Can Venomshades do that?
Heavy footfalls descend the steps and I pray to every god in the known realms that it’s not Vessira.
“Fuck,” Correk’s voice cuts through my panic. “Oh fuck. Come ‘ere, love,” he says, trying to smooth his fluster with gentility.
He removes the sack covering my face, and from what little I can see through the swollen slits of my eyes, pity or perhaps even shock stretches across his face. His lips press into a thin line. Speechless.
“So, not fit for dinner with His Royal fucking Majesty, then?” I rasp, coughing blood up and spitting it on the floor at his feet. A punctuation to my sick joke.
Correk takes a key out of his pocket and makes quick work of the shackles at my wrists and ankles. He catches me before I crumble to the floor, and a strangled gasp escapes me as I slap against his armor.
He lowers me down, unfolding me against the slick stone.
I break apart against the floor of this godsforsaken dungeon.
I heave a dismal, bubbling breath into my lungs, but I get little reprieve.
I have nothing left to give my body, only the acceptance that these are my last breaths. Thatthisis how it ends—a gutter rat in the dungeons of a rotten kingdom.
I try again to drag a breath through my nose, and this time, there is no pain.
There is just a weightless, humming vibration.
A soothing calm that ripples through my body, like I’m floating in a body of water.
I feel…held.
Safe.
Like nothing can get me here.
Distorted sounds try to reach me, but they’re not loud enough to penetrate the peace I feel—a dull blade against stone.
A balmy summer breeze kisses my face, and rough, calloused hands find my cheek.
A brazen, sensuous smirk appears before me, “You’re okay now. No one can hurt you anymore, darling.”
Kael.
That’s when I know I’m at the Final Gate.
Because here, there is only illusion.
I try to open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out save for a low, guttural moan. I move to sit?—
“Don’t you fucking die on me, Princess,” Correk’s voice carves through the air and splinters my consciousness. His hand pats my cheek fervently, desperately rousing me back to awareness.
“Just let me die,” I croak, aching to return to the weightless plane beyond this one.
“You have too much to live for,” Correk rebukes, scooping his arms behind my knees and shoulders, and pushes to stand as I dangle across his forearms.
I huff a wicked laugh, and blood rises in my throat, coating my tongue in metallic acidity.
“Everything to live for is already lost to me,” I rasp, the words scraping against my throat.
Correk rushes into my cell, placing me on the cot, and I grunt when he lowers me down.
“Your throne and the entire Kingdom of Dravara isn’t nothing, Princess. I need you to fight. I need you to heal yourself,” he urges, peeling my matted and bloodied hair from my forehead. “I’ve taken the lillath chains off, Elyssara. You need to conjure your magic. Fucking beg it if you have to,” he pleads, as if he needs me to live.As if he needs Dravara to live on.
