XX. Congratulations, I Hate You

Renata jolted upright at the sound of a key turning over the heavy lock to her cell. The book she had been reading before she fell asleep fell from her chest and landed in a pool of spent candle wax. Her hand flew up to cover her face from the sudden brightness as the door flung open. The reanimated corpse of a castle guard stood in the doorway, holding a tray with her dinner as a glowing orb hovered beside it. With a groan, she climbed out of bed, dragging the thick chain at her ankle that was anchored in the middle of the room. She took the tray from the creature and set it down on an old, worm eaten desk.

“I need a candle.” She said to the slack jawed and vacant eyed jailer.

While the creatures held no intelligence or will of their own, they could be used as a proxy for the puppeteer, something she had learned purely by accident after trying to strike up a conversation with the shambling monstrosities when she was first imprisoned. After several moments, a small satchel appeared from an eruption of violet flames at the creature’s feet. Before she could retrieve it, the creature had left, closing the door and leaving her in darkness once more. With a mild curse of annoyance, she dropped to the floor and began fumbling about for the bag. Upon finding it, she retrieved several candles and a book of matches, which she promptly lit and set up in the four corners of her cell.

With light returned, she pulled out the rest of the bag's contents and set them up on a crude shelf above her sink/privy combination. In addition to the candles, her captor had sent down a bottle of wine, a roll of hard tack and some soft cheese, a book, and a bar of soap. She sampled the cheese as she held the book up to the light. Titled Compendium of Ancient Logology Utilized in the Magickal Arts, the author was one Professor O. Miroshnik, Master of Black Arts. She flipped through it briefly before tossing it into the other pile of books he had sent down. So far, he had sent down five books he had written, and she could not tell if he was mocking her or just incredibly vain.

The subject was often rather dry and technical, though to his credit, they were well written and he did possess a unique authorial voice. A couple of them were even quite enjoyable, particularly the one in which he posited that man once lived on the moon. The alternative was to sit alone in silence for an indeterminate amount of time, a concept that frightened her more than she cared to admit.

She poured herself a glass of wine and sat down to her meal of meat, a winter vegetable blend and orange flavored gelatin. She opened her book to where she left off and read as she picked at her food. The subject matter was a bit heady, but interesting enough, apparently, there had existed a fourth race of elves at one point. Banished from Silex long before the collapse, their descendants were found scattered about northern Xanavene as an ethnic minority known by their violet hair and odd eye coloration.

A sudden chill filled the cell, as well as the feeling that someone was watching her. She took a sip of wine and attempted to ignore it, but the feeling was oppressive and filled her consciousness until it was all she could think of. Renata looked up to find a young woman in black standing in the corner, staring intently at her with cold, blue eyes. Her heart skipped a beat as she sharply inhaled, certain she either had gone mad or would finally know death.

The cold fear that gripped her chest and caused her stomach to turn remained as she closed her eyes and slowly counted to ten. When she opened her eyes, she expected the figure to be gone, but was dismayed to see the woman still watching her. The woman was deathly pale and dressed in a revealing, flowing gown of sheer fabric, she looked like death incarnate. Renata slowly closed her book and swallowed, resigned to whatever fate awaited her.

“I would offer you wine, but I’ve only the one cup.” She said hesitantly. “Not that it matters, you’re likely here to kill me anyway.”

For several tense moments, the woman continued to stare at her, silent and impassive. Renata squirmed under her gaze, primal fear seemed to waft off the stranger and seep into her very soul.

“You always were a smart mouthed cunt.” The stranger said at length, her breath coming out as frost. “And yes, I would very much like to kill you, slowly, over the course of a year or more. Torturing you physically and mentally until I find no more joy in it, yet continuing out of duty until it becomes a chore. The last thing I want is your shitty Sorn wine.”

Renata paused to take a sip of the admittedly mediocre wine, her hands shaking uncontrollably, causing her to spill several drops before it reached her mouth. The woman was utterly terrifying.

“Gods, you look just like her. I wish I could have been present when Osric stomped the child from your womb.”

Renata swallowed hard and struggled to find her voice for several moments. “Ah, so you are an acquaintance of his. I should have gathered as much.”

“Picked up a few nasty traits from that asshole bodyguard I see.”

Renata raised a quizzical eyebrow, unsure what she meant by that comment. She had many ‘bodyguards’ in her life, and quite a few of them had been rather sharp-tongued.

“You have me at a disadvantage; I do not have the pleasure of your name…”

The briefest glimmer of emotion crossed her face before she replied. “It has been millennia since I’ve even heard my name, much less remember it.”

She put her finger to her chin as she cast her gaze to the ceiling in thought. Renata found herself drenched in sweat as her heart pounded in her throat. Such a juvenile pose was at odds with the terror she caused.

“I think it started with an ‘A’, or…was it a ‘J’…” she swatted dismissively at the air. “It’s easier to just call me Morana, it’s not like that name holds the same connotations it once did.”

“Why are you here? Has that monster not done enough?”

Morana laughed aloud. “No, he hasn’t.”

Morana gestured to the tray of mostly untouched dinner, the pile of books, and the cotton stuffed mattress with down comforter in the corner.

“There are free men living worse than you! And wine? He sends down the comforts of civilization to the whore who is a shill to an order intent on keeping humanity subjugated and in its proverbial place? You should be half starved and dehydrated, locked in a windowless cellar scavenging for rodents in the darkness!”

“I do not know why you hate me so, but if you were to know me then—“

Morana disappeared in a violent eruption of smoke, reappearing inches from Renata’s face. She swept the book and tin cup of wine to the floor and dug her nails into the Priestess’ arms, her eyes flashed with unadulterated hatred. Her youthful features appeared to warp so that she took on the manic look of a haggard woman more than three-times her age.

“I do know you, you stupid cunt. It is precisely because I know you that I want to eat your liver from your living body as the demons of dusk rape you for an eternity.”

Renata found herself sobbing uncontrollably as a warm puddle formed around her feet, dripping from the stool she sat upon. She was certain the woman would tear into her at any moment.

“Morana.”

The woman stopped and her countenance immediately returned to the previous youthful state. Renata broke down anew; never in her wildest dreams did she think she would be relieved to hear his voice.

“I do not believe it wise for you to be down here, particularly unsupervised.”

Morana spun around with a disgusted huff. “What do you take me for Ozzy? A child?”

“No, but I know how I would react in a similar situation.” He stepped aside and waved his hand, causing the door to fly open. “Perhaps you should retire for the evening. It is rather late.”

“Why do you let her live?” she demanded.

“You and I both know the answer; she is leverage, a bargaining chip.”

Morana pouted, folding her arms across her chest. “She only need be alive for that, not in good health.”

“I am a good host,” he teased “now, we should really be going.”

“You are weak, and that weakness will be your undoing.”

Before he could reply, she had vanished in a cloud of acrid smoke, showering stinging sparks across the room. He took a deep breath and slowly crossed the cell to stamp out one of the embers that had caught on the bedding. He paused as Renata sat clutching her knees to her chest, sobbing beside him.

“I’ll be sure to send a mop down at some point.” He said dryly, and turned to exit the cell.

“Why don’t you kill me?” Renata blurted.

Osric paused in the doorway, keeping his back to the priestess. “Because I am not entirely sure it is necessary.”

“Then why keep me here?”

“Because there is the possibility that I am, incorrect.”

“So you just plan on keeping me here indefinitely?” she sniffed and wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve. “What if you don’t have to kill me? Are you just going to keep me locked up? Or are you going to hand me over to that woman?”

“…Neither.”

He quickly shut and locked the door, leaving her alone in the flickering candlelight.