In Ella's younger days, she always had a fascination with opening things she wasn't allowed to and also escaping from them. That was when she formed a habit of unlocking things, and her lock-picking skills evolved into a work of art.
That even when Eleanor locked Ella in her room to prevent her from going outside and playing after spending the whole day with friends in town. She could still unlock the lock and escape.
"Let me just do some twisting…" Ella whispered as she pulled two pins hidden in her hair. They were small, but fit perfectly in the lock.
Ella twisted and turned the pins for a few minutes until she heard a click, and the lock finally unlocked.
"Yes!" Ella exclaimed in excitement before she cupped her mouth to prevent any noise from escaping. She slowly removed the lock and pushed the door open.
What revealed itself to Ella was an open, dark place, and she used the candle to show her what was inside. It was not a room meant for living.
The candlelight crept forward, trembling in Ella's hand, and the darkness recoiled just enough to expose iron bars sunk into stone walls slick with moisture.
The air was thick—stale, sour, and heavy with unmistakable rot of neglect.
Chains lay coiled like dead serpents across the floor, their links rusted reddish-brown, as though they had been fed blood instead of oil.
And then, the light found him.
"Oh my god," Ella exclaimed in shock and fear. Her feet instinctively stepped back.
A man sat slumped against the far wall with his wrists shackled. His face was gaunt to the point of looking carved rather than grown, with sharp cheekbones and skin stretched tight and sallow.
His lips were cracked and pale, the corners split from dryness. His eyes had deep hollows, which made them too large for his face, and they were rimmed red and unfocused, as if he had forgotten how to properly see. A short, uneven beard clung to his jaw, patchy and dull. His hair hung in greasy strands, as if they clumped together longer without care.
'Who is this man? He looked like he had not eaten in days,' Ella thought as she observed what was before her. She also noticed a table, a chair, and an old bed on the side.
Ella opened her mouth to speak, but before words came out. The man flinched violently, shrinking back until the chains rattled, and stopped him.
The man's breath hitched, shallow and panicked. His eyes darted from the light to Ella's face and back again.
"I—" Ella swallowed. She wasn't sure what to say, but she knew she couldn't leave the man alone after she had discovered him. "I'm not here to hurt you."
The man stared at Ella. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. Instead, a thin, broken noise escaped his throat, half gasp, half laugh. Then, he shook his head slowly, over and over, like a child.
"Don't," he rasped at last. "Don't pretend."
Something in his voice sounds so broken, almost grieving, and it made Ella's chest ache.
"I won't," Ella said softly, though she didn't know why she was so sure. She stepped closer, and the candle revealed more horrors.
The scratch marks carved into the stone, tally lines etched unevenly along the wall, and dried stains Ella refused to identity.
"Don't step… closer," the man whispered, looking at Ella's feet.
"I won't hurt you. I won't," Ella's voice became softer as she emphasized the words.
"Look… down," the man replied, nodding his head.
Ella's brow furrowed as she looked down and saw a pile of ungodly dirt. "Huh, what's that?" She muttered and looked closely, and that was when she noticed it looked like feces.
Ella could feel the vomit coming out of her mouth, and instinctively covered her nose. She didn't realize she had been inhaling a foul smell since her focus was on the person before her.
The man didn't smile or react much. He stayed still and watched Ella's every move.
Ella wanted to run as far from there as she could, but she knew that if she moved away, she was breaking her promise. She closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose to calm herself, and prepared herself. She faced the man again with determination.
"How… How long have you been here?" Ella asked.
The man laughed. "How long?" His eyes unfocused, drifting to the ceiling. "I counted once. Lost count. Counted again. Lost myself instead."
Ella pursed her lips as she hesitated. She wanted to ask more questions, but thought it wasn't the right moment. Then she thought the man might be dangerous to be put in that shitty place.
"Okay," Ella replied, and walked a few steps back as she grabbed the tray full of food. The smell of bread and milk cut through the rot like a blessing.
The man froze.
His nostrils flared, and his body strained forward instinctively before his mind seemed to catch up. "That's—" his voice broke. "That's cruel."
"It's real food," Ella said as she placed the tray on the table and moved it closer to where the man was located. "Please eat. You looked like you hadn't eaten for a century."
For a moment, the guy didn't move. Then, with shaking hands, he walked a few steps and reached for the food as though it might vanish. When his fingers closed around it, he sobbed quietly and helplessly ate the piece of bread.
The man didn't chew properly, swallowing too fast, as if afraid someone would take it away. The milk spilled down his chin, and he didn't even notice.
'This is making me cry,' Ella thought as she looked away, pretending to adjust the candle so he wouldn't see the tears burning her eyes.
When the man finally finished the food, he slumped back and breathed unevenly. His gaze returned to her, clearer now, but still broken.
"Why are you here?" The man asked suddenly.
"I think I'm the one who's supposed to ask that question," Ella replied, raising an eyebrow.