Rhydian;
Igma slams the door so hard that I feel the sound reverberate through my skull.
I look over my shoulder at her, and all I see is rage. Bright, burning rage.
I look back at the room we were ushered into, and let out a breath. It's far too comfortable for prisoners. A lit fireplace, a made bed, and books on shelves neither of us will touch.
"So, they're just going to pretend we're not prisoners?" Igma spits, and I look back at her.
"Would you prefer chains?"
"I'd prefer this make sense!" She replies, and I fall silent.
She starts pacing, and I walk over to one of the chairs in the corner of the room and sit. I sit because my legs have stopped being useful. They're tired of holding me up, and quite frankly, I am tired of pulling so much strength just to keep myself upright.
I stare at the fire crackling in the fireplace as one thought loops itself over and over again in my head till, finally, I speak.
