screamed until the bloody pulp of her throat tore itself from her mouth, then regrew. Torcher was torcher, pain was pain, but she would not let any bitch have Bas.
A pinprick of light shone from the vast emptiness. It was faint, but it existed. Arms crushed halfway to her elbows, she paused to let them regrow. She no longer felt the pain. She only felt the emptiness of the prison she was in. But, with that light, she felt one other thing. She felt Bas hidden behind. He was that light; he was her light. The light was small, but she would make it grow.
