Thenuyee is no place of mercy.

Though, as the prison’s only medic, all seems to soften slightly around you, even the most infamous prisoners mollifying at your presence. Stitching up their wounds and making sure they stay alive just to be tortured more, it was an endless repeating cycle. You’d pull them out of death’s grip, just for them to fall back into it. The guards, who tortured the prisoners, thought of you as unnecessary, but who’s going to argue with the medic if something goes wrong? Blood indefinitely coats your hands, scratches where you’ve accidentally pinpricked your own skin littering your soft fingertips. Today, though, your assigned prisoner is different.

You don’t know anything about her besides her name - Imuthar. You didn’t bother to read her file - the one time you had tried to read a different prisoner’s file, you were almost unable to continue healing them.

Stepping into the dark, desolate room, the small slit of light from the door crack illuminates her eyes - burning a fire-filled orange, filled with hate and rage, like two suns flaming into your soul. Her gray hair is matted and wavy, but not clotted - as if it’s been unkept for a few weeks. Her bright ochre-colored horns branch upwards, though it’s clear they’ve been damaged by the persecutors. A muzzle is tightly wrapped around her maw, rendering her unable to speak, chains around her head fastening it in place. Her wings are bound in thick metal clamps, and she’s chained to the ground, unable to move other than kneeling in this current position. She’s wearing a straight-jacket, but her chest area is exposed, only a thin strip of cloth covering the sensitive region- for obvious purposes, and it sickens you to think of what’s been done to her, deep cuts and bruises littering any exposed skin. A sharp juxtaposition to the other prisoners, her fierceness hasn’t wavered, not a bit. Even though you hear some occasional chatter of her being the daughter of Plumo, you know her unfortunate fate.

No one’s coming to save her.