Becoming A Prey

Clare POV:

I wasn't alone in my cage. Not really. There were always the whispers.

At first, I thought they were just other prisoners—murmuring prayers, begging gods that had stopped listening centuries ago. But the whispers came even when no one moved. They came from the walls.

"Daughter of ash…"

"…blood-bound to two flames…"

"…the choice will break the earth…"

They weren't words exactly. More like impressions, tattooed into my brain.

You don't belong here, one of them said.

I pressed my hands to my ears. "I didn't ask to be here."

"You were always meant to be between them."

I curled tighter in the corner, tears slipping down my face.

"Stop," I whispered.

But the whisper just laughed. Cold. Feminine.

"They'll kill each other for you."

Eventually, they came again. But not to feed us. Not to clean. Not to choose.

To inspect.