Snippet #2464689

Caydryn couldn't remember where he was, nor who he was. All he was aware of was painful pulling sensation in his mind. If he had hands, he would be holding his head. But he didn’t have a head anymore either. Memories were escaping his mind, all of them. Emotions were floating away. The lyrics of his first lullaby abandoned him. What was left of his conscience was being torn into shards and they were being drawn agonizingly somewhere else.
He had no idea how long it lasted. Time is not a factor in pain. Torment feels everlasting to those who suffer it. But as everything does, it ended. For then, it all surged back. Memory after memory flooded back into his mind, and he cried out, for the amount of years he lived were all coming to him in milliseconds. Now he did have a head and he was clutching it tightly. Fear feels everlasting as well. But when it died down, he realized he had the ability to think. His first thought: Where am I? He opened his eyes beneath his fingers and was assaulted by the light of the room. He squeezed his eyes shut again, as the pain in his mind intensified. He was aware he wasn't alone. He was also aware he was naked, on a cold floor, and silence was heavy in the air, as if his company were waiting for him.
He speculated as to where he could be. His last memories were the last feeble moments on his death bed. But he no longer felt feeble. In fact, he didn't remember feeling like this for many years. This was youth.
It was wrong.
Braving the light, he opened his eyes and lay down his hands. At first, he was blinded, but he refused to close his eyes. Slowly, slowly his eyesight returned, albeit blurry, bringing with it his surroundings. He was in a damp room, with only one shuttered window. There was one chair in the corner, its two back legs pathetically twisted out of shape. There were two people standing silently in front of him. A man and a girl. Black and white. Before he could examine them thoroughly, he saw a neat pile of clothes next to him. He still felt the necessity of warmth, even in all his confusion. Quickly, he dressed himself, keeping care never to turn his back to the strangers. In the back of his mind, a little voice told him he ought to be ashamed to be seen naked, but he was too preoccupied by whether his onlookers wanted to harm him, than to worry about what they thought of him. That done, he straightened up.
Although knowing appearances were deceiving, the man seemed the most dangerous, and fixed his eyes on him first. His memories gave him a name immediately, but he couldn't remember who this man was. Alabaster. His presence was ominous.
Now he gazed upon the girl. Her face was veiled, but everything about her was familiar. Her height, the way her hair still looked beautiful in tangles, the way she held her hands to her breast, the exact shade of her wings... Hatred rose up within him, as torrents and torrents of memories wreaked havoc in his mind, all showing him that she was his foe, a cursed enemy, someone who wanted to watch him suffer.
He darted at her furiously. He didn't even have time to wonder again at his strength and steadiness before he grabbed a hold on her. She gasped, and cowered, but his hands clasped around her neck. She didn't struggle, but fell limp at his touch. He wanted to see her face as she died; her eyes dim as they realized tormenting him was the cost of her life. He pulled the veil off. Her eyes were wide and filled with water. None of that made him sympathize with the bitch.
But it was her grey eyes that reminded him that he should be enchanted. He should have been embracing her, not killing her. His hands shouldn't be able to murder her.
It meant he was free.
Immediately, he dropped her. He was tied to her no longer. He would not do anything more to do with her, not even kill her. If he killed her, she would forever be a part of him. And that was everything he didn't want. He stepped back from her trembling form and turned to Alabaster. She was clearly of no import to him, as he had not tried stop Caydryn.
"Why have you brought me here?" His voice was soft and calm. Caydryn thanked his gods that it did not betray his confusion, his wonder, his horror. Caydryn was a Faerie King, and he would not appear weak to Alabaster. Memories came again, stories of a dark he-monster with no capabilities of mercy. Alabaster wasn't here to welcome him home; he was here to get a profit. Whether that profit was him, or something completely else, he didn't know.