The wooden door, sturdy as all hell, creaked open, letting only a small thread of light peek through. It makes you squint your eyes, and you'd cover them if it weren't for the shackles on your wrists and ankles. "Are you going to talk now?" Thistle's voice lacks any of the warmth he held before all this mess happened. Before you helped the king escape this prison of a kingdom.

"Traitor." He spits out the word with venom, looking down with magenta eyes that pierce the darkness. "Maybe if I tear you limb from limb, you'll speak."

In spite of the harsh treatment, your gaze was softened with pity. He was losing himself in his grief, in an anger that was making him lose sight of what really mattered.