The Return of a Legend
When my eyes finally adjusted to the darkness around us, they fell upon the shadow of a beast that was now nothing but a shell of someone who was once upon a time a great man.
Huddled in the corner in nothing but trousers torn to shreds, his bare, beaten flesh scarred from the horrors of what this dark place had bestowed upon him, leaning against the moist, filthy walls of his prison. Shackled limbs and neck like the chained animal they believed him to be, and not the kind gentleman of noble birth he truly was.
He stared into nothingness with empty eyes, eyes I knew once to be warm and caring, sparkling with life and filled with the soul of ancient wisdom and the power of the Lord of the Jungle. My heart broke as it had the day we were told we had lost them. He was killed by the very beasts he ruled over, or so we were told.
Fifteen years, I mourned them, especially my dear Jane, who had been nothing less than a sister to me since we were mere children. My mother had been her personal maid and nanny, and we had grown together, traveled, and discovered new worlds together.
I was there when he was born, their boy, they were a part of my life, no they were my life. And so you see, I had to find him, the man whom had filled my mistress, my dear friend, with so much joy and life, because now, I knew the truth and could keep quiet no longer. John Clayton III, Lord Greystone, was alive, and so was his son Jack. He had to know; they all had to know.
My grip tightened against the filthy, cold bars, unaware I was gripping them with one hand, my mind still attempting to process what lay in front of me. Tears now flooded my eyes as I begged my body to compute, to be brave as my dearest friend would have been.
I finally opened my mouth to speak, but a strong, foul hand clasped over it before I could speak. The arm of a guard yanked me back. I desperately hung onto the bar, reaching my hand out and throwing it as hard as I could, but I was simply no match for the man pulling me away.
Lord Greystone’s eyes met mine, and time froze for a second. His empty gaze held no recognition. They held nothing at all. Do something! You must do something! Feeling unconsciousness beckoning me from the lack of oxygen, I drew upon every ounce of strength left in me. I had come this far and could not let this end here! I had to do this for Jane, for Jack. I bit down hard into the flesh of the hand that covered my mouth, ignoring the poignant taste of filth on my tongue, and held it until I tasted the bittersweet tang of blood.
“You filthy whore!” he screams as he momentarily loosened his hold on me, lowering his hand.
“He’s alive!! Jack — ” was all I had time to say before the hand returned to my mouth. I kicked and scratched, wanting nothing but to get to him, refusing to have come this far for nothing.
Lord Greystone’s head perked at the mention of his son’s name, and a sob escaped me below the muffling of the hand holding me because I was no longer staring into the soulless eyes of a beast; I was looking into the blue eyes of John Clayton the III.
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