Once Betrayed Never Forgotten

Chapter 34: The Inquisitor’s Test

As I slip into the cold embrace of unconsciousness, my mind becomes a portal to an unsettling dreamscape. In this dream, I find myself lying upon a bed sculpted from shimmering ice, its surface glistening like crystal in the moonlight. The embrace of a freezing snow blanket envelops my shivering form.

Naked and vulnerable, I awaken in this frigid landscape, my senses disoriented and my thoughts muddled. I sit up in the ice bed, pulling the blanket of snow closer around me, which just makes

me colder, so I cast it aside.

Why am I naked? How did I get here? Am I dreaming?

No sooner has the thought entered my mind than it slips away, and I’m in the flow of the dream again.

A figure materialises out of the distant white nothingness. It is Aleksandr, his presence like the rising sun in midwinter. His eyes burn with blue fire as he nears me, and dark tendrils of hair

frame his chiselled face.

As he draws near, I see that he is naked, his muscular form exuding a tangible coldness, somehow even frostier than the biting cold of the snow. I leap from the bed, running towards him, calling out his name over and over again in desperate relief. He envelops me in his arms, drawing me

close to his broad chest.

For a moment, I become aware of his nakedness, and my own. My nipples are pressed against his cold chest, and I feel a sudden urge to reach down between his legs, to explore the length of his impressive cock. If I’m going to die, I’d rather lose my virginity first. Even if it’s just in a dream, it’s better than nothing.

But he gently takes my hand, placing it on his chest as he kisses my forehead, pulling m against him.

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“Not now,” he says, as I bury my head against his broad chest and begin to ery.

Amidst my confusion and fear, I am brought to tears by the stark contrast between this dream and my grim reality. His voice pierces the wintry silence.

“Where are you, Arianna?” he asks, his words a lifeline in this desolate realm.

“I’m here,” I manage to murmur.

“In the village?” He asks, and I nod, although I’m not entirely sure. My thoughts are all muddled,

CHASE THE unge me

mid 19 wing of thier

wand what have they done as you heads, his eye worthing mine for answers.

you?

searching

“Who?” I telemingly ack, my thoughts till ears in a fog of bewilderment, unable to grasp the come of his questions Where am 17 Am Fadeep ght now, dreaming? I was in the forest… then,

a village, and a church there was a priest… Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

–

Aleksandr’s response is enigmatic, a cryptic plea that leaves me struggling to comprehend its meaning “I can only save you if you invite me in. Be implores, his words weaving a tapestry of uncertainty in my mind. As I reach for understanding, he gradually fades into a silvery mist, slipping through my fingers like wisps of ephemeral smoke.

I

Abruptly, I emerge from this haunting dream, my fingers still grasping at the fading spectre of his presence. I wake up with a throbbing headache and aching limbs. My surroundings are dimly lit and unfamiliar, and a musty scent of ancient mould and dampness fills the air. Slowly, I sit up, my fingers grazing the hard, uneven stone floor beneath me. I shiver, both from the cold and the realisation that I’m trapped in a cell.

The cell’s walls are rough–hewn stone, glistening with moisture, as if they ve witnessed centuries of dampness. Their cold, solid presence makes the confinement all the more oppressive. The flickering torches mounted on the walls cast warm, golden light, revealing two guards stationed just outside the cell. Both are massive, brawny young men, stern and vigilant. Their hands hover

near their formidable weapons – one wields a menacing mace, while the other carries

broadsword, their faces cast in an eerie, golden glow. Chain mail glints beneath their cloth tunics, as if they’re all dressed up to go to war, ready for an epic fight.

A fight against who… me? Do they honestly think I’m a vampire?

My disorientation gives way to hunger as a tray of food is placed before me. It’s a humble meal, but strangely appealing. A dense, earthy chunk of dark bread sits beside a simple stew of root +1 vegetables, all served on a wooden tray. A wooden cup filled with mead completes the offering. Bon The aroma is rustic, a comforting blend of earth and hearth, herbs and spices.

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I know this is a test, a measure of whether I will partake in a normal human meal. Defiance floods me, and I grab a piece of the bread, biting into it with determination. “Look, I’m eating it,” I declare, my eyes fixed on the guards. I pick up the bowl of soup and slurp from it heartily, allowing the liquid to trickle down my chin, hardly caring about table manners.

“I consume normal human food, just like you, not blood, see?” I say, holding the half empty bowl for them to inspect. “I’m no vampire.” Their expressions remain inscrutable, and I wonder what judgments they pass in their silence.

Chapter 4 The inquisitor’s Test

Next, I sip cautiously from the wooden cup, and the meads warmth and sweetness envelop my senses. There’s a hint of honey and a gentle alcoholic burn that soothes my throat. My mind briefly flirts with the notion of poison, but logic prevails if they wanted me dead, they could accomplish it more directly. I raise an eyebrow at the guards, defiant yet again, and drink deeply.

The guards retreat slightly, stationed just outside my cell, a constant reminder of my captivity. My attention shifts as the basement’s rickety wooden steps creak under the weight of the descending priest. He’s still cloaked in his severe black robe, his aged visage carrying the weight of years beyond count. A silver crucifix dangles from a chain around his neck, a symbol of his faith and authority.

With a commanding gesture, the priest orders the guards to stand down. They comply, begrudgingly, and withdraw, leaving me alone with the stern cleric. His gaze is inquisitive, probing, as if searching for hidden truths. He commences the interrogation, a barrage of questions about my identity, my purpose at the castle, and the circumstances of my arrival there.

I recount my harrowing tale, describing my escape from the castle and my frantic flight through the perilous forest. But skepticism clouds the priest’s eyes, and I can sense his doubts, his refusal to accept my story at face value.

Desperation creeps into my voice as I implore, “What year is it?” My voice trembles with uncertainty. The priest’s response is chilling: “It is year one.”

Panic churns within me as I press for clarity. “Year one of what?”

The priest ignores my question, leaning in closer, and reaches into his robe, retrieving the silver crucifix. “You claim to be mortal,” he says, his voice heavy with suspicion. “Prove it. Hold out your

hand.”

My heart races as I hesitate, then extend my hand through the cold, iron bars. The priest places the silver crucifix against my skin, and I know he’s expecting me to shy away from it, fearful of -10 the searing pain I’ve seen in movies and read about in books. But, as I expected, nothing happerson – my skin remains unscathed.

Relief washes over me, and I pull my hand back, exhaling shakily. “See? I’m human.”

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The priest, however, remains unyielding in his doubt. “Just because you are not one of those monsters,” he asserts, “doesn’t mean you are not a monster of a different sort. Anyone who comes from that castle unscathed and alive must be an abomination. A witch or a sorceress, perhaps. Only a monster would consort with those creatures up on the mountaintop.”

“I was NOT consorting with them,” I say, no longer bothering to hide my anger and frustration. “I was their PRISONER!”

Chapter 34: The Inquisitor’s Test

“Then why did you cry out the name of the accursed one over and over in your slumber, calling for his aid?” The priest snaps at me, his voice heavy with accusation.

The accursed one… does he mean…

“Aleksandr?” I ask, and the priest’s eyes go dark at the mention of the name. He raises his hand. up quickly and makes the sign of the cross over his heart.

“We’ll see if your vampire lover comes to save you,” the priest says, before turning on his heel and heading for the stairs.

“Watch over her carefully, and no matter what you do, don’t abandon your posts,” the priest instructs the waiting guards. “Don’t listen to a word she says, lest this infernal harlot bewitch

you.”

His accusation lingers in the air, my mind racing to refute it. I’m trapped in a dark cell beneath a mysterious church, and my fate remains uncertain.

Chapter Comments

EJ

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Man, I knew it! Dacia hasn’t been called that since the very early ADs. So these ppl are supposedly lost. I’m assuming ‘lost souls‘. but how are they still human, living, breathi…

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