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Within moments, I was hoisted from the stone floor by
burly hired hands and placed cruciform upon a stone wall.
My captors were careful to see that more chains were added
to better secure my outstretched arms, once they realized
that I had already—quite unconsciously—deformed some of
the links of my original trappings. My strength was in no
need of the Red Dream to be formidable.
All manner of petty torture followed—whippings, the
plying of many red-hot objects to my body, the pouring of
scalding-hot liquids over my skin, and on and on. All of it
was quite painful, but none of it was sufficient to warrant
even the slightest reaction from me, save perhaps for the
occasional glare. However, my eyes were only reflecting the
pain I felt from internal fires, rather than those paltry flames
that had been laid upon my flesh. Of course, my reluctance
to yield so much as a whimper gave no satisfaction to the
triplets. This in turn only inspired them to concoct more
elaborate but equally fruitless attempts to elicit screams
from me.
My torture lasted for weeks, and as was predicted by my
captors, many Wolves came for me—as well as the brothers.
All of them, each in their grizzly turns, fell to the small army
of hired killers assembled by the triplets. While I continued
to burn from within, the efforts of the miserable trio finally
began to take a toll, as my body became less and less a
discernible thing. I had become a confusion of sores, blood,
and exposed muscle and bone. I would scarcely be able
to fight even if I did manage to break through my bonds,
which out of paranoia and fear, the triplets had considerably
augmented. My heart had never been host to fear, yet I did
begin to wonder if I had finally reached the end of my dream.
I took my silence wherever I could find it—in between
my captors’ words, even between their breaths. Between
the brief spaces separating my thoughts, where reposed
tiny sparks of quiet. Between the very din of shadows, as
they glided close upon the heels of their casters. It was all
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