Page 1 of Like A Moth To A Flame

Prologue

Icouldn’t see.

My eyes were open, but I saw nothing but darkness.

When I moved my hand to try to clear whatever was blocking my vision, the rattle of chains and a cold, hard tug around my wrists greeted me.

Realization slowly dawned on me. I was trapped in a place of unimaginable horror, where pain and suffering were my only companions.

It wasn’t a dream.

It wasn’t a nightmare that I couldn’t wake up from.

I was still here.

I had hoped that when I woke up, I’d be somewhere else. I had hoped that, maybe, I wouldn’t wake up at all.

I searched for light, but the darkness remained, suffocating me like a hand around my throat. The stench of damp decay lingered in the air, assaulting my senses with a nauseating intensity. It was a constant reminder that there was no end, at least not that I could see.

Footsteps echoed through the darkness, moving closer. Someone was here. I could hear them, even if I couldn’t see them. I could sense them the way a rabbit on the prairie sensed a predator at night. I could feel eyes on me, coaxing my skin into goosebumps.

Every limb tensed painfully and folded in on myself. I expected the worst, the return of the pain or the bite of cold water as they scrubbed me, but none of it came.

“Hello?” I whispered, my voice straining. “Is someone there?”

I heard a sharp intake of breath.

“It’s okay, Vanessa. Everything will be alright.”

A voice cut through the silence, a voice that offered hope in the darkness, and it belonged to a man. It was gentle and soothing, but terrifyingly unfamiliar. It whispered words of false comfort, and I knew every single one was a lie.

Everything was not okay, and it never would be again.

Everything hurt.

My body screamed with pain, every movement sending waves of agony through me. The confinement of the cage had taken its toll, leaving my muscles cramped and joints aching.

Warm hands reached out to pull me from my prison, and I couldn’t help but cry out, my throat raw and bleeding. They dragged me across the unforgiving floor, the cold concrete seeping into my bones, and the roughness of it grinding the flesh from my legs until I felt the burning sting of fresh wounds.

The darkness wrapped around me as I looked around, eyes wide as I searched for a sign of something—anything to tell me who was doing this to me.

It felt as though someone had stolen my sight, leaving me blind and vulnerable.

Had they taken my eyes? Plucked them out entirely?

Maybe not. I could still feel the burn of my tears.

As I lay there, gasping for breath, I couldn’t help but wonder what they had done to me. The unknown terrified me more than my memories.

“Why am I here?” I asked, my voice shaking. “What do you want?”

This was the first time in a lot of days that I could remember more than bits and pieces of my torture. Before today, every moment of waking was brief and ended with the sharp stab of a needle and the burn of medication flooding my veins. Afterward, I’d fall in and out of restless sleep, but not today.

Why now?

For too many days to count, I lived with fragmented memories and snippets of pain, but today was different. Something had changed. Was it a mistake, or a deliberate act of mercy?

A mix of hope and horror washed over me. The loss of the sedative was both a blessing and a curse. It allowed me to remember, but it left me painfully awake for whatever they had planned. I clung to my clarity, with an internal vow not to let them take it again.

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