Chapter Text
Drip, Drip, Drip.
The constant drip of stale water hitting the cement floor of the basement is all he can hear. It's torture, feeling every cold drop hit his head, constantly keeping him alert. But he didn't have the courage to voice such thoughts. It's not like anybody would listen if he did, anyways. They'd laugh, they'd point, or be grateful that it was him instead of them. Or worse, they'd throw. But nobodies done that in awhile, so he chooses to forget about it. Living in constant paranoia doesn't do anybody any good.
The rattling of chains filled his ears as he moved slightly, looking up through the small barred window of the cell he was in. It was night, the full moon high up in the sky. The moon had always comforted him, it sang to him, like a mother's lullaby. Not that he knew what that was, he never had such a thing. But he pretended he did, from the stories he heard before he was chained down here like an animal in the circus. His attention didn't stay on the moon for long however, as much as it pained him to tear his eyes away from the glowing orb in the sky, a beacon of light, hope, for him. He had bigger worries, bigger problems to focus on. Such as waiting for when he'll hear the creak of the large iron door opening, the soft (harsh) thuds of leather shoes as they head deeper in the basement, towards him and the cage he resided in.
Those visits never ended in anything good. They ended in pain, and hurt. The scars never stayed for long, but the pain did. The ache in his body as he tried and failed to move. It was his fault that this was happening, is what he was constantly told. If he was just a good child, one that people could actually love, then maybe he wouldn't be down here. Maybe he wouldn't be stared at by the other children that snuck down here as if he was an attraction at the zoo. But there was no time to dwell on that. For now, his main focus was listening, waiting for the telltale signs of the headmaster. Sometimes, the headmaster didn't come, and he got lucky. Most of the times, he could barely sit up straight in the morning. maybe he would get lucky and today would be the former.
He was hoping to actually get food this time. He hadn't eaten anything in a while, he doesn't know how long. But he can hear his stomach begging for food, he can feel as it tears itself apart, destroying him from the inside. Even when he does get food, the stale bread and sitting water barely dents the ever-growing hunger that ties him down, comparable to that of a tigers. He only hopes that one day, he could be the princesses in the books he sometimes hears the other children talk about. That somebody will save him from this cruel ‘home’. Alas, it’s only a dream, a mere hope that sounds faint against the prayers of this world. Why would anybody listen to him? this poor soul that exists only to pitied, but never to be helped. Like a dog in a shelter that people will coo at and pet, but never take home.
He will rot away down here, the world never knowing of his existence and him never knowing of the world. For he is only a useless child, a burden to the other children and the headmaster. He doesn’t wish to be, but that’s the role he was given. Or so he believed.