Her shackles bound her to a long chain, which snaked across the floor, coming to a halt at a large iron ring, nailed to the floor of her cell. She tried to make her way to the window, but before her hands could reach out and touch the bars, before her face could feel the cold winter breeze, her chain was taut and refused to give. She struggled for a few moments, but soon gave up and fell to her knees. If only she was normal, she thought to herself. If only she knew what it was like to be human. To be in control of her actions. If only she could live without the animal inside, which yearned to be released. If only he had understood that side of her, had accepted that side of her.
She looked down and a single tear fell onto her shackles. Silver, of course. Humans loved their traditions. The drop of moisture slowly circled her wrist, before disappearing underneath the shackles. Last sign of weakness. Standing tall, she met the marching guards with a steely gaze. They don’t know who they’re dealing with, she thought. What they’re dealing with.