It did not take too long for Neveah to arrive at the open cell from which the scream sounded and sure enough, Menarx stood there, his emotionless gaze fixed on the battered man who was hung up on some contraption, dangling some inches off the ground.
Neveah squinted and it took a moment before she could identify the face behind all the blood. As she had guessed, it was indeed the Fae noble who had presented the Ixora flower to her at the ceremony.
The fairy was already unrecognizable, battered and broken in different places, blood pooled on the ground beneath where he was hung and still dripped at a rapid rate.
It was a mystery to Neveah how the fairy had not already died from blood loss.
The state the fairy was in was barely hanging onto his life by a thread, and clearly the fairy himself would be grateful for death but he was not allowed the privilege.
