She wakes on the floor, the blood and poison congealed and sticky on the floor. Her fingers have blisters from where they came in contact with the poison. Her hair is thick with blood where she slept. Her elbow is red and inflamed; the skin tight with the healing it was permitted to do over night. Her movements are slow and laboured, her breathing shallow. A cold, bitter laugh fills her ears. She lifts her head and sees the face from across the hall. Her heart contracts with fear, yet he does not approach. He merely continues to laugh. She pushes herself to sitting and stares at the repulsive face. The laugh becomes increasingly mocking, and he holds out his arms to her. Thousands of scars line his arms, and she can see the black marks of poison barbs still buried under his skin. He continues to laugh as he points at himself, and then at her. She shakes her head and begins to cry, and his laugh increases. Enraged she tries to stand up. He merely laughs and leaves the room. She screams in defiance at his prediction and staggers into the hall. She pounds on his door until her hands are raw and bleeding. Adrenaline spent, she collapses. She closes her eyes. She feels the itch beginning in her elbow again. She tries to resist the urge to scratch, but gives in. She hears the laughter ringing in her ears once more and she despairs. Two guards approach and bring her to her room. She collapses in bed, hearing nothing but the cold, empty laugh echoing in her head.
