Heard No More
Title: Heard No More
Summary:
“Speak. You’ll be forgiven, pardoned of all grievances. One can understand how you did what you could to survive. All you have to do is speak.”
Virgil has heard these words time and time again. Speak. Speak and everything will be over. But it wouldn’t be over because there are specific words His Eminence wanted to hear. Words that would jeopardize the lives of the three people Virgil has come to cherish in so short of time he’d been granted.
When one day he wakes up to the sight of those three people–whom he never thought to see ever again–he refuses to believe any of it is real. It is a ruse, another way to trick him into betraying those he cares about and he cannot let himself fall for any of it.
Pairings: Platonic Lamp (Virgil-centric)
Word-Count: 15k
Warnings: Whump, Malnutrition, Starvation Mention, Disassociation, Nightmares, Aftermath of Torture, Panic Attack, CPTSD, Crying, Injury Mention, Blood, Villain OC, Portrayals of Unsympathetic Sides (None of them are actually unsympathetic), Unreliable Narrator, Guilt, Angst with an Ambiguous Ending (It’s Part of a Series)
This fic is part of a larger AU called By the Pricking of My Thumbs. I will polish this up probably soonish but here it is for now as is! This was part of @ts-storytime and my artist was @dillydallydove who did some really cool art you can check out here!
Special shout-out to @theeternalspace who helped coined the name of the larger AU this fic is a part of, and who has also helped me brainstorm a huge chunk of it, in addition to few other people on Discord <3
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Part 1: The Way to Dusty Death
Sunlight seeps into the tiny window of a cell. It is a small, almost insignificant amount of light. Not nearly enough to see well within the cell. For Virgil, the occupant of the cell, it is more than enough. It is his only source of warmth in the cold, damp cell that he inhabits. The rags he once considered clothing provide very little in that department. He shivers, leaning his head as far up as the chains allow him.
The feeble sunbeam tickles his hair, his face. He fixes his gaze on the window, straining to see something, anything, out of the window. He always looks despite never being able to see anything. The window is too high up and too small to allow anything but sunlight to creep in. This is purposeful, of course. It is his captors’ way of taunting him. Of letting him know a world exists outside the torment he willingly endures.
“All this pain, all this misery, it can all go away if you just speak.” A hand clutches his chin, sharp nails digging into his flesh.
“You’ll be forgiven, pardoned of all grievances. One can understand how you did what you could to survive. All you have to do is speak.”
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