The Shattering of the Heart(WCBH one-shot story)

How many times had she died now?

How many times would she die?

How many ways could someone just stand there and torture her again, and again, and again?

It started simple, a demand really, in which she promptly refused. They kidnapped her, they kidnapped her friends, she owed them nothing. She wasn’t going to fight for them, she wasn’t giving them power, she wasn’t giving them a win. She was stubborn, she accepted that. So she stayed put, in that cage for a while it seemed.

They wanted her necklaces, and no offense to them, but the importance of the little collars was more than even her life. They wanted all of these crystals, it didn’t mean they would get to touch anymore than they already had.

That’s what sent them over the bounds.

They didn’t know she could die again and again at first, they just thought killing her want they could take the little lockets from her cold dead body.

So they kicked, they hit, they beat her to death the first time, watched wickedly as her life drained out on the floor before them. Even sicker, they made her friends watch from other cells.

But even they never expected her body to simply fade into a substance similar to stardust along with those precious little gems.

When she reappeared, however, they were even more shocked.

But all the more cruel, again, and again, they used new methods, more painful methods to kill. Crushing her to death, impaling her, stabbing her to death, locking her in a cell with no oxygen, drowning her, freezing her to death, and even locking her in a burning metal cage.

Each time she never gave up, each time she cried in pain, called for help, but she didn’t give up. Again, and again she died.

The last time, by far was the worst. She warned them that she wasn’t giving up once more, and when they started to come for her, she fought back despite her weakness, despite her inability to use her helpful abilities. However, she felt a sharp pain in her arm, and noticed they injected her with, well something.

First her body gave out, she went numb and fell to the floor. She tried very hard to not look at her friends, she didn’t want it to be worse for them, she didn’t want them to see this. It started with sharp pains throughout her body, pounding migraines.

She let off screams of agony, anger, she cried out when it felt like her body was being torn limb from limb. Then it stopped, and she took a few deep breaths. Was it already over? It was about an hour now dealing with this pain. Was it not meant to kill her?

“You’ll be halfway through it soon,” they said above her.

She didn’t get it at first. Then she did. It was going to kill her. Very, very slowly.

The pain got worse, her blood felt like it was on fire, she even began to cough up blood and cry up the substance as well, and the poison, well it ripped and slowly killed her organs, slowly killed her.

It took 3 hours to die.

When it’s all faded, she was breathing quickly, on the ground, she hadn’t quit yet, she wasn’t dead, not yet.

“When are you going to give up? Just give them up,”

Weakly, she responded softly, glaring up with the last of her strength. Even as the words died after she said them, so did she, again.

At least she got to say them.

“Sorry, I’m not going to listen to any idea that you will ever be pro-poison.”

(Have a dark snippet of something that may accur in the future.)