View source for Day Two of Captivity

A sliver of daylight rested against the bulkhead, telling Masha two days had passed in captivity.  Her wrists chafed against the shackles her captors used, the shining mythril taunting her.  Aches had sprouted up along her body from using the cramped cot someone had thoughtfully provided last minute before throwing her into the equally small cabin on the airship.


Events from two days ago played out through her head.  The city walls bombarded by an airship attack, the alarms going up, and the second skiff dropping what she had dubbed 'shock troopers'--it was certainly a shock when she heard they were Mist powered.  The horrible sound in her mind of the pistol shot and then her father going down, clutching at his ruined knee, leaving him further crippled, replayed itself every time she closed her eyes to rest.


Anger boiled in her as she replayed in her mind her own idiocy of losing her temper, running out to attack the armored soldiers with her bare hands, only to be snatched up as some part of their objective.  'Father must be worried sick,' Masha thought sadly to herself.  Life may have been priveledged living with him, but it wasn't without its own sadness.


The townhouse she grew up in the southern part of the Capital was quiet, she being the only child present.  Her Aunt Driha had joined her, the Elf a constant reminder of her mother's heritage, and a constant reminder of her own heritage: Elvaan.  Tainted Blood, Aunt Driha said.  She had always been confused why her Aunt had said it with such vehemence whenever she asked about it.  Then it would lead to arguments between her Father and Aunt Driha, mostly in Elvish where she didn't understand when she was young, and would end with Aunt Driha storming to her rooms and her Father looking strained.  This was normal childhood.


The cabin door opened, admitting a man who looked eerily like her father, more fit, a leer permanently etched on his face, and dressed in Archadian military attire.  He deposited a chair in front of her and sat, eyes looking over her.  An unclean sensation came over her.


"So, my brother's little girl," he began simply, dark eyes studying her.  "His little Elvaan.  It's a good thing for you, my little niece, I'm in such a wonderful mood that I won't turn you over to the crew for their personal use."


Shock was followed quickly by loathing.  'This man would turn his own blood over to be raped?'  Masha cleared her throat.  "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord General Corlan--" she began before she was cut off, a hard backhand so casually given by her captor, splitting her lip.


"I didn't give you permission to speak," he responded coldly, his lips curling into another unclean smile.  "Parroted courtesies won't get you very far.  I have plans for you, Elvaan."  He watched as the girl brought her hand to her cheek, the sting of the lesson still there.  "Tell me, has your Aunt or your Father ever told you the stories of what happened during the Folly to your Mother's people?"


Masha nodded mutely, hand still pressed against the hurt.  It was established through story that her people and their 'tainted' progeny warred with each other, groves completely destroyed or turned red with blood as the Mist drove each side mad.  The more physical Elvaan turned to monsters in their own mind, killing with berserk rage, with abandon.


Her father's doppelganger grinned, the leering face moving in close.  "And I've got my very own little Elvaan to test our new M.E.D with.  Be a good girl.  I'll be back."  He rose and left, leaving her shaking in the tiny cabin.


The cabin felt colder as the last rays of sunlight vanished.

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