The two were indistinguishable in the dark, windowless, subterraneal prison that was now a more or less permanent sanctuary for me. I hadn't seen anyone in a while. I hadn't talked to Seycax when she had come to visit. I didn't trust my words to be my own. But that visit seemed like a vague, distant memory of some unfathomably long time ago. I was lonely now, which seemed odd. I had never felt lonely. Always overwhelmed, crowded. Never this empty, desolate feeling that sat in the hollow pit of my stomach. It made me feel sick, both physically and mentally. I barely noticed it when I mumbled and talked to myself. I barely noticed anything but that void feeling.
I heard a door slam shut on the far end of the prison. It made me jump and left me trembling. That wasn't like me either. Sure, I was a bit jumpy around sudden, loud noises. Maybe a bit more than jumpy, but never that much. It was most easily compared to paranoia, though I had no reason to be paranoid. I was ready for the devil himself to loom up in front of me and drag me to hell. Perhaps it was just really loud.
There were footsteps too, if I didn't already mention. Approaching footsteps. I didn't turn, nor did I expect anyone to actually be there. I had come to the satisfying, if not illogical, conclusion that the prison was haunted. Why else would I heal footsteps and never see anyone?
But this time, someone was there. I was staring at the wall, my back against the opposite wall. My arms were folded on my knees, and my eyes staring blankly ahead. It was a practice I found to pass time more efficiently then pacing or punching at the wall. I swear, there wasn't enough skin left on my knuckles to scrap anymore.
I could tell by the sudden blinding light that flooded my cell that someone was shining a flashlight about, most likely come to "visit" me. And even as the footsteps came to a dull, scraping stop and the flashlight was pointed right at me, I stared at the wall. The wall would never change. It wouldn't leave. It wouldn't judge me or accuse me or chide me.
"Max?" the person asked, a tinge of horrific awe creeping into their normally sour tone.
Even I was a bit thunderstruck at me visitor, but aside from a slight, involuntary shudder, I did not budge.
"It's me..." she said, as if amnesia was the reason I was in my cell, not assumed plans of sabotage. "Daxjorn."
"I knew it was you," I said, my blank look becoming a frown as I heard how hoarse my voice was. Lack of use, I reasoned. But I couldn't help but think my burning thirst contributed too.
"Then why didn't you respond?" I was glad to hear hints of our bitter rivalry creeping back into her voice. But still the wall remained the most interesting thing in the prison.
There was a long pause before I realized I was supposed to answer. My usually sharp senses were drastically dulled, I realized with a jolt.
"Hasn't it occurred to you that maybe I like being alone down here?" I said with menace, so it would hide the untruth behind my words.
Daxjorn gave me a look that borderlined sympathy. "Are you saying that you like looking like a living corpse and sitting here rotting away until we find a suitable use for your lazy, mutinous hide?"
I instantly regretted provoking conversation in the first place. I stared belligerently at the wall, trying hard to cage my boiling rage. "If that's all you came to say, then leave. And that's and order VII!"
She laughed harshly. "Orders? Who's taking order from you now a days!?" She turned away and walked off laughing like I had told her the funniest joke in the world.
I felt sorely hurt inside, but even more so was I deeply disturbed. Did she mean to say I was no longer listened to? Would pleading my case do nothing to help me? Was I to rot away in my cell?
I shook my head to uproot those unsettling thoughts. They would not budge.
I suddenly had a lot more to worry over than the time of day.
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