Chapter 123: Shadows of the Night
Adele’s Point of View
The dungeon reeked of dampness and mold, a smell that seemed to cling to everything. Despite the werewolves‘ attempts to provide me with proper food and a clean cell, their efforts were a farce to me. They cloaked their intentions under a guise of civility, but their hypocrisy was glaring. What use was their pretense of kindness? In the end, I knew they wanted to pry open my mind, to extract whatever secrets lay buried there.
They called themselves a civilized society, yet they were nothing more than the byproduct of ancient witches‘ failed experiments.
I lay on the hard cot in the cell, staring blankly at the stone ceiling. How much longer would I have to endure this farce before they decided I was of no use? A week, perhaps? No more than that, surely. The blood curse that bound me would ensure I could not betray my master, no matter how severe their interrogation methods.
But the thought of dying didn’t trouble me. In fact, I welcomed it. If I died, all my master would gain was a lifeless husk, a useless tool. I took comfort in imagining his frustration. He could no longer torment me if I were reduced to ashes.
The endless monotony of the dungeon was mind–numbing. Eventually, I drifted into a restless sleep.
When the sound of footsteps echoed through the cell, I opened my eyes to see Thelma Zane standing at the entrance, carrying a basin of water. She set it down with an air of detachment
and retreated toward the door.
“Wash your face,” she said, her tone indifferent. “It’s covered in blood.”
for my
I laughed bitterly. “Why bother with this charade of kindness? Are you dressing me up execution? Perhaps you should make me look even more pitiful so your people can revel in their hatred.”
Thelma’s face showed a mix of impatience and exasperation. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I’m just trying to do you a favor, but suit yourself. If you prefer to wallow in filth, that’s your choice.”
With that, she left, slamming the door behind her.
For a while, I ignored the basin. But eventually the grime on my skin became unbearable. It wasn’t for her sake that I cleaned myself up–it was simply to relieve my discomfort.
After washing away the dried blood, I returned to my cot and fell back into the familiar void of boredom. Sleep claimed me once again, though it brought little solace.
A commotion in the corridor startled me awake. A group of guards entered my cell, their faces.
Chop di 123 Shadows of the Night
as cold and expressionless as statues. They motioned for me to follow them.
“What’s this? Another interrogation?” I asked hockingly as they led me down the dimly lit hallways. “I must admit, I’ve grown fond of these little performances. Tell me, who’s at odds. this time? The noble elders squabbling among themselves? Or perhaps my dear, noble father arguing with your oh–so–magnanimous Lycan King?”
My sarcasm was met with silence. The guards didn’t even glance in my direction. Instead, they escorted me to a secluded tower and locked me inside a dark, cold room.
I looked around the sparse space, taking in the faint moonlight filtering through a small skylight.
“So, this is where you’ll interrogate me now?” I muttered to no one in particular.
With no answers and no escape, I curled up on the cot.
In the oppressive darkness, my memories began to surface unbidden, dragging me back to the origins of my suffering.
I had been aware of my existence even before birth–a strange phenomenon tied to the pure white witch’s bloodline. My earliest memories were of pain and confusion. Still in my embryonic state, I became prey to creatures that devoured me, only to perish themselves when they failed to digest my essence.
Piece by piece, my consciousness scattered across the earth, enduring the cycle of death and rebirth. Through this torment, I grew–slowly, agonizingly, but inexorably.
Then one day, he came. My so–called master, the man who pieced me together. He raised me, molded me, and shattered me repeatedly. His words of affection were nothing more than chains to bind me, and his kindness was a mask for cruelty.
He claimed to be my father, but I couldn’t bring myself to call him that. A father didn’t inflict pain under the guise of love. A father didn’t treat his child as a tool to fulfill his ambitions.
Still, I obeyed him. How could I not? He had shaped every fiber of my being. My will was an extension of his, and rebellion was a concept I didn’t even comprehend.
When my bloodline finally awakened, his satisfaction was evident. He gloated over his success as though my agony were a testament to his genius. It was on that day that he told me the truth about my origin, my purpose,
and my
future.
He demanded loyalty, swearing me to secrecy about his plans. And though every fiber of my being despised him, 1 had no choice but to comply.
Even now, I couldn’t escape the chains he had forged. My thoughts were my own,
actions were not..
but my
The silence in the tower was suffocating. I shifted under the thin blanket, staring up at the narrow patch of sky visible through the skylight. The stars twinkled faintly, mocking my
C
