She didn’t feel the hunger till the end of the second day. It was almost polite at first, a growling inquiry of when the next meal would be. By nightfall, or what Idella assumed to be nightfall, it became distracting. Demanding. She watched the winged demons come with plates of food, offer them to the caged. Some refused, others ravaged the meal. Those that refused looked the same: Craven, hunched, their elbows and knees like misplaced knobs on shrinking limbs. Some rocked themselves in the corners of their cages in attempt to self soothe. Idella caught herself rocking once then stilled herself, a rising panic again threatening to overtake her.
“Should I feed you like a human does its child?” The dread lord inquired, its tone almost curious. It stooped on its knees before her cage, a plate filled with a plentiful meal set on the ground before it. “Yes, it goes something like this…” Spooning a heap of potatoes from the plate, the demon made a flying motion, like a mother would to entertain a fussy child. Grinning, it leaned forward till it pressed the edge of the spoon to Idella’s lip. “Open wide for the space ship!”
With the food so close, Idella could nearly taste it as its steam rose into her nostrils. A bit of succulent butter dripped down her chin. Screaming, she threw up her hands. “Stop it! Get away!”
The spoon clattered to the floor. Amused, the dread lord sat back, its tone mocking: “Bad little girl. Now it gets no dessert,” as an afterthought, it added: “Or water.” Leaving the spoon but taking the plate with it, it left the way it came.
Wiping her face, Idella’s sleeve came away with a mixture of melted butter and tears. Nearby, one of her fellow prisoners stared at her, his eyes deep and sullen in his face. Slowly, he shook his head then turned away. None of the prisoners spoke to one another. Either none dared or there was little to talk about. The only words they spoke were to the demons that tended them.
The dropped spoon lay on the floor along with a small splatter of food. Idella sat conflicted, nearly ready to lap up the food now mixed with dirt. But again she stilled herself, fighting against a swelling panic in her chest. It seized her breath, broke out on her skin as goosebumps and chills, made her heart thud till her ears rung. She fought against the next spill of tears. If the demon was true to its word and would deprive her of water, she needed to retain whatever she had.
Her best remedy to panic was something she clutched close to her chest. Rarely would she unfurl her knees in fear that it would clatter to the floor. Neglected by the demon that captured her, she tucked away her guildstone in her breast. It was uncharacteristically silent, its magic perhaps overwhelmed by the demonic energies of this place. Yet she clung to it nonetheless in a vague hope. Surely it could lead the others to her, guarantee an escape. Surely she would not need to go through that flashing green door. The Templars would bear her through a passage of their own making, putting an end to the cage and the demon’s visits. Surely.
Hours later, the demon returned. It bore no food, no water, only a grin. It knelt down, its eyes meeting hers between the bars. It spoke: “Anything you want, little girl? I give anything to those who behave…”
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