It took but a year - or perhaps two or three, he lost his days a long, long time ago - for all noise outside the prison to dull to Phillip's ears. The scuffling of feet was not a rescue; nor was the click of keys, or whisper through the halls, or glow of a lantern seen through the door's thin crack, for all were accompanied by the harsh grunt of some manner of foul creature, or the dark mistress herself. The sun fell and rose, the iron of his shackles stayed strong and unyielding, and with the click of chains and his own rough breathing the only sounds to keep him company, it eventually faded to a distant hum in his mind.
When the howls started, he did not notice. Nor did he notice the distant screams, for the sounds of torture were very common to his ears.
When the door to his cell creaked open, his head still remained down. It was only when the woman at the door spoke, with a voice much too soft for the castle, that Phillip finally looked up from the lines that the shackles had carved into his wrists.
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When the howls started, he did not notice. Nor did he notice the distant screams, for the sounds of torture were very common to his ears.
When the door to his cell creaked open, his head still remained down. It was only when the woman at the door spoke, with a voice much too soft for the castle, that Phillip finally looked up from the lines that the shackles had carved into his wrists.
"Phillip?"
Aurora.He had ( ... )
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