Ellen lay still for a long while with her eyes closed. It didn’t really matter. The room looked the same with her eyes closed as with them open. She could see nothing. No light entered the room while the door was closed. Ellen slowly brought her hand up and rubbed her eyes. She had cried before falling asleep again, and the dirt and grime from the floor had caked onto her face. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for a bath. She spent several moments rubbing her face and picking at the dirt that she could feel for clinging to her skin.
Ellen’s stomach groaned as she sat upright. She had gotten used to the sound. She even had gotten used to the hunger. She still yearned for fresh meat or even some fruit, but she was starting to know the feeling of hunger so well she wondered if she’d even eat right again.
Ellen tried to clear her throat but to no avail. She had screamed for what must have been hours the night before and knew she wouldn’t get anything else to drink until Dorn closed up the tavern later that evening.
Ellen then realized she didn’t know how long it would be since she really couldn’t be sure that it was morning. It could be midday, or late at night and she wouldn’t know the difference.
Ellen scooted back against the wall and rested her head against the dirt. Ellen had nothing to do but think.
The first few days she had attempted to break free. She had tried to grab at Dorn as he cam in; she had pulled, pushed, and twisted the metal ring around her ankle until she bled; and she had screamed. Oh, how she had screamed. Sometimes if she heard footsteps above or thought that it might be daytime she would scream, but the cellar lay underneath the tavern floor by a few feet of dirt, and her screaming was in vain. She had tried everything. She cried most of the time.
As she sat against the wall, Ellen allowed her mind to wonder and for her imagination to take over. She was in the village square; then in the field behind her fathers house; then she found herself in the sea, bathing. In her mind, she could be anywhere she wanted. A few times she drifted off to sleep and had such wonderful dreams of the places she remembered or of her friends and family. She would dream of tastes she had forgotten or smells from the bakery. She dreamed of her and her sister running through some glade or other without a care in the world.
But more than any other, Ellen dreamed of her father. She dreamed of the door opening, light spilling in, and her father rushing in with the key to her chains ready to carry her away!
But soon enough, Ellen would come to her senses. She would open her eyes and stare into the darkness, listen as hard as she could into the silence and know that that wasn’t going to happen. She was by no means a pessimist, she was a realist. And the reality of the situation was that her life was in Dorn’s hands. He could keep her here, torture her, kill her or whatever else he thought up and there was nothing she could do about it.
Ellen’s stomach groaned as she sat upright. She had gotten used to the sound. She even had gotten used to the hunger. She still yearned for fresh meat or even some fruit, but she was starting to know the feeling of hunger so well she wondered if she’d even eat right again.
Ellen tried to clear her throat but to no avail. She had screamed for what must have been hours the night before and knew she wouldn’t get anything else to drink until Dorn closed up the tavern later that evening.
Ellen then realized she didn’t know how long it would be since she really couldn’t be sure that it was morning. It could be midday, or late at night and she wouldn’t know the difference.
Ellen scooted back against the wall and rested her head against the dirt. Ellen had nothing to do but think.
The first few days she had attempted to break free. She had tried to grab at Dorn as he cam in; she had pulled, pushed, and twisted the metal ring around her ankle until she bled; and she had screamed. Oh, how she had screamed. Sometimes if she heard footsteps above or thought that it might be daytime she would scream, but the cellar lay underneath the tavern floor by a few feet of dirt, and her screaming was in vain. She had tried everything. She cried most of the time.
As she sat against the wall, Ellen allowed her mind to wonder and for her imagination to take over. She was in the village square; then in the field behind her fathers house; then she found herself in the sea, bathing. In her mind, she could be anywhere she wanted. A few times she drifted off to sleep and had such wonderful dreams of the places she remembered or of her friends and family. She would dream of tastes she had forgotten or smells from the bakery. She dreamed of her and her sister running through some glade or other without a care in the world.
But more than any other, Ellen dreamed of her father. She dreamed of the door opening, light spilling in, and her father rushing in with the key to her chains ready to carry her away!
But soon enough, Ellen would come to her senses. She would open her eyes and stare into the darkness, listen as hard as she could into the silence and know that that wasn’t going to happen. She was by no means a pessimist, she was a realist. And the reality of the situation was that her life was in Dorn’s hands. He could keep her here, torture her, kill her or whatever else he thought up and there was nothing she could do about it.
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