Phina paced the tiny chamber, though it wasn't much to pace. The dank room was barely wide enough to spread her wings in, let alone burn off the anxiety that gripped her like a vine. The thought of Seltus reappearing made her sweat and shake, like a nervous animal. He could feel his clammy hands running down her back like ice, and smell his fetid breath in her ear. 

His presence alone was enough to shake her, though hell would end before she let him see it. He'd tied her to the wall and then stared at her for hours. He hadn't touched her, but he might as well have pushed a dagger below her fingernails, as he'd threatened to do. She shuddered.

The door rattled. Phina jumped behind the rotten desk, as if it would afford her any protection, and refused to look him in his eyes as he entered. She knew they would be warm, like the sun on a hot day, until she refused him what he wanted. Then they'd flash like night air, hunting her like a trapped mouse, until he got bored of playing with her and left.

"There's no use trying to hide, dear," he said. The word 'dear' made her stomach drop like he'd force fed her lead. She stayed crouched where she was, hidden behind the rotting desk, as if somehow it made her less visible. His hand snaked around and grabbed her wrist like a talon. Phina went limp and did not resist, because fighting only made him hurt her more.

He clipped her wrist into the chain in the wall and stepped away with the key. 

Just the one wrist.

Just the one bound so high her feet barely brushed the floor, to where her toes flexed to support her weight. She grimaced as it pulled at the sinew in her shoulder, the weight of the rest of her body dropping toward the cold stone. The cold metal of the cuff dug into the flesh of her arm.

"I'll unclip you as soon as you give me your client list," Seltus said. She watched him only out of the corner of her eye. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her in pain. Of letting him know that it bothered her. A shot ran up her arm, like someone had stabbed it, and she stifled a scream and flexed her feet against the floor, wings flapping in a harried attempt to support her.

She did not say anything as he stepped forward and cupped her hand in his long, sinewy fingers, then turned her face toward him. She looked at the ground. He chuckled and raked his fingernails into her flesh. She did not move.

"This is not a game you can win. Perhaps if you hadn't threatened me, you wouldn't be here. I wasn't concerned about whose secrets you knew until you threatened to kill me, remember?"

"I should have," she said. She'd only been twenty at the time, and he'd tricked her into thinking he was fun. And then, when he wasn't anymore, she'd nearly tricked herself into thinking he'd forgotten. Instead he'd bided his time for nearly four years, until the time was right. She didn't know how he'd managed to fool her. She'd seen how he'd treated his other pets, the ones he'd treated so well until they bored him, or until they refused him, but couldn't refuse him, because he was the one man they were not ever meant to kill.

She remembered the feeling of the cold steel at his neck. How powerful it had felt to force him into submission so he could not take from her what was not his. But it threw her when there was no fear in his eyes, just calm acceptance. It threw her so much he'd taken the dagger and then taken from her anyway. And then he'd thrown the dagger back at her and left, as if nothing had happened, and then she didn't move. It took days to come out of that shadow. Days she could not afford to lose.

"Do you think I don't have friends? They're just going to kill you if you kill me. A man does not act alone, I have just as many sparrows here as you do. And that's how I know you aren't as powerful as you think you care. You are not Marion. But if you get lucky, I won't kill her if you tell me who sees you. It's a simple request."

She spat at his feet and tried to ignore the cold feeling creeping through her chest and up her limbs. Somehow, she knew he was not playing with her. She owed Marion the world, and it was almost enough to get her to talk. Almost, but for the fact that she knew Seltus would just kill her anyway, and then probably Marion, too, and if he didn't, this same thing would just play out in a few years like it always did. 

Except next time it would be a different girl, strapped to the ceiling with her arm suspended above her head. Next time it would be someone not as strong, and Seltus would go on a rampage, stealing fathers from their children, then babies from their beds to punish the ones he'd seen as having lesser transgressions. Next time, it would not be her. It would be the younger girl, whose sobs she could hear echoing through the corridor. Or it would be Wren. The hair on the back of Phina's neck stood up.

"I will find something that you care about enough to make you talk," Seltus said. "I'm not satisfied with just killing you. Maybe it'll be your parents, hm? I know Marion won't work, or you'd already be speaking. Or that boy. The one you don't talk to anymore."

"I'm not saying anything to you," Phina said, trying desperately to keep her voice from breaking. He knew nothing. Not enough to hurt her, not enough to make her talk, even if he killed her first. Seltus chuckled and ran his fingers down her back, then paused at the tie of her skirt. Phina shuddered. She wanted to grab him with her one good arm and squeeze until the air left his lungs. There were far too many guards outside. It was the only thing that gave her pause.

"You will. Just watch." He squeezed her hip. It felt like a branding iron. A smile crept across his cold face as he used one arm to lift her, then used the other to undo the binding on her wrist. Phina crumpled to the floor and cradled her arm. He smiled down at her in the same way one smiles at a child, then ruffled her hair with his hand.

"I'll kill you," she spat. She didn't know how yet, or when. She would kill him with the last ounce of strength in her limbs, the last breath of air in her lungs. She would kill him even when killing him meant undoing herself, as well.

"You have a very big mouth. You'd make a terrible politician, Phina. You would do much better if you learned your place and deferred to Marion." 

He walked out of the room like he'd just eaten dinner, or spent a few hours reading a nice book. Nothing pleased Phina more than the thought of the air squeaking out of his lungs. She rubbed her wrist. It ached from the binding, but not nearly as much as her shoulder did. The damage was likely permanent. Her arm would never stand up to use again. 

The small, dark place in Phina's head beckoned to her. It reminded her of how nice it would be, to lay her head down and rest for a while. She could crawl into the old skin, the skin that didn't move with touch and felt nothing when it was prodded. The skin she'd barely managed to claw her way out of, and she still wasn't quite sure it didn't still cover parts of her. The skin she'd not forgotten, because it put a grey film over everything and darkened it until she did not care to see.

How good it would be to forget. About the brothel. About Marion, and how much she owed her. About Wren, and what Seltus would do to her if he found the need to punish her. About how much danger they were all in. How much it would not hurt to die.

She would not surrender to it. He would not allow her to take more than he had taken. She would escape this cell, and then she would kill him. It was the only thing she was ever truly meant to do.