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“Got it.” She replies. Then, she pulls me into the washroom. There are multiple wash basins and toilets. The smell of mold filters through the air so strongly that I cannot imagine ever getting fully cleaned in this room. There is so much grime and muck on the floor, especially near the drains. I think my run-down house in the Drifts was better than this, and that’s saying something.

The stone walls are crumbling in some areas, leaving debris cluttering the dirty cement floor. A few torches hang unevenly on the walls that cage us in, casting a flickering light that barely touches the room’s far corners. The air is thick, suffocating even, as if the walls themselves are threatening to collapse and bury me here.

Hells… I hate this place.

“I am going to take your shackles off now. Do not run. Do not fight. If you try anything funny, I’ll break your jaw, Varlet.”

I nod, unsure how to respond.

I’m not aVarlet.

I’m not a dishonest or dangerous person.

I wasn’t a murderer—until today, that is.

She grabs my bloodied arm and spins me around, undoing the shackles. It is such a relief to have them off. The moment they fall away, I instinctively rub my chafed wrists.

“Strip. Now. Go to the basins and wash up. They are spelled so you will not run out of water. It’s the only magic that will work in this place. You have five minutes.” The guard gripes.

My eyes nervously take in the dank washroom, tracking every shadow. Trepidation forces me to tremble. Thank the gods and goddesses it’s only the two of us.

With shaking fingers, I fumble with the fabric of my dress. The tan material is now stained crimson. The once soft fabric is hard from dried layers of blood.

I pull the filthy dress off until there is a pile on the floor, and I’m left bare—broken and powerless. I cross one arm over my chest and use the other to shield between my legs. My feet squelch against something slimy, but I force myself to keep moving toward the basin.

I dip my hands into the water. It’s freezing. There’s no way I can pour this on myself.

“Hurry it up unless you want me to help you!” the guard gripes.

I huff in frustration and dump the basin over my head. The water crashes down, icy tendrils instantly biting into my flesh and chilling me to my core. My skin erupts in goosebumps.

Once the bucket is empty, it immediately refills itself. Without giving myself time to think, I dump another basin of water over me. Gritting my teeth, I snatch a nearby washcloth, soaking it in freezing water. I lather it with the odorless soap and begin to scrub furiously, dragging it over every inch of my body—cleansing every layer of grime off until my skin is raw.

But no matter how much I scrub, I now have blood on my hands and a tainted soul for eternity.

The water puddling at my feet is stained red. I continue dumping freezing bucket after bucket over myself until the water finally runs clear, and my pale lavender strands are no longer stained.

“Enough!” The guard snaps, tossing me a gray tunic and gray pants. “Let’s go.”

She doesn’t give me anything to dry off with, so I put the dry clothes onto my wet body. The material is scratchy against my already irritated skin. I cannot help the involuntary shivers that seem to now rattle my body, making me shake like a leaf in the wind.

The impatient guard grips my arm, dragging me out of the washroom and through the halls. My bare feet slap against the cold stone as her boots echo beside me, accompanied by the jingle of her keys. The sound only makes me more nervous, more uncomfortable. It seems so desolate in these stone walls.

I’m going to die down here.

The panic grows like a weed. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever have the chance to pick flowers again—to read a book again. Surrounded by this dark coldness, will I ever feel the warmth of the sun kissing my face? Being outside surrounded by nature was the only place I ever felt truly at peace. The thought of never experiencing that again tears at me, killing something deep inside.

We round a corner and enter a room with a few chairs and desks.

“Sit.” She barks the demand like I am a dog, while pointing to a stone chair. I do as commanded.

“Mannings will be here in just a moment,” she says, just as another guard steps through the barred doorway with blonde hair and a face full of freckles.

“Room after this?” he asks the female guard.

She nods, then strides out of the room—leaving me alone with yet another strange man.

The blonde guard glances at me. “Alright, give me your right arm.”