The day passed without sunlight, or at least that's how it felt to Soreya. Left in the shadow of Allen's throne, her body curled on the polished stone floor, she remained in that same pathetic sprawl for hours. She was no longer tied down—he had released her from chains and stocks, but in doing so, hadn't freed her. She hadn't moved because she couldn't. Her limbs were numb, but not from pain. It was something else. Something worse. Her will, her pride, her sense of self... they had all been quietly peeled away, layer by layer, until only this remained: a girl too proud to scream, too broken to rise.
And Allen? He didn't look at her again.
He sat on the throne, discussing matters with Kael, reading scrolls from the elders, feeding grapes to Rinni when she bounced into his lap, and occasionally letting Fina curl against his side and whisper something lewd that made him chuckle low in his chest.
Soreya wasn't even acknowledged.
She was ignored.
