Prologue

PROLOGUE

A sharp pain shoots down my abdomen, as my toes curl gripping the gravel underneath me. My senses flutter in and out of consciousness, and a loud groan escapes my lips reverberating through the walls. On instinct, my hands rush down low to clutch the pain, but something buries deep into my wrist.

It sends a jolt of new cry right out of my mouth and I whimper. My cries echo through the wall, they reach me ten times more gruesome, more torrid, and it pulls me in my senses.

Wait! I know this place - how can I not. It’s the dungeon I built for the prisoners of my kingdom. A place that tortures them, rendering them mentally unstable with the loud noises leaving their skin. A place that fulfills their desire to hear others scream. My face contorts to a mock, this is not going to be easy, not with the torture that awaits.

My skin burns, my eyes and throat screaming for something cold to touch them. The phosphene in the air twists my insides with heat, and the pain in my abdomen suddenly feels a mere pinch. Phosphene can burn you to death with open bruises.

A perfect torture chamber - I called it when I first built it. It was deadly, and I liked it when the first person in here didn’t even survive the torture for a day. Pain shoots my shoulders, as the chains rattle above me, the wheels rubbing against each other as they lift my chained arms high in the air.

Only an hour. Probably two, since I have been hanged on the chains. No more though.

The chains attached to my body are timed, they pull on the body tied to it higher every hour. Before your hands get used to the pain, it inflicts more, slowly but deathly. The splinters dig again in my wrist, trickling the wet liquid down my arm. The gas-burning my skin underneath. I want to groan, cry, whimper, beg - but I won't. I won't let the monsters that trapped me listen to me cry.

I am not just a nobody. I am their fucking queen.

I am a queen that rules this bloody kingdom.

I can't whimper in pain. I can't show them my weakness.

I take a deep breath smelling the metal in the air, my ears attentive to the plink of the water against the floor in the far corner. My lips part, parched, my throat swallowing the needles in it and my body begs to feel even a single drop of it on my skin. Releasing me from this deadly heat.

I rise on my tiptoes wanting to ease the pain on my shoulders, but who am I challenging?

My own brain.

The brain that made me weigh the chains hanging above almost 50 pounds heavy, that makes you realize, every comfort you seek will give you more pain.

A cynical laugh leaves my lips as I proudly take in my inventions. I could now see why not even a single man was able to hold their life for more than 24 hours.

Weaklings.

They are the real weaklings.

Look at the irony.

They die in a single day, in the prison made by a woman.

A woman they want to own.

I take a deep breath, willing myself to be strong, and I embrace the heat that crawls across my skin. Taking a deep breath, I try to calm my nerves to focus on my surroundings, firewood crackles, and the smell of burning wood tickles my nose. My eyes open, slowly, adjusting themselves to see in the orange light that surrounds the hell.

Pride surges through me, my creation of hell down on earth evident to my eyes. A hell that does not spare the guilty, a hell that buries sinners right within itself. If I am a sinner I will burn here, but not before those monsters who brought me here.

I know they will return. To see the pain in my eyes. To see the suffering.

But they won't see any. ‘

Even if I die with them torturing me, I swear to haunt them down burying them in this very hell.

A sharp pain strikes down my lower back, leaving me breathless for a moment. I clutch the chains tight in my hand, feeling the pain slowly rise against my abdomen. My head dips down, the orange light casting a shadow on my naked body, hovering over the stone floor. The orange glint reflects my body, turning crimson red in other areas. The red patches burn, some darker don’t - bruises and semen. It’s covered with bruises and dried cum, reminding me of the monsters that touched me. That groped me with no fear in their eyes, that thrust in me because I couldn't fight. I growl, my feet sinking deep in the ground, as heat rises through my body. Anger clutches my senses, and I hold at the chains above me.

“Ahhh…” another cramp rises against my abdomen. I pull my legs apart looking for a bruise, a hit, anything, but there is none. A gush of wet liquid leaves my vagina, a pool of red forming near my feet, and the realization hits me hard.

“My baby”,  the words leave as a mere whisper, and the back of my eyes stinge with pain. I shout, trash, rattle the chains in anger, letting my voice thunder against the walls of the dungeon, to get the monsters to me, and slit their throats.

But nothing.

The blood keeps trickling down my leg, shattering every hope of a good life I was dreaming of. A whimper escapes my throat - helpless; for the first time in eighteen years. A lone tear escapes my eye.

I lost my baby because of those monsters. I lost the only person I can call was mine.

I won't die. I promise.

I won't let them see a day in this world.

I will show them who the real queen is.

The rage in me is burning my organs. I will kill the monsters who did this. Shallow breaths leave my body, and a shoulder-ripping pain clutches me, as the chains raise me higher. My knees buckle and I give up my entire body weight to the chains holding me. I cry, for the first and the last time in years. Not because I lost.

But to bring me back stronger.

I am the queen and nobody underestimates me.

Shoes click on the stone beneath. The entire dungeon vibrates with the marching of a hundred men right inside the dungeon. Every man hates me. Hates me because I proved to them how weak they were. I wipe the tears on my shoulder blade leaving no trace of the satisfaction they wish to see.

I blanket the blood of my child against my body, giving me strength. Cradling the pain of the loss I stand straight, staring at the door.

The door opens, and men walk in. I meet every gaze looking at me as they enter, I see fear creep their eyes even with my hands tied. I smirk looking at the faces of the men that can’t forget the pain I inflicted on them. The crowd parts in two, and my eyes widened at the man that walked in.

No!

How?

 Speak-it-out:

You are Princess Adria, what would you do to the monsters that captured you?