One Week Later:
A week had passed since Morrigan's visit.
At least, Aire thought it had. Time had become strange inside the cell.
Days blended together until they became one endless stretch of darkness, mud, and silence.
Aire sat where she always sat.
Her back rested against the stone wall while mud coated the floor beneath her, her dress, and her hair.
At some point she had stopped trying to brush it away.
There was no point.
Her silver hair hung in tangled ropes around her shoulders now.
Even lifting her hand felt difficult.
Her throat felt dry enough to crack.
Aire couldn't remember the last time she had tasted clean water, or even water. She couldn't remember many things anymore.
Mostly she slept, and mostly she stared ahead. Mostly she wrapped strands of silver hair around her finger and listened to the silence.
The sound of approaching footsteps pulled her from another hazy stretch of nothingness.
