((My muse is being held in solitary confinement and hasn’t seen anyone for weeks. Send ⚠ to find them.))
Trinidad drifted uneasily in and out of sleep, curled in a dark corner with her back against the damp stone wall. It was quiet, save for her own steady breathing and the occasional soft scuffle from outside - footsteps, maybe, though the thick walls made it impossible to hear anything clearly.
Of all the trouble she had gotten herself into over the years, the events of the past few weeks had to have been among the worst she had ever faced. She had been reckless, stupid, overconfident. And now, she supposed, she was paying for that.
Every inch of her ached, though most of the scrapes and bruises had more or less healed by now, faint marks barely visible beneath the grime coating her skin. She had lost weight, her complexion much paler than it ought to have been, lips cracked.The heavy shackles at her wrists left her skin raw beneath the metal, limiting her movement to a few square feet of the cell. Even in the gloom of the unlit cell, the chains shone - silver plating over iron, the shackles themselves inscribed with small runes. Trinidad was unfamiliar with this particular binding spell, but it was certainly a strong one. It was a constant drain on her already limited energy, preventing her from shapeshifting or using any other magic that might aid in her escape. Her captors knew what they were doing, she would give them credit for that at least. They had certainly done a very thorough job.
She couldn’t say for sure how long she had been here, only that it had been a very long while. No light reached the chamber save for the faint but constant glimmer that crept under the door from the lantern in the hallway beyond. Nothing to mark the days, nothing to indicate the passage of time. On occasion, never often enough, a little hatch at the bottom of the door would open to allow food and water to be pushed through before it slammed shut again. For a while, Trinidad had amused herself by talking to the guards who she knew must be right outside, though she had given up long ago. They never responded, and she never saw any sign of any other person outside this tiny cell, save for the infrequent deliveries of gruel or moldy bread. She couldn’t help wondering if she had been forgotten here.
A sound she couldn’t quite place pulled her sharply out of the half-conscious state she spent most of her days in. A creak of hinges, movement ahead of her. Light, more light than she had been used to seeing in a long time. She winced, muttering a nonverbal protest at being so harshly awakened. It took her a moment to make sense of the blurry shapes in front of her - the door standing open, a figure approaching her.
“…Wha d’ you want?” The words came out a little more slurred than she’d intended, voice rough from lack of use. She was trying her best to sound tough despite the part of her that wanted to cry, wanted to beg for her freedom. The silence had been unbearable. She squinted at the approaching figure, apprehensive at first, until her expression softened with recognition.
“...Ky?” She laughed, a shaky sound devoid of humor, a reflex of relief. The sound quickly gave way to a wracking cough, which she tried to cover as best she could. Still, she managed a wavering smile. “...’bout time you showed up.”
