Chapter 169: Prison Life (2)
Disclaimer: The following Chapter contains abusive scenes which may be triggering to certain readers.
They didn’t stop. Each woman took turns striking her face. Another after another.
Without realizing it, Narin became the center of a cruel game.
They moved like a well-practiced troupe, taking turns and forming a human shield when it was someone’s turn, so the guards wouldn’t see.
Maybe the guards did see. Maybe they just pretended not to; this kind of thing happened all the time.
The group only stopped when the evening free period ended. They left Narin slumped on the bench, taking the filthy rag out of her mouth as they walked away.
"Cough, cough!" she hacked, bile rising in her throat. Every movement of her jaw sent fresh pain through her cheek; she felt dizzy and foggy-headed.
"You, still sitting—line up!" a guard barked.
Narin fixed him with a look and forced herself up, intending to report what had been done to her. Two inmates stepped forward and ’helped’ her to her feet.
"She’s feverish, sir. We’ll help her," one said.
The guard nodded and returned to his post, sending the column of prisoners forward. Horror flared across Narin’s face... He’d left just when she needed him.
"Ack!" A blow slammed into her stomach.
"Don’t complain unless you want worse," the inmate beside her hissed.
Narin clamped her mouth shut. Her cheek throbbed; she couldn’t risk more.
Shamed and helpless, she trudged back to her cell. Anger and humiliation churned through her. I’ll remember their faces. I’ll make them pay, she told herself.
When the guard came around with the evening meal, she tried again to speak up. But he just moved past her without pausing, distributing trays to other cells as if he hadn’t heard.
That night, face burning with pain and barely able to hold herself together, Narin tossed on the hard plank floor.
Before long, sleep teased her, then drifted away—
Until the sound of someone’s breath came into her ears. Her eyes snapped open. A glint of metal flashed in the dim light; something cold and sharp pressed against her throat.
"Who are you?" she screamed, panic burning hot. She couldn’t move; the sensation at her neck was real and icy.
"Hello, Narin. I am the grim reaper. Starting tonight we’ll play," a stranger said, his voice unfamiliar and soft.
Before she could make sense of it, a searing pain lanced across her throat, like a blade tearing flesh.
"NO!"
Narin jolted awake.
Looking around the cell, there was no stranger, no knife.
Only the guard’s call drifting down the corridor. "Breakfast."
Morning? It had all been a dream?
She breathed a shaky sigh and went to her tray, relief loosening her limbs. Then she touched her throat... and felt wetness.
She wiped it, then saw that her fingers were stained red.
"B-blood!" she whispered, the tray slipping from her hand as it clattered to the dusty floor.
Bowls spilled, food scattered, and stale air filled with the smell of porridge on the boards.
But she barely noticed the mess. Panic shoved everything else aside.
She ran to the bars and shouted at the guard who was handing out trays to the other cells. "There’s a killer! He tried to slit my throat! Help me!"
No one came. Her screams echoed into empty corridors. Her voice hit the walls and fell, unanswered.
In the end, she shrank back, curling into a corner and trembling.
The man’s words from last night echoed in her mind: "Starting tonight, we’ll play."
That phrase—play—wasn’t unfamiliar. Gara had said it just yesterday.
"H-he... was it him?"
Real fear began to gnaw at her. Thinking back to everything she had done to Gara, it wasn’t impossible. That man truly could kill her.
Every time a guard passed by, Narin tried to explain what had happened the night before. Some didn’t care, not even sparing her a glance.
Others snapped at her, saying there was no way anyone else could have slipped into this underground prison.
"It doesn’t have to be an outsider. It could be one of you!" she shouted.
That only made things worse. After that, not a single guard would listen to her.
And in the afternoon, she was forced once again into the "initiation ritual." By the time it was over, her face was almost unrecognizable.
When she hovered on the edge of unconsciousness, they somehow managed to summon water-healing to patch her up—just enough to keep her sober—before slapping her across the face again.
It went on for three days. And every night, the so-called grim reaper returned. Sometimes he slit her throat, sometimes her legs or her arms. When she woke, only shallow cuts remained.
Narin felt herself slipping into madness. In the scraps of sanity left, regret finally came creeping in.
She wished for forgiveness but there was no one left who would forgive her.
All she wanted now was for the month to pass quickly, so she could be transferred to the borderline prison. She prayed that the grim reaper wouldn’t follow her there.
As for her plan to take revenge on Gara? It no longer mattered. All she wanted was distance as far as possible from him.
Forever, his name would be a trigger that shattered her.
...
Everything that happened to Narin was something Gara would only learn much later.
After visiting her in the town prison that day, Gara returned with Fian and Madha to the inn, continuing their preparations.
The last of their supplies, which hadn’t arrived that morning, were now stacked in the warehouse.
Hilda led them inside. Gara noticed something off. She looked like she wanted to say something but didn’t dare, just like earlier that day.
He let it go. If it was important, she would speak.
There weren’t as many things left this time, so it didn’t take long.
"All done," Gara murmured, brushing off his hands as if clearing away dust. Even though he hadn’t touched a single thing. Everything had been moved with his mind.
He was about to summon out Fian and Madha when Hilda suddenly stepped in front of him, guilt written all over her face.
"Master... I want to ask for your help."
...