Screams of Rebirth
The world was cold.
No silk. No warmth. Just stone-rough, unyielding, and wrong.
Ava gasped, her breath slicing through the darkness. She couldn't move.
Her wrists were bound—leather straps biting into her skin. Her ankles, too.
Naked. Exposed.
Her back pressed against something old, something that pulsed beneath her like a living thing. The chair.
No—not a chair. A throne of agony.
"Oh, precious star."
The voice slithered from the shadows—low, knowing, amused.
Ava jerked, but the bonds didn't budge.
The Mormont stepped into the dim torchlight, illuminating his bald head. His eyes glowed like dying embers, his robes flowing like spilled ink. He moved too slowly, too deliberately, savoring the sight of her helplessness.
"You don't understand what you're asking for, do you?"
Ava's throat tightened. She knew what she had asked. But now, bound and trembling, she felt the weight of her own desperation.
Still—she refused to cower.
Her voice came out hoarse, but steady. "I want to walk."
The Mormont's smile was sharp. "Walk?" He tilted his head. "You asked for so much more than that."
Ava clenched her jaw. "Just do it."
He exhaled through his nose—mocking, indulgent. "Ah. Impatient, are we? Such a fragile thing, eager to break."
He lifted something.
The torchlight glinted off cold, gleaming metal.
A thin, wickedly sharp instrument—like tweezers, but crueler.
Ava's breath hitched.
He was going to cut her.
No. No, no, no.
She thrashed against the binds, but the Mormont only laughed. Low. Amused. Indulgent.
"Pain is proof that you are alive, isn't it?"
The words slithered into her skull. And then—he began.
The first incision was small. A tiny scratch along her collarbone.
At first, there was only the bite of cool metal.
Then—
The burn.
A fire that spread from the wound, sinking into her veins like molten tar.
Ava screamed.
It wasn't blood that oozed from her skin.
It was black. Thick. Writhing.
She gasped, chest heaving. What was that? What was he pulling from her?
The Mormont hummed in delight. "Oh… this one is especially made for you."
His voice was soothing, mocking, gentle. As if she were a child throwing a tantrum.
He dug deeper.
Neck. Ribs. Spine.
Each cut bled something dark, something wrong.
The pain built, a crescendo of agony, and her mind splintered.
Flashes in her memories. Of something ancient. Of something buried.
She saw herself falling. Reaching to something--
or someone.
She couldn't put the pieces together.
But right now, it meant nothing.
All that mattered was the pain.
The last thing she heard before she lost herself was his whisper, curling around her ears like a noose.
"You'll thank me for this one day."
The agony did not stop.
It spread—crawling, twisting, devouring.
Ava's screams ripped through the chamber, bouncing off the stone walls, swallowed only by the Mormont's soft hum of satisfaction.
His blade—no, the cursed instrument—slid deeper.
Her back arched.
Something inside her tore.
"Does it hurt, precious star?" His voice was almost… gentle. Mocking. Indulgent.
Ava gasped, eyes blown wide, but she couldn't even answer.
Her body was burning, her skin searing.
This isn't going right. Nor right at all!
The blade scraped over her ribs, drawing forth another sickening tendril of black, writhing corruption. It coiled around his fingers, steaming in the cold air.
The Mormont inspected it, tilting his head as though admiring a rare gem. "Tsk. So much filth inside you."
Ava choked on a sob. What was he pulling out of her?
He didn't pause.
He moved to her throat next.
The instrument pressed against the delicate hollow of her neck.
She thrashed, wild, desperate, shaking.
The straps held.
Her voice cracked. "Stop—!"
The Mormont laughed. A slow, amused chuckle, as if she had said something funny.
"Stop?" His eyes gleamed. "Oh, precious star, we've only just begun."
The blade pressed down—slow, deliberate.
Ava screamed.
Her body convulsed.
The pain shattered her.
The fire in her veins exploded.
It was too much—too much.
And still—
He did not stop.
Not when her nails dug into the armrests.
Not when her throat turned raw from screaming.
Not when her vision blurred, her body trembling, broken.
The pain only deepened.
Deeper.
And deeper.
Until all she could do was scream.
The agony stretched—unrelenting, merciless.
Ava's screams filled the chamber, swallowed only by the Mormont's soft hum of satisfaction.
His cursed instrument carved through her flesh, its touch both precise and cruel.
Her back arched violently.
Something inside her snapped.
"Does it hurt, darling star?" His voice was almost… tender. Indulgent.
Ava gasped, unable to breathe, unable to think.
The blade scraped over her ribs, drawing out another tendril of black, writhing corruption. It curled around his fingers, steaming in the cold air.
He turned it in his palm, eyes glinting with curiosity. "Tsk. You were rotting from the inside."
Ava's throat clenched. What was he taking from her?
She thrashed, frantic, gasping for air.
The straps didn't budge.
Her voice cracked. "Please—!"
The Mormont laughed. A soft, entertained sound, like she was a child begging for mercy in a game she had already lost.
"Please?" He tilted his head. "Oh, little star, we're just getting started."
It was unbearable—a torment that stripped away her very being.
The pain consumed her.
Deeper.
Darker.
Until the only thing left of her was her screams.