Miserable in Prison
Carling frowned at the bleak circumstances in which she found herself. She had arrived in the cold dank cell hours before after winding down several steps and passing through one of those long dark corridors that cause an involuntary shudder to all who enter. Now, she sat on a stone bench designed for a Centaur that was so high off the dirt floor of her cell that her legs dangled in the air. No blanket or pillow had been provided to her. She could hear rain beating against the prison through the tiny slit of a window that provided her only source of fresh air and light. Exactly how long she had been in her cell she could not say. She had spent most of the time watching a thin ray of light from outside move across the floor.
She tried not to think of how roughly the guards had pulled Higson, Tibbals, and Tandum down the winding staircase and the long hallway lined with thick plank doors. One by one, she’d watched as each of her companions was shoved into a cell and the door was slammed shut and locked behind them. While Carling had been led to the last cell, far from her friends, no one had dared touch her.
Now, the tumor of terror that had started growing in the Commander’s chambers completely filled Carling’s entire being, pushing against her lungs and making it hard to breathe. Her body was weak from hunger and tired from the long journey. A vision of her burnt home appeared before her and she was overwhelmed with grief. Here she sat, alone in a dark, damp cell, her loyal friends also taken as prisoners, her parents dead. She had never wanted any of this.
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