Hell? The Nazarite Order? It sounded as if it was straight from a book her father read to her as a child. She could think of a million questions for the man, but the stinging pain in her back and neck caused her to remain focused on the situation at hand.

The prisoner’s sentiment caused Amelia to feel two emotions: Relief - because she was left alive when she apparently should have been killed. Panic - because of the unknown reasoning as to why she [i]was[/i] left alive. A day ago, she could not even fathom the existence of such entities, and yet now she was in a cell with a mysterious man demanding answers as to why she was attacked by a shadowy figured. 

It was all very peculiar.

“I do not have the slightest inkling as to why I’m not dead,” she explained matter-of-factly to Tobias with a hint of annoyance behind her voice. “It tossed me across the room, fondled me, pinned me against the wall by my neck, then vanished.” Recounting the tale caused an involuntary shiver, and her voice weakened as she provided him with the next detail: “I could feel its warm breath on my skin as it whispered my name.” Embarrassed by her moment of frailty she used her strength to look at the man in the eyes, but only briefly as paranoia caused her to constantly scan the room for any shadows lurking in the corners. 

The way Tobias looked – young, but wise in his demeanor, the brands that circled around on his abdomen, the rings in his hair – it was all very new, and it unquestionably sparked a curious flame in her. 

“If you weren’t the one who killed Roger, then who – “

The cell door swung open with force. Antoine.

“I have been looking for you high and low. Word just came into the camp. The King is – “ Antoine paused when he noticed the fresh blood on her back and the marks on her neck. “[i]Mon amour,”[/i] he whispered as his concerned eyes scanned her, but they quickly flashed in anger as he turned to the prisoner. “Did you do this to her?” He nearly screamed at the man as he began to approach him, but Amelia stepped in between them.
“No, no, he didn’t,” she admitted as she threw her hands up. “I was attacked by [i]something[/i] while I was in bed. I came to ask him what it was.” Her eyes were wide and glaring with Antoine as a signal to put down his defenses. “I am fine.” 
“Something, Amelia?” He asked quietly as his eyes locked on her neck once again. “What do you mean by ‘something?’” 
“I could not see it. Just a shadow. It was strong a-and,” the lump in her throat grew which caused her voice to trail off. “What news did you come to tell me?” 
Antoine’s eyes flicked from the prisoner back to hers, and after a sigh, he pulled her over to the opposite side of the room and nearly whispered: “The King is dead. They have not released the details.”
His words pierced straight through her sternum, taking her breath with them. She so badly wanted to kick and scream, to wrap up in a ball and sob. Her father was dead.  Knowing she could not display the anguish she felt inside, she took a deep breath and nodded. 
“I have to go inform the rest of the camp, and then everyone will be taking shifts for watch. Those who are free will be searching for his assassin. Are you coming with?” He asked as he held out a hand.
She shook her head. “Uh, no. I need to finish up here.”
He nodded. “Okay, then. I will come fetch you soon. I do not want you walking around here alone.” Antoine glared at Tobias. “Be careful, Amelia.” 

Once he left the cell, Amelia once again approached Tobias, attempting to choke down the emotions so desperately attempting to pour out. “What would this attacker want from [i]me[/i]? Could it be what killed…” she cleared her throat, “the King?” In reality, she probably was not ready for all the information she’d receive from asking questions, but before being able to redirect the conversation, it happened again.

The feeling.

“It’s,” she whispered as she placed a hand to her neck, “It’s back. It’s in here.” Her body made a full turn as she frantically looked around the small room. 

[b][i]”Clara.”[/i][/b]

Without a moment to process the voice, Amelia’s body was flung back in corner of the brick room, and she grunted on impact until the pressure on her throat allowed no sound to escape her. She dangled two feet from the floor as she shot a desperate look to Tobias.

The door swung open to reveal Antoine, his eyes bulging as his mind pieced together what he was witnessing. Amelia dropped to the floor clumsily before she leaned a hand on the wall to support herself while she dry-heaved towards the ground as she gripped her chest.

Antoine looked to the prisoner chained on the other side of the cell. “What in God’s name is happening?” In an attempt to comfort Amelia, he knelt down next to her put his hands on her shoulders. “Calm down, Amelia. Calm down.” 

Once she finally caught her breath, she spoke sternly to Antoine. "We need to release him."
"Are you mad, Amelia? We do not know of what he can do. What if he is the one hurting you?" He scratched his head in confusion. 
"He isn't." 
"How do you know that for certain?" 
"I don't." Amelia's stare, blurry from tears, landed on Tobias, who was still chained to the wall. "Antoine, I am going to go get the spare key."

She quickly escaped the room down the long, dark hallway until she reached a small room with a wooden table with parchment scattered across it. "Where is it, where is it," she continued to mumble to herself as she dug through drawers under the table. Her mind started to wander as she searched - Was she insane for letting this mysterious man out of his shackles? Yes, probably. But, in a strange, inexplicable way, he seemed trustworthy. For now.