So I think I mentioned in my last post that I'm at about the halfway point with Imperial Demons. So far the bulk of the book has focused on Lola, with one or two dips into Tristesse's point of view. As the book moves along, I'm finding I need to get into Tris's head more and more. She's...she's not having the best time.
Tristesse didn't
wait a week. There was no sense in waiting. Sonneillon and her father
grew no weaker while she languished here, but she grew no stronger.
She gained no advantage, no knowledge, no leverage. Madness was safe.
In some moments, it was even beautiful. But it was not the way to win
this war. So, reluctantly, Tristesse began to emerge from it.
The day after
her father's visit, she forced herself to her feet for the first time
since her imprisonment. Her legs trembled as she staggered to the
cell door, clinging to the wall for support. They nearly gave way
beneath her as she gripped the bars on the cell door, and she bit
through her lip as she struggled to hold herself up. The taste of
blood was galvanising, sending a bolt of strength through her. She
pressed her face to the bars, peering out into the dimly-lit
corridor.
The hounds
huffed and snorted smoke, pacing up and down past her door. They
seemed to be the only guards she had, butof course they were the only
ones Sonneillon really needed. Hatred simmered in her at the sight of
the great beasts. Without them, Sonneillon could never have snatched
her back. With them, there was nowhere she could go he couldn't
reach.
One of them
turned to stare at her, it's malevolent gaze sending shivers of pain
through her. It would be a long time before her skin and bones forgot
the sensation of burning to death over and over. She hissed at them,
stamping weakly.
"Bring me
your master," she said, voice rough. "I'm tired of his
curs."
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