𝐙𝐄𝐑𝐎. (𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐲)
❝ in these bounds i pray ❞

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"𝐍𝐎𝐖 I'm going to ask you this last time: where are the kids?" The sound of his voice pounding against the blood in her ears, her eyes trained at the restraints holding her hands in place against the steel table that separated her from him.

Silence accustomed around them as her questioner stood from where he sat, pushing his chair away from him as the sound of the chair making contact with the floor echoed loudly across the contained room.

"I asked you a question." He snarled softly, yet she sat there, unfazed, not a terror of fright seemed to ripple against her body instead, a ghost of a laugh escaped her dry lips.

"Having a better time than I am that's for sure," she replied as her interrogator slammed his hands against the steel table in frustration, his eyes blazing like a storm that had been set on fire.

"I have no time for jokes. Answer the question," he stated, his voice low, soft, as if talking to an animal that was about to be hunted by the prey; soft, alluring, yet, dangerous.

She continued training her eyes down at her curled bloodied hands. Fingernails dirtied, bruises scattered against the flesh she has adorned as she felt it shake against the restraints.

She shrugged knowing that her answering would end up with her facing consequences given by them, whether she liked it or not. She could feel the tension building up, his anger pulsing through the thick atmosphere between them.

"Look at me," he snapped at her, as she curled her fists tighter, her fingernails digging into the depths of her skin. She raised her head unsteadily; a certain look of caution seemed to cross her mind as she stared steely at his dullest orbs.

Her bruised face showing as her dark brown hair dropped down her back like a cascade, tangled and disheveled. A cut ran across her bottom lip that had dried up from lack of water that seemed unimportant to them.

It looked as if even before the interrogation had started, she had already been beaten up with enough force to knock someone unconscious, yet she sat there, fully conscious, a raging fire of anger clashing against her usual calm complexion.

Looking like an angel with wings of steel and fire in her blood.

He looked at her, stared into the remaining pieces of human she was left with. A look flashed across his eyes, she thought she saw pity, maybe someone human underneath his inhumane self, yet it was gone, turned into something mocking.

"Such a waste," her interrogator mocked as he stared right at her, leaning slightly forward as if examining a prey that was about to be ended. Yet she didn't look away, she didn't flinch.

She simply stared, leaning slightly forward that they were just inches away from each other. Stared into the hollowness of his eyes, and when she couldn't stare she forced herself to stare even more.

He shook his head as if completely disgusted with her. "Such a waste of great talents you hold. What would your parents think?"

She found her tongue, buried beneath rubble of numbness as she moved it forcing out the words she had always wanted to say to them.

"They'd continue to encourage me, push me further to burn this whole place to the ground. They'd look at you, and the whole lot of you, and say that you all are blithering idiotic b—"

The sound of hand coming into contact with her skin echoed across the enclosed interrogating room as her head hung on the side; a look of shock crossed her face as she resisted the urge to scream out curses from the tip of her tongue.

The right side of her cheek stinging with pain as her eyes brimmed with tears that she tried to keep at bay. Biting the inside of her cheek, she sat there trying contorting her face so as not to show them her fear; she couldn't show them her pain.

His hand grabbed her chin as he yanked her face to look at him, her hair flying around the wind as a snarl made its way onto her lips. "You better be careful on what you say about WICKED traitor, or you'd end up the same fate as your parents."

Upon the mention of her parents, that was when her whole façade broke as she stared at him speechless, hands trembling against their hold as she closed her eyes, biting her lip as to stop her tears from dripping down her face.

"You don't have to suffer for what your parents had done," his voice soft, lowered, that was when she knew she was being led on, she was becoming the prey again. The injured prey that would succumb to what the predator wants. "You can choose your own path Demeter; just tell us where the kids are."

"Get your hand out of my face," she whispered, softly, her nails digging into her hands tightly that she swore she feel the blood dripping down her hands.

"Just cooperate Demeter, change for the better."

At this point she could hear the desperation in his voice, as if he finally knew that he was winning, that he would finally get what he want. But he won't, she wouldn't let him get the satisfaction that he had won.

Demeter raised her head, her eyes brimming with tears as she stared at his eyes. The eyes she would love to see the last of his life float out of his body.

She saw the way his eyes lit up as if finally getting the answer to all his troubles but all she did was smirk at him making his face waver slightly. "I'm not telling you. Over my dead body you'll get what you want."

His whole face turned beet red, hands curled into fists as he slammed it down onto the table, but she didn't flinch, she simply smirked wider as she shakily straightened her hands, flipping him off.

He straightened his posture, clenching and unclenching his fists as she sat there, her smirk still intact across her features which seemed to anger him even more.

"I can see that we are getting nowhere. Well then," he gestured slowly to the entrance before stopping just a few inches away from the exit. His voice had gone soft, but not that soft alluring voice he had once used, no.

A cold chill run down her spine as her smirk fell from her lips, staring at the back of her interrogator as he softly murmured to the room. "Initiate protocol 1-98B4."

He moved his head to the side ever so slightly as a wicked smile made its way onto his lips. She felt her hands tremble as terror was evident across her eyes on what was about to happen to her. "Or as I would like to call it— kill the mockingbird."

"No," Demeter softly gasped, knowing all too well what he meant, as the restraints opened up soundlessly revealing her bruised wrists yet she didn't pay attention to them. She pushed herself off of the steel seat she sat upon but at that same time, her legs gave way as she found herself on the smooth marble floor.

She watched as her interrogator walked out of the room, turning around, he clasped his hands behind his back a sullen look across his face as he shook his head as if stating how pointless it was to resist.

Demeter crawled on the floor, urging herself to move as she smelt it, the awful smell she despised throughout her childhood. She shook her head, not giving in to it as her vision began to cloud.

She blinked back the tears, she didn't want it, the doses she would receive; she didn't want any of it. She could see the enjoyment in his face, the way she knew he was thinking of how much she deserved this.

Maybe she did, but it hurts, although she thinks she deserved it, that doesn't mean she would welcome it with open arms. "No," she shook her head as she clambered to her feet, swaying slightly at her spot as she ran to the door.

She was close, she could make it.

She could finally be free.

But at the same time she reached, the doors shut as she banged her fists against the door angrily. Cursing at him, at WICKED, at her parents, at herself, as she cried out for help.

She didn't care if anyone saw her like this; she wasn't the tough girl she pretended to be. She was hopeless and weak.

"Let me out!" Demeter shrieked out, slamming her fists repeatedly against the hold of the door. The barrier between her and freedom, as she yelled louder, sobbing against her screams.

"Let me go please! I didn't do anything!" She pleaded, begging as she stared at the small glass panel where she could see his face. Yet his eyes show no mercy. "Please, please, please—"

"This is for your own good Demeter." He stated hollowly as he leaned in closer against the glass taking in her tearstained face and broken features she hid. "Just remember— WICKED is good."

With that he walked away from the door leaving her screeching and banging against the door. Her screams flowing against the ends of the corridors before it was all silenced completely.

Not a single trace of the girl, Demeter, with nothing left but a distorted mind to carry and a fire of vengeance in her blood to tame.

𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐬!
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yikEs, here we go!! you just had a glimpse of demeter's 'past' and it would dig further i too later on!! im extremley excited to start this book, like ive been waiting for dayS to publish it!! but yes, lets do this!!