The Never-Ending Empress: A Science Fantasy Dystopian Novel (The Empress Chronicles Book 1) by Sarita Laroche

Author:Sarita Laroche [Laroche, Sarita]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2022-10-10T00:00:00+00:00

Waking, I find myself alone in the same room. The eye patch blocks my sight and itches with the swelling. I touch it gently and strain my good eye to compensate. Rolling my shoulder, much of the sharp pains have receded, though I can see bruising from the injections through the tear in my clothing. Inhaling, I feel a jab in my side and hope my rib is only swollen and not cracked.

Spit sticks to the side of my mouth. I wipe at it and realize that any of my captors could have witnessed my true face drooling. My breast hangs out of the tear in my top. I might as well have been naked for the swarms of violated thoughts that well up inside of me. I force myself not to pull at the shreds of fabric hanging off my left side, which would attest to my nervousness. Nothing happens regardless, and the room remains empty and quiet. I wait unmoving and listening.

Time stops.

They want to make me sweat in the unknowing of my fate. I decide to appear in control and content. Standing slowly, I stretch. Though my side is tender, I cycle through my morning routine. Elongating my body back into its normal range of flexibility, I bend every way. An Empress must move as though weightless. Grace comes through practice and daily routines, much like a dancer.

I scan the room for recording devices, keeping an ear open for any noise outside my door. Every twist I make gives me a new angle to examine the walls and furniture. Bending low, I try to see under the door, to no avail. Nothing sticks out from my perusal. But I know they can see me if they want to. They are probably watching me at this very moment. I do not want to look as though they have riled me.

After running in place long enough to get my blood pumping, I flex my fingers and walk to the door, trying the handle. It does not surprise me to find it locked. I call out, "I am ready to speak with whoever is in charge."

Silence answers my order.

I knock again. Refusing to allow my voice to crack, I call louder, "I demand an audience. You do not want to cross me." I stand my ground in front of the door as though I fully expect it to open. Breathing in regular deep lungfuls, I listen for a response and get nothing.

I do not want to waste words for their pleasure. They will never take me seriously if I allow them to think me less than the most powerful Venis. So I punch the door for effect in one tight jab. It hurts more than anticipated, but I keep my expression calm and satisfied.

Not rubbing at the throb in my knuckles, I walk the length of the small room and sit. Looking up at the wall as though I can look straight into their eyes, I say, "I await you. Do not try my patience.

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