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Beneath

The carriage finally lulled to a stop after having its wheels rolling for a good handful of hours. With it's frame bending and swaying on craggy roads and stone littered paths—that seemed intentionally set there to make the journey uncomfortable for everyone.

Freya was the first one alert at the sudden stop. And she jumped to her feet faster than the guards jumped down from the carriage front—to light dormant lanterns as the moon's rays had already struck past midnight, and the clouds had gathered; making everything in sight invisible.

She reached forward and shook Bella back into consciousness. As she had fallen into deep sleep ages ago and was still drooling now, as Freya tapped her to wake up, before the guards did it themselves.

Bella woke up drowsy, her eyes half blind from the sleep still in them and the darkness around them. She wiped her mouth and rubbed her eyes as Freya yelled in a whisper:

“Shhh…they're coming…just be calm and stay quiet, they won't hurt us if we just stay calm…” she explained.

But her advice fell on deaf ears still trying to reboot, as Bella now stretched, making a loud yawn, as loud as a trumpet, in a bid to regain her energy.

The carriage doors swung open suddenly, and Freya jumped in fright. As the guards stood in front of them with held lanterns in their hands and stern looks on their faces.

“Alright you bumbling damsels in distress…we're home now, so let's get it moving shall we?” the first guard boomed, with his face fallen, not from anger, but rather from lack of sleep.

Freya could see his features clearer than she did before. As the light from the lantern he held now shone on his face and revealed deep set eyes with bags underneath. The skin on his face rolled droopy and aged. With his teeth crooked and holding the same color as a picket fence made from spray painted wool.

His appearance irked her, and as she stood breathing slightly erratic. Her eyes tried to catch view of the other guard as he moved away and round back to the front of the carriage.

“I'm sure you ladies aren't deaf, I presume…” the old man rattled through genuine dentures. His hand shaking valiantly, urging them to get off the wagon chamber and outside.

But Bella still sat drowsy. Looking from Freya to the man who was yelling; unconcerned and unafraid—as she was before—but now with a different source of motivation.

Tiredness…

Freya picked her up and helped both of them come down, with the old man's eyes staying on them as they moved. Eerily and following in the direction of their steps. Like a demon sent to watch unfortunate souls getting cast into hell.


Now they had made their way past the pack border and into the main residential areas—where itinerant traders still roamed the streets with goods, and homeless beggars still reached out palsied hands.

But Freya and Bella were held down and restricted by shackles both hands and feet, finding themselves being moved along even past the sewage disposal dumps of the city—almost puking at the smell of damp garbage—and falling on their faces in fright as rats intermittently ran past their feet.

The second journey, now through their new home was a long one. As they cut across dark paths and surprisingly dense vegetation? On their way to a place Freya now realised would be horrid, deducing from the roads they had to take just to get there…

It felt strange that they were being led down into a dungeon. Yet it seemed more like they were being led down to their final days on earth.

As they now took a steep hill that led into a darkness. And a darkness so filled with shadows, it appeared more of a tangible entity than the mere absence of light.

Freya gulped, and Bella's eyes had since lost their previous nonchalance. As they watched worried, the lantern held by the elderly guard reflect weakly only a few inches ahead of them, giving view to only their toes, and faintly, whatever it was that could be a few inches away from them…

The old man huffed as he walked. Held down himself—but by the slight hunch in his back. As he moved like an ogre yet steady on his feet like a soldier. A perfect balance of imbalance…

He nudged the girls forward until they had finally reached the dungeons, and then the hall that led to the cell rooms. Lined in every direction with spaces made in the walls, opened and closed by steel bars strong enough to cage a welder himself.

“Here's your hotel rooms. No beds, no cushions, no meals, no water and no room service... Just you, yerselves and oblivion…” the old man explained.

“How do you expect us to survive?!” Bella complained now.

And the old man snarled… The scanty hair on his head itching from lice, and now the stupidity of the question he was just asked.

“You aren't supposed to…” he replied, cold.

And then he reached in his pockets and jingled out a series of keys. First removing the shackles that kept the two prisoners almost immobile, and then shoving Freya and Bella inside a cell. Closing the door back in place then locking them in—grinning a smile, taking one last glance under the lanterns rays, before turning round and outside the dungeons.

The heel of his shoes clicked on the damp interlocked floor. And Freya watched with her heart sinking as the light that brought them here now faded off in the distance… And the darkness that had departed now came flooding back in a sudden rush; engulfing everything she once could see, including her own arms, into nothingness.

It was already late, and it was a long time till morning would draw near. Yet there was still no chance of joy at dawn…

As what use was it for them to see the ground beneath their feet, when they would soon see themselves beneath it…

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