I let out a shuddering breath, opening my eyes. 

So that's how I got here. One year later, give or take a few days. I gave up counting, gave up hoping, a long time ago.

I dig my nails into my bed of hay, savouring the distraction as the spikes scrape my skin. I fight back tears. Ezekiel wouldn’t want me to cry. He would want me to be strong.

But I’m not strong. Not anymore. 

I look around my cell, searching for some other distraction. It's small, with stone walls and a stone floor. No decorations. Nothing to do but eat and think. I get a meal when it is meal time, and I only get meals at night. I wouldn’t call them meals though. A small cup of water and a bowl of sludge, for lack of a better word. I don’t know what's in it, nor do I ask. But if I don't eat, I'll die. 

Though I don’t know what the point in living is anymore. I just don’t want to give the king the satisfaction of seeing me die.

My torn and filthy clothes hang loosely from my too-skinny frame. I haven’t had a change of clothes during the time I've been here. I’m sure I smell terrible. But who's here to care? 

I let out a sigh. The guards will be bringing me my food soon. It's passed through a slot in the iron bar doors. I can see through them, but there isn’t much to see. Other than the guards that bring me my food and patrol the hallways. 

There's a new guard on duty today. I heard it from the other guards. Listening to the guard's gossip is the most interesting thing I can do. 

I wonder if the new guard will be bringing me my meal. 

I can hear footsteps coming from down the hallway. Finally. My stomach grumbles and my mouth is paper dry. I need food. I need water.