Page 68 of Demonic Cage
Okay,I tell myself, it continues.Just a few more of these screams, and then… And what comes after? Just thinking about the few minutes spent with Darya by the tree fills me with desireand curiosity. Guilt gnaws at my body for realizing how good it feels to be chosen by such a powerful demon. He wants to keep me alive.
He comes up and binds my wound. He desires my body as much as I desire his. I’m not naïve; I know he needs me for other reasons too, but what’s wrong with that? I need him too… But why?
For his power. Because no one has ever looked at me like this before. He doesn’t blame. Well, he doesn’t know the whole truth about my past, either. I have a feeling that, even if he did, he wouldn’t care. He hurts me. But he also lifts me up. Strengthens me. Holds me in his arms.
I desire him.
Very much.
Almost as much as the drugs.
I bite my lip at the thought. I’m here to open a stupid door for him. In return, I can become stronger, become a beautiful demon. What is wrong with that?
With renewed confidence, I lift my head and look at the king of demons. His muscles tense beneath his tight clothes, and the shimmer of his wings is unmatched by any other subject’s. I glance towards Léthé. To my surprise, our gazes meet.
And I respond to her shocked expression with a wicked smile.
For centuries, he was yours. Now hand him over to me.
The feast is over, and the sturdy door swings open again. Two guards hold a blond boy in between them. He’s different from the last, and his bulging blue eyes marvel at the dreadful world around him. Even if he hadn’t been broken – I don’t yet fully understand what that means – the dark circles would still be under his eyes. His blond hair is almost white, his pale skin resembling Darya’s. He seems much younger than the previous victim, but perhaps it was just the determination in the lastchild’s eyes. This little boy trembles. Every fiber of him is afraid. With tear-stained red eyes, he gazes at the row of stairs.
There won’t be any harm. It’s hard, but he’ll endure it, and afterward, he’ll be reborn in his full strength.
Seeing the happy moments after the previous child’s suffering, I truly believe he just needs to get through this. He has no choice. Darya gives no one a choice.
The little boy timidly stumbles toward Darya, and the Kraldem kneels beside him again. He asks his name in demon language, which I can now distinguish from other languages because it pains my heart as the boy speaks.
“Egil.”
Swedish. The child is Swedish. Just like me.
I should run to him and reassure him in his native language that everything will be alright. That he’ll survive. That it’s just a scratch or two, and it’ll be over. But I do nothing.
Darya nods, then asks if he has chosen another name for himself, to which the boy straightens up and looks into the Kraldem’s eyes with surprising determination.
“Göran,” he says, and I bite my lip so hard it almost bleeds. This is also a Swedish name. Maybe his father’s?
The boy’s determination doesn’t last long. The lines on his little face fall like a mask, and he begins to cry. I should go to him and hug him. But I don’t.
Darya looks at him for a moment, as if pondering something. Eventually, he gestures for the boy to lie down on the table. He hesitantly climbs up, and before leaning back, his terrified gaze finds mine. The pain and fear in his eyes penetrate me to my core; I feel him trembling. I conjure up a gentle, encouraging smile and nod towards him. In Swedish, I shape silent words on my lips:Everything will be fine.
The boy’s eyes widen. He understands the message, but the fear in his eyes mixes with the colors of hatred and betrayal. He doesn’t trust me, but I do know that everything will be fine.
“Allt kommer att bli bra,” I whisper in Swedish, repeating the reassurance.
The whole cave falls silent. Darya closes his eyes and begins chanting in the ancient language.
Alright, Lotte, I tell myself,you know what’s coming. Darya just needs to make one stab.
Still, as the dagger reaches the boy’s heart, his scream shakes my stomach. Blood spurts from his naked body, staining the marble floor red. The blood will turn soon. It’ll be better soon.
The boy screams and pleads in Swedish. I understand every trembling word as he calls for his mother. He asks Darya to stop. He then just screams,Please, please. I can’t do anything but watch as he bleeds out before me. His agony is mine, his words are my homeland’s. His suffering leaves such a mark on my soul that I know, even if I can someday escape the nightmares filled with monsters, this sound will haunt me for the rest of my life.
It’ll be over soon. It’ll be fine soon.
I hope for it. And hope has a fiery scent, just like Darya’s.
The dagger is deep in the boy, and he now barely has the strength to scream. He turns his head to me one last time, staring straight at me. There’s hatred in his eyes; it sears into me, and I know I’ll never let go of it, whatever happens. I owe it to him to hate as fiercely as he did in his final moments. A tear rolls down his cheek, and his eyes become like glass marbles.
