Page 6 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

Melody

Two days. They leave me in the bunker for two solid days.

When the door finally opens, I blink into the gray daylight, willing myself to walk away with my head raised high, although my body is shaky with hunger and exhaustion. But most of all rage. Pure, deep, visceral hatred.

In the beginning, when I was still a child, I would cower in the corner and cry, beg, try to find a way out, try to somehow break that fucking door open.

I thought of my parents then. Of the idea of my mom and the image I barely remembered. Of how her arms must have felt around me.

I also thought I would go crazy.

Now I work out. Try to sleep, drifting in and out of nightmares until the panic ebbs away. Trying not to go crazy. But every time I feel more broken. More shattered.

I make it to my room upstairs in the main building without shedding a tear, my face so impassive I must look dead from the outside.

The mansion is vast, embedded alone in the middle of a forest and hills covered by nothing but more trees. The property alone is the size of a small national park. Lyrian bought the whole valley. My room is small compared to the others, and utterly barren, but at least it has a window from which I can see the forest .

As soon as I’m alone, I retch into the toilet. Not that I have much food in me. I meet my reflection in the mirror as I brush my teeth. My skin is ivory white, but not just because of my frequent sun-starved days or the relentless rain.

No. I have no color in this place—never have, never will—save for the regular bruises on my body.

It is only when I’m in the shower, under the stream of water, away from Lyrian’s all-seeing eyes, that I allow myself to cry.

I crouch on the tiles for a long time before I get up and eventually turn off the water. I change into fresh clothes—black running gear—and head out the door. Rain hits me. There’s barely a day when there is no fog or at least a slight drizzle.

I start to run—toward the hills, through the evergreen forest, through those strangely crooked oaks and willows, their branches covered by moss and their trunks so crooked they look like ancient creatures, bending to the relentless wind.

The shore is forty minutes from the mansion. I easily find the path that twines through the woods, would find it even with my eyes closed. I have run here since I was a child, following its lure until I stood at the very edge of the cliff, the ocean waltzing hundreds of yards below.

I stop now, my lungs burning from the sprint, my muscles protesting from exhaustion and lack of sleep. I step to the very edge like I always do, thinking not for the first time of spreading my arms and jumping.

It’s my way out. If I can’t bear it any longer, it is my way out. That’s my deal with myself.

But not now.

Not like this.

Not without fighting.

Yet every time I stand here, the Abyss seems to call to me. Beckoning me to take one more step and jump. Sometimes I even dream about it, of the water calling my name.

I ignore it and turn away and, slowly this time, make my way back.

** *

It’s almost dark when I reach the mansion. I go straight up to my room where a tray with bread and butter awaits me on the floor in front of my door.

I eat it out of sheer necessity. I need my strength. Need it to escape one day.

I wolf down a few bites before I step toward the window, to the empty canvas standing there, and start to paint.

Painting. Sometimes it is the only thing that allows me to hold on, that can give me joy. Makes me forget for a while about my miserable life. Of who I am. Where I am.

***

Later in the evening, there’s a knock at the door. Kayne walks in uninvited with a dress draped over his arm.

I glower at him, my lips curling back, baring my teeth. Sometimes I dream of ripping his throat out with those teeth. Strange, lurid dreams, I know, but maybe my past has indeed made me an animal. Half wild, just like Lyrian says.

As if he can sense something in me, the colossus takes one step back before he declares, “There’s a function. Lyrian wants you to accompany him.”

“Does he now?”

“Don’t play games, Melody. You know it will only get worse.” When I say nothing, he adds, “And you should wash that paint off. You know how he hates that.”

He leaves the dress on my bed, though not without another indiscreet swipe over me that makes me clutch the brush in my hand tighter, wondering how it might possibly pierce his skull. Everything is a weapon. Wasn’t it Kayne who taught me exactly that?

One day… one day I will wipe the soil from Lyrian and his bloodhounds. It is that thought, that anger, that fuels me. That prevents me from falling to my knees and weeping for what Lyrian has just done to me again .

But the truth is, I’ve been feeling on the verge for a while now. Closer to breaking than I’ve ever felt. I’m just so tired.

When Kayne’s gone, I look at the dress. An expensive little thing. Nothing less when I have to appear next to Lyrian, who loves luxury over everything else.

A function. Along with my tracking activities, the functions Lyrian likes to attend are possibilities for me to escape for good. Not that I ever succeed. But I need to try. I need to get away. I can’t stay any longer. I need to seize every opportunity I can get, be it ever so tiny. I can’t just give up and accept my fate.

I swallow down my tears, along with my hopelessness.

When I’m sure Kayne has gone for good, I grab the dress and walk to the bathroom to undress. You never know with Kayne. But he was right in one regard: When I look in the mirror, there’s paint everywhere, in my dark hair and all over my skin. I step under the shower one more time and scrub it off, trying to get it out of my hair, but there’s still some left in the strands when I get out.

Oh hell, Lyrian will be furious.

I spend a long time getting ready. It takes a good deal of time to cover up the nasty violet-and-bluish spot Kayne’s hand left on my face. Not to mention the bruises from the handcuffs. But then I’ve had a lot of practice over the years. Eventually, I put on the black dress. It’s a skintight, half-translucent thing, showing off every inch of my tall, slim body, leaving no room for imagination. I clench my teeth. I hate it. I feel naked.

A dark part of me wonders why Lyrian sent such a thing for me to put on in the first place. Probably because he knows how uncomfortable it will make me feel. Another punishment.

Then again, he does love to brag, even about me, as if I, too, am a trophy. He delights when people want what he has. Apart from that, he is so vain everything around him has to look perfect. So I’ll play along, if only to buy myself another chance to run away.