The Lycan King’s Tortured Luna

I ran and ran, doing my best to get away from my captor. Exhaustion burned my lungs as I heaved to a full extent. My body wanted to give up, while my brain told me to keep going.

That crazy bastard is probably hot on my trail.

I worked so hard to get away. Being taken back is not an option.

This shouldn't be the end; giving up means retreating. And going back there means my end.

I managed to escape; I feel giddy. Luckily, his zombies weren't guarding our prison cells. They were distracted by crows when I snuck out of the main gate.

I was relieved when my thin, malnourished body slid through the square holes.

Red mud hugged my feet like a sticky octopus every step of the way. It was sort of sucking my feet and slowing me down, making it difficult for me to execute a proper run.

This eight-year-old body was doing its best to escape but was stuck in this weak one.

Frightened, exhausted, and panicking-these feelings were dragging me down to a well, but it wasn't as excessive as before.

Was it because of the cloudy gray sky that it matched my mood? Or was it the "hope" that I was trying to hold on to slowly diminishing?

I do not want to go back there; it was full of pain and nightmarishness.

I am just a kid in this body, and I had to endure every bit of it for the sake of his madness.

After feeling my lungs continue to burn, I could no longer bear to go any farther.

So I hid under the huge, hollow root of a dead tree. In order for me to remain unseen and be able to camouflage, I frantically covered myself with mud all over me, including my worn-out dress.

He is close; I could feel it in my gut.

The itch on my skin was compelling as I tried to steady the rhythm of my heart. I was covered in mud as the urge to itch was strong.

Without thinking much, I dug my dirty fingernails into my skin and scratched myself to satisfaction. Pleasure was what I felt, but it did not help lessen my anxiety.

I covered my mouth when I heard footsteps trotting my way. Tears started to well up in my eyes. I was so scared and anxious to be free.

"I don't think she had gone that far. Keep your eyes sharp."

A man shouted.

That man I just heard, is my worst enemy.

He is a sadistic, psychotic-scientist who had gone mad. I really did not want to go back to his horrible place, even if his castle was made of gold.

I just wanted to get out of here; anywhere would be great.

A crow's annoying call ended, and it grew eerie and silent by then. I assumed they were gone, but out of nowhere, a hand grabbed my leg and pulled me out. I screamed.

"There you are, little Jewel. You almost gave me a heart attack."

"No! Please, Popa. No more," I begged him. I begged at his distorted face, which I find unforgiveably disgusting, to even bat an eye.

There were so many children who he had exploited and who were abused because of him, screaming in fear just to get away from his tight grip. Frankly, Popa was not pleasant to look at.

"Tsk. Tsk. I thought we were done with that discussion. You're going to waste my precious gems if this goes on." His grip on my upper arm tightened, and I winced in pain.

But I couldn't stop myself from sobbing.

WHACK!

He slapped me hard.

I landed in the muddy puddle with a splash. The sting only fueled my cries as I continued to sob in a low tone.

If only I still have the strength to fight back I would kick his groin.

"Jewel! I said stop crying!" He gripped my cheeks harshly as I stared into his dark, crazy eyes.

I kept wincing and wincing, and I did my best to follow his command.

New bruises were appearing on my skin, branded by him.

Jewel

I hate that name. He gave me this name because of the gift I possess-the gift he forced on me and experimented with. But in truth, it is a curse.

He only gave me this name because I can provide a variety of gems for him, signifies that I was a rare object to possess.

Begging for money and eating scraps from the trash was far better than being treated like a test subject here. I rather wanted it that way.

I sniffled and kept my head low, obedience was the key to lessen torture. But my angry eyes took chances by darting at his big, deformed head, doing it while he was not looking.

Later on, he did the same to me; he made sure I was in sight. If his zombies weren't following behind us, it would have been easier to run away again.

One problem was that those freaks were agile. Popa impressively created them and made sure to control their every move, just as he was doing his best to tame me.

Those crazy eyes were drilling into my head. I sensed him staring at me, probably wondering how I escaped.

Whatever he it is he is doing, he should stop it. It was making my body itch unconfortably.

Nevertheless, I stayed quiet.

The trek back passed like a blur, and I was back in my own cell. It was old, a combination of red bricks and smooth concrete walls. There was only a small window with thick, rusty bars high up, facing against the metal door. Nothing but a weak bolb of light illuminated my small space.

The only way to escape was through the metal door. That was why he seemed to be in deep thought. And I managed to get away because of the tiny steel fork I hid from him. He was clumsy enough to have left it behind. I used it to unlock the door, but sadly lost it on the way while escaping.

I curled myself into a corner, fearing what was to happen next.

"Take off your dress," he came in and instructed.