#i hope this doesn't have typos its midnight and im tired

[null-whump]

I am done being depressed and I am here with

Content

Takes place not not long after this

Warnings: Dehumanization, knives/cutting, fantasy racism (?)

Word Count: 1,228

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Everyone is afraid of something. One of the only continuities in the world is fear – big or small, no one is free from it. Every human that I have served has been afraid of something, without fail. I never really considered it much until now, when Varren became the biggest source of fear in my life. I never considered that Varren, the man who I saw as more of a monster than human, was afraid of anything.

I hadn’t been sleeping well ever since he summoned me. Sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night, shaking from an overwhelming sense of fear that refused to be abated. I decided that it must be the effects of prolonged trauma, or maybe it came from living in such close proximity to a man who had been cursed by a demon. I took me a while to realize that it wasn’t my fear that was keeping me up at night. Varren was the one who was afraid.

When I was bonded with Sam, it was sometimes difficult to tell my emotions apart from hers. We were in harmony so often that her emotions were like an extension of mine; I was happy when she was happy, I was sad with her. When Varren forced a bond between us, our minds were in constant contrast, and I could easily, painfully, feel his emotions apart from mine. The one emotion I never thought I would feel from him was fear, especially not this strong.

I couldn’t help but wonder what could cause such a powerful witch to be so utterly terrified. I had a few guesses, none of them pleasant. But I didn’t dare ask him about it; I didn’t want him to ever know that I was aware. There was one thing I knew about men like Varren; they hated to be seen as weak.

One particular night I found sleep to be nearly impossible. I was plagued by the overwhelming fear nearly the entire night, jolting me out of what little rest I could manage. It should have come to no surprise when, the next morning, Varren was even less agreeable than usual.

He greeted me with a harsh kick in the ribs and a snarled “Get up.” I scrambled to my feet and followed him without a word, taking note that his shoulder length black hair wasn’t tied back like usual, and of the dark circles under his eyes. I realized quickly that Varren wasn’t walking towards his study, but towards the cold, unfurnished room that he reserved for his prisoners – or me after a bout of disobedience. I must have let my hesitation show, because Varren seized my arm and pulled me the rest of the way, before pulling open the door and shoving me inside. I landed harshly on my knees, catching myself with my hands.

“Do you know what you are, boy?”

I flinched at his voice, normally calm and collected, so full of anger now. I scrambled for an answer, but Varren spoke again before I could even begin to form a response.

“You, and all of your kind,” he hissed, “are nothing. Nothing but animals, whose only use is to serve us.” He was pacing, walking around me as I sat frozen on the floor. “But none of you comprehend that,” he continued, his pace picking up. “You come over here, to our home, and flaunt your very existence – you laugh at our world, our wars, our societies, because you know that none of it will affect you.” Varren stopped, breathing heavily. After a moment of silence, he spoke again. “You should be afraid of us.” He looked down at me for the first time. “It’s not as funny when you aren’t in charge, is it?”

I didn’t dare to even blink, Varren’s cold blue eyes holding me in place as well as any chains. I didn’t want to speak, but my mouth moved almost against my will. “Why,” I whispered. “Why…do you hate us so much?”

Varren’s glare hardened. “Last I checked, animals don’t speak without permission. Or did that rule change?”

I clamped my mouth shut and dropped my gaze to the floor. The silence stretched longer before Varren spoke again.

“Tell me; who do you belong to?”

My breath caught in my throat. The answer was easy, but I hated it. I forced my gaze to meet his. “You…sir.”

He didn’t smile, but I could feel his satisfaction. “And what are you, boy?”

I clenched my right hand, feeling my fingers dig into the brand on my palm. “I’m – an animal,” I managed. “Sir.”

Varren crouched down so that he was on eye level with me. “That’s right,” he said. “So what is your purpose?”

“To – to serve you, sir.”

“Good.” He reached his hand into his robes and pulled out a knife. “Take off your shirt.”

I tried to keep from trembling as I obeyed, my eyes locked onto the blade. He pushed me down onto my back, and I stared at the stone ceiling above me, and tried not to think about how much this was going to hurt.

I saw the flash of the knife out of the corner of my eye before it dug into my shoulder, then the blade cut a line of fire down my arm. I clenched my jaw, unable to hold back a whimper as the blade left my skin. Another flash of reflected light and the knife was back, this time across my chest, just below my collarbone. I tried to steady my breathing, not wanting to cut myself any deeper. The pain was bad, but I had felt worse.

The knife moved lower, down to my ribs, and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out. Varren was methodical, drawing the blade across my skin with unbearably slow precision. He never spoke, but I could feel the enjoyment he was getting from this. He continued, and I didn’t try to keep track of how many times the knife was dragged across my skin. By the time he pulled the knife away for the last time, my breathing was coming in pained gasps and my head felt light from bloodless. Through the haze of pain, I felt Varren’s hand, glowing with magical energy move over the wounds. Just enough to stop the bleeding. Just enough to keep me from dying.

Varren stood, putting away the knife. “Get dressed and get up.”

I pushed myself off the ground, gasping at both the pain and the dizziness that swept over me. I somehow managed to pull my shirt on, wincing as the coarse material rubbed against the numerous cuts. Standing up was agony in itself, but Varren’s presence was enough to help me find the strength. I stumbled once on my feet, and inhaled sharply at the jolt of pain it caused.

Varren held up a finger and beckoned me closer. I forced my feet to take me the few steps needed. When I was as close as he wanted, Varren brought his hand up and struck me across the face. I barely kept my feet, so caught off guard by the unexpected pain.

“That,” Varren said softly, menacingly. “Was for when you spoke out of turn.” He turned, and I knew I was expected to follow.

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