Veiled Fae (Fractured Fae 2)

Isolation, Day 32

Several weeks have passed in this tiny prison. I still ration my water and meager food supplies, afraid of the day that it may not come. I don’t trust my invisible captors, but I’m grateful each time I wake up to fresh supplies. The food is likely tainted, but it doesn't matter. I have no choice, if I didn’t eat, I’d die for sure. Despite the meager servings, I make sure Dormy has enough to survive since he refuses to leave my side and save himself.

He disappears from time to time, leaving through the tiniest of cracks in the corner of the room. Those moments are the worst, but I hold onto hope that he’s smarter than the average mouse and is magically finding an escape to this never-ending hell.

To occupy my mind and help silence the madness, I go over every detail of our blueprints in my mind. I try to come up with new plans every day, mentally creating blueprints that I hope I'll remember when I’m free.

Square feet, numbers, building materials, and sketches are all I can think about to the point of sick obsession. I calculate the dimensions until I can picture every new addition perfectly.

If I stopped even for a moment, my mind would slip back into the dark musing.

My people… will they survive without me?

I’m the only one who can restore the lands.

Why haven’t the Spirits come to save me?

I’m so physically worn down and weak now that I barely move off the thin blanket. I try to fight my despair, but I’ve fallen so far that I can’t push it away any longer.

Isolation, Day 54

Darkness...cold...weak.

All hope is lost.

Isolation Day 60

My captors have started giving me more food. Not much, but on every third day I’ve started getting what feels like fruits and vegetables, some even I can recognize. Though I have no clue where they’ve gotten them.

The extra food helps my energy levels improve, albeit slowly. The bright side is that with renewed energy, comes renewed magic. The hollow feeling slowly starts to ebb away, and after six days I’m ready to attempt a spell.

Letting the magic flow through me, I revel in the feeling of its power. It’s been so long that it’s almost hard to remember how strong it can be, but for now this is enough. The electric pulse of it dances along my fingertips before I close my eyes and form a ball of light. My eyelids light up with the soft glow and I crack my eyes open to see my success. At first the light is so bright it’s painful. But slowly I adjust to the change until I can look without blinking rapidly.

Thanks to the magical orb, I can now see my dark cell, though I wish I couldn’t. It’s so gross and dingy, full of dirt and grime I’d only felt before now.

Wanting to inspect the walls for a way out, I form a second, much smaller orb that settles in my palm. My steps are slow and meticulous as I scan the walls

closely, looking for a door or lever of any kind. But of course, there’s nothing. The only crack in the stones is where the cell is crumbling in. The ceiling is low and just as solid as the walls. I’m living in a concrete box with no way out.

Several more days pass, but this time I occupy them by practicing my magic in any form I can, hoping it will spark a fresh idea to help me escape.

Glaring at the wall with solid determination, I launch a particularly large fireball at it. The wall sizzles upon impact, the smell of embers filling the space. When smoke forms, I panic, realizing I just set ablaze my blanket, the only thing I have right now. It’s only after I douse it with water that I realize that was a terrible plan as well.

With focus, comes a clearer mind. I’ve somehow pushed away the madness that was starting to consume me, hope now holding it at bay. Even if my attempts are futile, it helps to focus on fighting and thinking of any way I can kill the former King of Winter.

Fire. Electricity. Ice. Poison. A stab wound to the heart, anything to end his reign of terror.

When my magic fails to trigger any sort of door, I realize I need a new plan. Getting out will only happen if I literally bust down a wall, so that’s what I’ll do. My fireball may not have done much, but it scorched the wall, a good indication that it’s not charmed to repel my magic.

Closing my eyes, I pull every ounce of magic I have into my fingertips. My skin tingles, the warmth almost unbearable as I try to contain my magic for a moment longer. Using the scorch mark as a focal point, I concentrate my magic into a large ball. After taking a deep breath, I release it, slamming it into the wall with as much force as I can manage.

The wall lets out a low groan, but otherwise nothing happens. The entire moment is anticlimactic and my familiar friend, despair, beckons me back with open arms and a sinister smile.

Refusing to give in, I push the dark feelings away and draw my magic into my hands once more, using the intense anger of my failure to fuel my next attempt.

I think about my frozen family and blast the wall, I think about being held prisoner and fire it into the wall, I think about the king who brought devastation to my people and my realm and slam the wall with ice. Finally, I think about my people having to survive without me and send every last ounce I have into one final attack, powered with my raging emotions and will to live.

With my final blast, a loud crack booms through the tiny cell and I’m thrown across the room, hitting the wall with a sickening crack. The back of my head stings, the warmth of blood trickling through my hair, but I refuse to dwell on it. As I stand, I waver on my feet for a moment before my vision clears.