World of Cardboard

cw: referenced/implied torture, beatings, and mouth/eye whump

He'd been someone important once, the man in the cell, and to hear him talk of it he imagined he still was.

The first day was haughty eyes and a cruel mouth that made demands. The second day could've been the same, but Endii didn't bother to remove the blindfold or gag and find out. Entertaining the man's arrogance was exhausting, and ignoring it was annoying. Better that he never got the chance to speak at all.

His self-importance waned as the weeks flew by. Endii only saw him once per day, as they were making their evening rounds through the Tower, handing out healing touched to those who needed them, those who'd tasted the anger or boredom of the guards, or bent under the hands of one of the prison’s many patrons.

This important man was one of the latter group, more often than not. Endii always found him in one of Rentals’ rooms, sometimes chained, sometimes not. Always bleeding. Truth be told, they weren't entirely certain that he had a cell here, or if he stayed at Rentals day and night, always ready for the attentions of his visitors.

He really must be important to have so many seeking to hurt him. He wasn't Empowered, not so far as they could tell, and he seemed far too soft for the type of criminals that usually graced the Tower. They couldn't be bothered to reach a conclusion of why that was. They were paid to heal, not to care.

Their first day seeing him, he'd been clad in a tailored suit; carefully combed blond hair set askew by his struggles, neatly trimmed fingernails clawing at the air as he was dragged down the hall, thrown into the locked room where he now resided.

He still wore the suit, partially, sometimes. When he was clothed, it was in the bloodied tatters that remained of it. His shoes were long gone, his fingernails ragged, his hair matted and unkempt. Every day seemed to weigh him down further, every visitor taking a piece of him with them when they left. His bite, his will, his hope. Intangible souvenirs. Soon there'd be nothing remaining.

Some days Endii had to remove the gag or the blindfold; to heal a split eyelid, a torn tongue, broken teeth. Any arrogance had vacated his expression, and it seemed he had no words left.

He'd been someone important once, the man in the cell. And to see him now, he probably wished he never was.

•°•°•

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