Behind Fassn’s green-glowing eyes, a prison. Flat stone walls, hastily hewn. No window to share the sun’s warm light. Crude gouges in the walls and floor, dug by human hands, signifying nothing. The squeal of iron hinges, a brutal scraping sound as a door opens into a cell.
Fassn is a young man, his hair dark, his beard not yet grown in. His face is twisted in anger as soldiers push his struggling form into the cell. He pushes back until one of them slugs him in the stomach and he falls, clutching his gut. The door slams shut behind him, leaving Fassn in darkness.
Holding his breath, Fassn sits cross-legged at the centre of his cell.
Logan Bright — Works 