Lucien

Proserpina

From the snatches of the conversation and the tone of my captors, I guessed that Lucien had arrived after the blast. So my lover was still alive, and I knew he was relentless; he would keep looking for me. That gave me hope.

I sat still, my legs stretched out in front of me. It was late, I supposed. The room was dark. A dim light glowed high up in the ceiling, a bare bulb. I knew that it was too high up for me to clamber up to. Apart from the bed, there was no other furniture in the room. Just an iron bed that was too heavy to even push. Later, I discovered that it had been screwed to the floor.

The room was large, and it smelled musty. An old, worn sheet covered a lumpy, uncomfortable mattress. A pillow that had obviously seen better days had a cover that was stained and greasy. I wrinkled my nose in disgust. But I was too tired to fight the exhaustion that seemed to be rolling over me in waves now.

Besides, I was too weary to do anything now.

My back ached from the journey