35
Lina
Itoss and turn in my thick furs, mind unable to settle.
I think of the girl, thrown in the dungeon for wanting a little more milk. Was it even for herself? Or was someone else she cares about in need? I know that I would have easily stolen milk to feed Astella. I have been desperate enough to do anything to care for her.
The words of my Dread still ring in my mind.You are nothing.
If I am nothing to him, then truly, how long will I survive here? Will he cast me out the moment he feels inclined? There is no hope he’d actually keep me indefinitely, is there? Unless he desires me in some way, which so far has proven untrue.
While that is its own form of blessing, it is also a warning.
The fate of a rejected Drahkita is more horrific than I expected. Or maybe it’s exactly as horrific as I expected, but hearing enough to picture it, makes it feel more viscous.
First brutalized and used by those monstrous men and then fed to their beasts? I shiver at the image.
My Drak already dislikes me, and one step in the wrong direction could lead me straight to that horrid fate now flashing through my mind.
The door clicks and then swings wide. I gasp and cower from the Drak who enters the room.
I will never get used to this.
It doesn’t help that he rarely shows his face in our own dwelling. Other warriors sleep in the same room as their Drahkita, that’s my assumption based on the reaction to my question today. Otherwise, they would not have worn such intense shock when I asked.
All of the items here are his, then. That makes sense.
The last time he barged into this dwelling—his dwelling, apparently—was with some strange illness. I examine what little of his skin I can see now and find no new red marks. Ther is no evidence of the damage on his uniform.
He stands there, watching me examine him. His expression remains neutral, except for one raised brow.
Did his mysterious illness have to do with becoming Nihilian, like the women mentioned days ago? I’m not brave enough to ask what it means.
“I will not be long,” he grumbles then stumbles forward to grab a bottle of blue liquid and a cloth from the table against the wall.
“Where do you go?” I blurt out. I may never get another chance to ask him. I may never understand my place here if he only spends moments at a time in my presence.
He freezes, staring down at the items in his hand.
“The other Drak sleep with their Drahkita, right? Where do you go?”
Finally, he turns his dark stare to me. “Do you wish for me to warm your bed, Dove?”
I swallow and shake my head quickly. “I just… don’t understand.”
“You are better off that way, Drahkita.”
I flinch. Somehow, he makes the title sound like an insult and the pet name something intimate.
“You make no sense,” I whisper.
He pulls in a long breath. “You’ll find nothing in this world makes sense. Stop looking for meaning or purpose. It doesn’t exist. There is only survival. And your survival is predicated on obedience. Fall in line and you will be fine.”
He grabs another item from his pile of things.
“Do you have no desires? No interests? No one you care for? What is even the point of living if it is only about keeping your lungs moving?”
He rolls his shoulders. “A question I have long pondered. Yet, I persist against my better judgment.”
