| Chapter Fifteen | Seeds of Doubt |

"I am afraid," her voice shook with what could only be described as absolute horror.  Her clothes dirty and musky, sweated through, hung loosely on her bones.  Her eyes were wide and unblinking, darting back and forth across the room, her hair in wet tangles around her shoulders. 

  "What are you afraid of?"

  "I am afraid," she chokes, glancing again around the small cell.  "I can no longer tell if what I see and hear is real or if it is a trick of my imagination," Adara whispers, glancing at the prince, finally meeting his mismatched eyes.  Each stares at her with uncertainty and concern, but remained stubborn.

  "It is the drugs," the prince sighs, his jaw tightens as he pulls up on the restraints, wiggling his legs around.  Bending his knees, twisting his torso, trying to regain feeling in his extremities.  "Do not take them, you need to fight them if they try to force them down your throat."

  "What is the point?"

  The prince almost laughed.  "You are Adara Nightsong — Jasper — whomever you are, you are the same girl who has killed countless men and survived unimaginable torture that none if my men could have tolerated," he says, exasperated.  "Do not dare give up, you must fight them with everything you have left in you because I know you are strong and I know you can fight them," he nearly shouts at her now, his chest rising and falling so fast that one might have thought he were choking — struggling for the air that would not come, like an addict trying to find their next fix, his face turning red with desperation in his eyes.

  There was a silence in their tiny cell, but there is never a true silence.  Twisting, rattling chains.  Popping and cracking of bones in and out of place, shifting.  Groans and grunts of pain, sore and tired.  The silence was never true, so it never lasted.

  "Even I have my limitations," Adara pressed her eyes closed, chewing the insides of her lips.  "I am so damn tired of fighting," she whispered, eyes burning with tears, opening them slowly to look at the prince, tears trickle down her cheeks.  "I am tired, Leonidas, I am tired," her voice shakes.

  Whenever she closed her eyes she could see her mother and father, sitting on the steps of their Juula house.  One arm around one another, the other arm reaching out to her.  If she could simply quit, she could be with them.  She would never have to fight anyone ever again.  She could relax.  She would never have to take another life.  She could simply exist.

  "How long have you been killing people?"

  "What kind of question is that?" The prince asks.

  "How old were you when you killed your first person?" She asks.

  "I was ten."

  "And who was it?" Adara asks quietly.

  "A common thief," The prince murmurs, "He stole a couple loaves of bread, which he was just doing to feed his family," he sighs.  "My father told me that I was old enough to give him his sentence, which of course, was death."

  "Do you remember how it felt?"

  "I used a longsword, but it still was too heavy so I had to hold it with two hands, and even then the tip pushed into the ground," he whispers.  "It was a private execution, behind the stables of the Keep," he continues, "They kept him on his hands and knees, his head pushed into the dirt with a shoe."

  "I lifted the sword, up over my head, the weight nearly knocked me down," the prince whispers still.  "I said those words: By the highest order of the king, you are sentenced to death, do you have any last words?"

  "What were they?"

  "What was what?" The prince asks.

  "His last words," Adara Nightsong says.

  "He told me that he loved his wife and kids very much and that he pitied me for being the son of King Oros," the prince laughs.  "So I let the sword fall and there was almost no noise until his head rolled through a pile of leaves, blood trickling onto the forest floor."

  "It haunts you so?" She asks quietly.

  "Of course it does," The prince murmurs, "I killed a man who just wished to save his family, and not only that," he sighs.  "He actually felt sorry for me," he wrinkles his nose as he glances back at Adara.

  "I was five."

  "What?"

  "I was five when I first killed someone," Adara whispers.  "I have been killing for almost fifteen years, but I remember every single one of them, and so I am tired, because my existence revolves around the deaths of those around me."

  "Who was it?"

  She never gets a chance to say.  The sound of footsteps on the floor echo down the hallway, threatening and frightening.  "Well well well, if it isn't our prized Jasper," Tal'anga smiles, cupping her face gently.  "Don't tell me that you can think now, because that means it's time for more medicine."

  "No," Adara grumbles, watching him turn to the door where another orc stood, a tray on his hands covered in pills. 

  "Yes," Tal'anga laughs, taking a handful of the yellow pills.  He began to get closer when the prince kicked a leg out, hitting Tal'anga's hand perfectly, knocking them onto the floor.  A shout.  Anger, seething rage as Tal'anga throws his fist into the prince's face. 

  "Stop!" Adara shouts, watching the prince spit bloody phlegm onto the floor.

  "It is time for your pills, Jasper," Tal'anga growls, grabbing more, even mire than before.  He takes the tray from the orcs hands, hurling it to the floor.  "Come you bloody fool," he snarls, grabbing Adara's hair tightly and rips her head backwards.

  She screams through clenched teeth as blood drips down her back, hair ripped from her scalp litters the floor.  The other orc pinches her nose tightly, squeezing her tightly around the chest with his other arm.  She tries to hold her breath as long as she could, but her mouth shot open as she tries to take a breath. 

  As soon as her lips separated, Tal'anga forced the pills into her mouth, forcing more bitter alcohol down her throat as she swallows too many pills.  She choked on them, kicking, screaming, but they went down her throat anyways.  She fought, she did, as hard as she could.  She tried so hard, but still, if was not enough as they stepped away from her, watching spit dribble down her chin.

  "It's alright," the prince says, looking her in the eyes, reassuring her even though she doubted it.

  "Let her down," Tal'anga growls, and like he says, two trolls enter and help her down off of her chains.  Her feet touched the floor gently, but her knees could not support herself as they buckled under her weight.  She fell to the floor in a heap. 

  "What is this?"

  "Let us call it, a game," Tal'anga smiles as he closes the door and locks it, leaving Adara, the prince and the two trolls inside.  One of the trolls quickly steps to the back of the cell, crouching quietly.

  The other one stood in front of her, picking her up slowly by her arms, holding her until she could stand on her own. 
 
  When she looked up, she did not see a random troll.  She saw Buladesh.  Tal'anga's father.  Her teacher.  She frowned as they were no longer in the cell, they were in the school.  She looked to her side and there was no longer the prince, it was the little elven boy.  Torken. 

  "You two are my prized pupils," Buladesh smiles down at the children.  "As we all know, we have come to our final test."

  The prince stares at Adara, she stood uneasily, her hands shaking at her sides.  She stared intently ahead at the troll in front of her — he was not aware of whom she was actually seeing. 

  "You both have faced every test," he continues, "you both should feel quite honored to be standing before me on your own two feet."

  "We are honored," Adara says, staring ahead at Buladesh.  The prince glances back at her having heard her speak.  He was unsure as to what she was reliving.  He grit his teeth tightly.  He could only hear her side of the story.

  "As you should be," Buladesh pats her gently on the head.  "So now we begin our final test, Jasper and Torken, to decide who will be the next protector of Bal'Sol and Xarenth, our proud kingdoms."

  The prince watches her, the fear that hid behind her eyes.  She was scared, but he could not tell what she was afraid of in her nightmares.

  "There are two of you but only one is fit to become the protector of our holy lands," Buladesh smiles down at them.  "One if you must die and the other must live," he smiles sickeningly — only she couldn't tell.  She was not wise enough yet.

  She glances over at Torken, and he looks to her.  Both of them had the same question: which one of us is worthy?

  The prince blinks hesitantly as  Adara turned slowly towards him, her eyes unnaturally wide.  She was scared, her entire body seemed to be shaking, sweat dripping down her forehead.  He quickly feared that they gave her too much of those drugs. 

  "Adara, you need to snap out of it," The prince says quietly, trying not to draw the attention of the two trolls.

  "Both of you require a dagger," Buladesh smiles, pulling two symmetrical s-blade daggers from his vest.  "You two must fight for the opportunity to be the almighty protector," he grins. 

  The prince watches as the troll in front of her hands her a long blade, and he watches in shock as she runs her fingers over the metal as cold as ice.

  "Adara, please, you do not have to do this."

  "Jasper, Torken, you two will fight one another and the survivor will be the one to excel," he says, "you have mere minutes to decide who is the winner."

  "I don't want to," Adara frowns, taking a small step back.  The prince watches the uncertainty flourish behind her mask.

  "We mustn't play their games," Torken frowns as Buladesh walks out of the small room.  Just her and Torken.  "I will not kill you, you are my best friend."

  "And you are mine," Adara smiles at Torken, but in reality she gazed at the prince.

  "We can escape," Torken continues, "We can escape together, you and I, to be free," he turns to her, and he grips her shoulders tightly.  The dagger falls from his clutches, clanging on the floor.

  "Adara, snap out of it!" The prince shouts now as she gets closer to him with the dagger tightly gripped in her hand.

  "Yes, we will be free," Adara whispers as she plunges the dagger into Torken's gut.  But in reality, she froze.  She heard her prince.  Blinking slowly, Torken was choking on blood, dripping down his cheeks and onto the floor, but she could see through him.  She saw her prince.

  She blinks even slower before turning to the troll and plunging the dagger instead deep into his gut.  The troll screams, spitting blood onto her chest, but she ignores it as she pulls the dagger down, cutting through him.  As she rips the dagger free, blood and intestines spill from his stomach.

  "Jasper," Torken whispers, a blood bubble filled his throat.  Gurgling death sounded from deep in his chest.  "Friend," he choked as he slumped to the floor, lying slowly on his back, blinking slowly until his eyes stuck open.  Blood pooling from him so quickly that he looked fake. 

  "I am the protector," Adara whispers.

  The prince watches her loop back into her hallucinations as the other troll realized what was happening.  The troll rushed forwards, but the prince caught him with his legs, kicking him roughly in the side and sending him flying into the cell door, crashing down into the floor.

  Adara frowned as she began to feel dizzy.  She grimaces as a hand grabs her wrist.  Turning, she plunges the dagger into the trolls arm, yanking it free, then stabbing him in the neck.  Adara drops the dagger slowly, seeing Torken lying on the ground in front of her.

  "I killed him," Adara whispers, blinking faster now, her chest fluttering so fast she thought she could puke.

  "You did what you had to do," The prince says, and little did he know his statement applied to both the trolls and the little elven boy.  "Come on, we need to get out of here," The prince says slowly, but his mind was racing.  If they were caught, they would be killed.  It was evident that they did not need him, and they were tiring of her, so they had to escape now or they would end up like the trolls on the floor.

  Adara walks quickly to the wall, releasing the chain and allowing for the prince to reach the ground.  His knees, too, were weak, but he leaned against the wall gently.  He was in better physical and mental condition than she was, so he knew he could handle whatever came at them. 

  Her broken hand was black, her other hand with open, festering wounds.  Her legs and arms scratched and bleeding.  Her scalp and face bruised and bleeding.  Thin and frail, her mind as thin as a strand of thread. 

  "Do they have keys?" Adara asks as the prince searches the bodies.  He holds his hand out, those large skeleton keys dangle from his fingertips.  Reaching his arms through the bars, he quickly and quietly unlocks the gate, his heart speeding at the possibility of escaping this torture.

   He pushes the door open slowly, trying his best to be quiet.  Adara bends and takes the dagger into her hands.  "We must find Octavian," Adara whispers as he takes her hand and helps her into the hallway.   "He is down here," she whispers as they walk slowly down the hall. 

  Many if the cells that they pass house dead persons.  Dank cells with no sunlight, mold and mosses growing on the walls.  If Adara had been a lesser known criminal, she would be dead like the rest of them.  She almost was one of them.

  The thought made her sick.

  It was not until they heard a small cough that they stopped and saw Octavian chained to the wall.  "Oh my god," Octavian's weak voice chokes.  "My prince, Nightsong, god you two look horrible."

  "Well, you do not look so great yourself," The prince smiles as he opens his cell and helps him out. 

  "Are you two alright?" Octavian asks, glancing at the two who seemed to barely be able to stand on their own.

  "We are now," the prince sighs with relief.

  "I am sorry," Adara squeezes her eyes shut, leaning into the wall behind her.  "I am so sorry I got us into this mess," she whispers.  "I am sorry I did not tell you two who I really am, that I still have not been honest with you two."

  "We were never quite good at trust," Octavian smiles, "it is not your fault, do not be sorry, Nightsong."
 
  Adara can only smile, her throat aching too much to continue speaking.  She grimaces as she turns to her side and vomits on the floor.  In her vomit was several undigested pills and partially digested pills.  She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand as Octavian pats her back gently.

  "Come on, we must get our things and be going," the prince walks down the hall to find a small room with bins of random belongings.  He finds their bags quickly, handing Adara her own, and he takes his, Octavian taking his own.  "Exriam," The prince laughs as he finds the dragon curled in the bottom of the bin.  Forgotten.

  Upon hearing his name, the dragon raises his head, glancing around.  Seeing his mother, he releases a small cry, spreading his wings wide and gliding into Adara's shoulder.  "My baby," she whispers, rubbing his head with her open palm. 

  The prince finds his sword rather quickly, also handing Octavian his longsword. 

  "Come on," the prince whispers when suddenly there was shouting.  "I suppose they know we escaped our cells," The prince sighs.  Drawing his sword, he begins to run down the hallway.  Adara and Exriam follow closely behind.  Octavian follows behind them, watching their flank carefully.

  "There is a dead end," Adara sighs as they end up at the end of a hallway, a large window on the wall overlooking Bal'Sol, beneath is a moat of sorts.  "I'm so sorry."

  The prince raises his sword as a large axe is swung at him.  Blocking it carefully and bringing his foot up and kicking the orc into an empty cell, pulling it closed and locking him in. 

  Down the hallway, an archer draws his bow and lets an arrow fly.  Adara is pulled behind Octavian, letting the arrow bounce off of his sword. 

  "My prince, you must take her out of here, get away from this place," Octavian says as he rams his sword into the gut of an unsuspecting troll.  "Nightsong, take care of him for me," Octavian winks at her as the prince scoops her into his arms. 

  Octavian shouts as he shoves the prince in the shoulder, sending his body through the thin glass.  Octavian watches an arrow pierce his prince's side as he and Adara plummet out of the window.  Turning around, Octavian readies his sword, staring down green bodies and beady eyes, his chin held high and his heart swelling with hope.

  Adara was falling.

  A scream trapped itself in her throat as she falls, staring at the window where she had been only seconds ago.  She could see Octavian from where she was falling.  She watched him climb onto the windowsill.  She watched a glistening sword slide through his chest.  He staggered for a moment, his free hand grabs the wall, broken glass bit into his flesh.  "No!" She screamed.  She thought she could see the pain in his eyes, but his face was relaxed.  At peace.  She lost sight of him as she hit the water. 
 
  Hitting the surface knocked the air out of her chest, she quickly lost sight of the surface as the water around her turned a murky red.  She was being dragged down, the prince's hand on her hand, his sword in the other.  The weapons in their bags holding them down.  Arrows began to pierce the water, and she could hear the prince grunt underwater as another bit into his flesh. 

  She looked down at his sinking form, his grip slackened.  She looked up at the surface dotted with arrows.  She swam.  She swam hard and fast until her head hit the surface, sucking in a deep breath of air.  Turning, she dove back down, reaching into the depths of the water.  Her ears began to ring as she got deeper, but she saw him.  His eyes were clamped shut, his mouth open, air bubbling out of him. 

  Adara wraps her arms around his upper body, kicking her feet rapidly, trying to propel herself out of the water.  She needs him to kick, but his body was simply limp in her arms. 

  She kicked harder than she had ever done before.  Her legs and chest quickly began to burn, and she swore she could see stars buzzing around her head.  Those stars were the suns reflections on the surface.  She gasped as she broke through, sucking down deep breaths of precious air.  The water around them was murky brown and red, but no more arrows had flown.  She wondered vaguely if they thought they had killed them.

  "We need to get out of here," Adara whispers as she pulls him to the edge, dragging herself onto land before grabbing his clothing and pulling him up into the sand.  As much as she wanted to rest, she knew they would be after her.  She climbs to her knees and pushes over and over on his chest. 

  "You need to wake up," Adara growls, pushing her hands onto his chest.

   His throat burns as he coughs up lungfuls of water.  He tries to take in a breath but water still lingered in his mouth.  An odd groaning sound rings from his chest as he vomits more water, groaning, his hands pat gently over himself, nearly screaming as his hands find an arrows.  The arrow was throw his left side, another in his right shoulder. 

  "You're awake," Adara smiles, cupping his face gently.  "You need to help me," she whispers as she hooks her arms under his arms, "We need to get help," she smiles as she heaves hard, pulling him to his feet.  He staggers, leaning most if his weight onto her.

  She grimaces, her hands aching as she grips his shirt tighter.  He throws his arms over her, gripping her with an intensity she had not thought possible.  She walks forward slowly when she felt she should be running.  There were only a few people walking around, none of them paid any mind to what was happening before their eyes.

  "I know it hurts," Adara whispers, helping him drag himself slowly down the road.  "Hey, no, no, stay awake," Adara grunts as he begins to collapse, his knees bending slowly but surely, his head rolls to the side before snapping up at her voice.  "It's okay," she smiles. 

  As she was walking, the road began to morph into the road to her Juula home.  Adara smiles with relief.  She hugs the prince tighter, nearly dragging him now, watching her mother and father stand outside the door, holding gentle hands out to her.

  "Mother," Adara smiles, "Father," she laughs.

  Walking forward, she cringes as she sees Buladesh, Torken, Tal'anga, Exris with her flesh falling off, all of them.  She could see all of them crowding around her.  "No," she sighs, back up slowly, dragging the prince to the side through an alleyway between two large metal buildings. 

  "You are not real," she whimpers as she pulls the prince through, standing now in a large marketplace where quite a few people crowded around.  She stumbles into a group of trolls, none pay her any attention.  A scream bubbles in her chest as a hand grabs her arm.  Her mother.

  "Do I not look real to you?" Her mother screams, shaking her. 

  "Let go of me!" She shouts, jerking her arm away.  The large male troll was just trying to make sure she would not fall, but her outburst startled him.  He jerked his hand away and continued to follow the group he had abandoned to check on her.  "I'm sorry," she calls out to the man, but he pays her no attention.

  "What the hell is wrong with you?" She sees herself now — Jasper — standing tall.  She was dressed in all black, knives strapped across her body, her hair drawn back sleekly, a black mask covers her nose and mouth, revealing only her eyes.

    "I'm fine," Adara whimpers, nearly dropping the prince.  She grips him tighter, her broken hand aching with new pain.

  "Why don't you just let them kill you?" Jasper says cooly, her eyes cold.  Dead.  "You are never going to finish what you started."

  Adara pulls the prince down another alley, his feet seem to step on one another and the two fall.  Adara screams into the prince's shirt as she lies on the ground.  Her whole body ached, and she wanted to just lie on the ground and let them find her and kill her.  To let it all end.

  "It isn't real," Adara cries out into his chest, his eyes closed, his face turning pale.  Pulling her hand away from his body, she sees that it is slick with black blood.  "You are," she murmurs, hooking her arms under him, hoisting him up. 

  She glances ahead at an inn, about two stories high, made with metal and glass, faint accents of wooden frames, but it looked very similar to the prison they had just escaped from.  She wouldn't have known if the wooden sign above the door was not labeled with the word "inn" in red letters.

  "We have almost made it," Adara laughs.

  She drags him a few more steps closer, tripping on a stepping stone.  She rolls him gently onto his back, setting a hand gently on his chest, feeling his weakest heartbeat.  "Hello?" She croaks, sitting on her knees, slowly crawling to her feet, using the arm-rails to climb the three small steps to get to the porch, the door so close yet so far.

  "We need help," Adara knocks on the door only to have it yanked open, a tall, muscular elf walks outside, pulling the door closed behind him.

  "What do you want?" He asks.

  "I want to live," Torken looks up at her, blood dripping down his chest, his bottom lip quivers.

  "I — I need a room for my friend and I," she murmurs.

  "You have coins?"

  "I don't, but my friend is bleeding really badly, I just need a room for a night or two," she grimaces, holding up a bloodied hand to touch him, but after seeing it she quickly put it back down.  Shakily.  "I will give you anything, please."

  "No," he snaps, "I do not run a charity."

  "Please, I will do anything," Adara begs, "He is going to die and his blood with be on your hands."

  "Anything?" He asks, seeing her desperation.

  "Please let us in," she frowns.  The prince begins to moan, blood pooling into the ground beneath him.  "Just please let us in," she whimpers, watching him nod a quick yes.

  She limps over to the prince, grabbing his arms as the innkeeper holds his legs.  They take him inside, the innkeeper leads her down a flight of stairs.  Each step feels like weights are added to her legs, dragging her down. 

  They take him into a small room, two wooden side tables, a bed in the middle, a small white carpet on the floor, beaded strings hanging on every wall.  They lie him gently on the bed, his moans turn into a dull rattle in his chest. 

  "Could I get some cloths and alcohol?" Adara asks, holding the prince's hand tightly, blood staining their hands.  The innkeeper licks his lips, turning and walking out of the room.

  She turns back to the prince, the arrows thin and flimsy, sticking out of him like the quills of a porcupine.  The innkeeper came back quietly, handing her a stack of cloths and a small bit of alcohol.  She nods her thanks and rips her bag off, opening it, Exriam crawls out, huffing, trails of smoke tendrils flare from his nostrils. 

  She takes out her dagger, her hands shake with pain.  She cuts his shirt, peeling it off of his body.  She could see now how the arrows had been jostled, ripping his flesh open, pouring blood.  It would be worse when she removed them. 

  Running a hand gently down his chest, she stopped at the one in his side, tender and sore.  Reaching back into her back she takes a long leather strip, placing it gently in between his teeth.  She takes her dagger and presses it into the skin next to the arrowhead, digging in deeply until she can see the arrow-tip inside of him. 

  She goes to the other side of the wound, digging back in, cutting down until she could see the tip.  With that, she pulls the bright silver blade, scarlet blood dripping off the end onto his chest.  She watched him, eyes closed, but his breathing was pained, his teeth bit so hard into the leather she feared it may tear.

  "I'm sorry," she whispers and she grabs the arrow, pulling it out of his chest without breaking the arrow inside of him.  The arrow is covered in his blood, dripping.  She sets in gently on the bed, which was already covered in his blood. 

  The other arrow went in through his side, the tip protruding in the front of him, the feathers behind him.  She bit her lip as she took the end and snapped it off, setting the feathered end on the bed.

  "You are going to let him die," her mother spits, "Just like you let your father and I die."

  "No, I am not," Adara growls, gripping the tip gently and pulling the rest of the arrow through him.  As she does, blood drains out of him.  Her hands, now covered in her own blood and his, shake violently as she digs into her bag and pulling out a small needle, thin wire-like thread.  She rips the top of the alcohol off, pouring some gently onto his shoulder.

  He jerks violently, his hand snaps out and grabs her hand.  She shouts in pain, nearly dropping the bottle, her eyes widen.  His eyes were wide too, staring at her, but then they sunk back into unconsciousness.  He lets go of her as fast as he had grabbed her.

  She takes the needle and stitches the wounds shakily.  The work looked rough, but she knew he would heal, with a scar maybe.  She pushes on the other wound before pouring alcohol into it, pushing, placing a piece of gauze wrap on top, sealing it with thick tape from her bag.  Rolling him over, she repeats the process. 

  He only groans, his eyes unmoving.

  She lets him lie gently, not touching him, his nerves on overdrive.  His body twitched in pain with every move.  Every breath.  She takes the arrows and sets them and the alcohol on the bedside table.

  Turning, Adara walks out of the room, looking for a bathroom as her hands dripped with blood.  Exriam curls by the prince's side, watching his mother go.  She keeps walking until she finds a small dark room, a smaller sink inside.  Adara glances up at the mirror, the room so dark she can barely see herself.  She thrusts her hands under a small stream of water, rinsing the blood off, using the water to wipe a bit of it from her face and chest. 

  She did not bother, her entire being was exhausted.  Her body felt weak as she fell to her knees, relieving her stomach of what little it had.  She falls back, groaning, seeing a pair of shoes next to her hand. 

  "Seems like we found you," King Dasheem laughs, grabbing her upper arms and dragging her to her feet.

  "No," she grumbles, thrusting her knee weakly into his gut.  He responded with a palm across her face, knocking her back onto her knees.  The man did not care as he grabbed her by the hair and began to drag her from the room.

  She cried out, another slap, she tried to keep up with him.  Her legs fail her.  She screamed as he grabbed her by her top, dragging her down another set of stairs.  He takes her into a small room, throwing her onto the floor, slamming the door closed behind him and locking it.

  "You can only imagine the things I will do to you," The king smiles down at her, grabbing two belts off of a desk. 

  Adara can barely pull against him as he pushes her onto the bed, tying her wrists to the headboard.  She pulls against them, but it brought nothing but an aching pain down her arms.  She tosses her head back as he shoves a cloth in her mouth, forcing her to keep silent.

  "I know who you are, Jasper, fight me and I will tell the guards outside where you are," Dasheem hisses as he grabs her pants, tearing them from her body.

  "Please don't do this," she whispers, "Please stop."

  "This is payment," Dasheem growls.

  Adara blinks slowly in the dark room, her body being pushed roughly into the bed with each thrust.  Her eyes; however, are clear of tears.  She just stares at the ceiling, waiting for it to be over, listening to the little elven boy who laid next to her take his final breaths.