Her body jerked violently against the chains. Teeth struck together with an audible click. White agony lanced through nerve and muscle, blinding, absolute. For an instant the world was nothing but light and fire.
Then it stopped.
Only for Aldrich to ask again, almost gently, "Who are you?"
And if she answered—
"I am Liora—"
Another shock.
Again.
Again.
Again.
---
Soon her own voice began to sound mad even to her.
Because when everyone in the room insists you are false—when the people who once held you as a child, who fed you, who sang to you, who bandaged your scraped knees, look straight through you as though you were made of smoke—how long before some part of you begins to fear they may be right?
How long before the question stops being they are lying and starts being what if I am wrong?
Her breathing turned ragged. Sweat slicked her skin, cold despite the torch-warmed air. Damp strands of hair clung to her face like accusations, like small dark fingers pointing.
