Days upon days upon days, Iris was locked inside that cell. There were no lights beyond what little came in through the small, barred window on the door. If she cried too loud, she noticed after the first few days, they would come and close it so they wouldn’t have to hear her. And she would lay curled up in the pitch black until they came to bring her a meal, to take blood, to sample her aether, talking about “compatibility” and other things she didn’t understand.
She asked without fail every time, “Where’s my sister?” Never once did she get an answer back. Some of the people looked at her with pity, while others were silent. Once a guard she’d asked many times said “I don’t know,” another time one of them hit her and told her to shut up. She still asked, every single time. If nothing else, she had to know her sister was okay.
Iris always wondered… was Dahlia trapped, alone in the dark, just like her? Would Ama and Poin find them here? Were they even looking? Were they strong enough to get them out? The more she thought on it, the more anxious she became. The more anxious she became, the more she had to silence her own cries.
And yet, thinking back on those days, she couldn’t help but realize… the scariest part of all wasn’t waiting there alone. The real dread was wondering when they’d finally enact whatever they were planning, the day they’d inevitably come, the day they said, “Take her to the Gate.”
