Captive Witches - Lyra and Allisa

Cold water dripped from the vaulted stone ceiling, each drop echoing through the torchlit dungeon like a ticking clock.

Chains rattled softly in the gloom.

Lyra hung against the damp wall, silver shackles clasped around her slender wrists. Her white hair spilled over her shoulders in a silken cascade, stark against the grime-darkened stone. Even in captivity, there was something luminous about her—pink eyes glowing faintly beneath lowered lashes, her white garments torn but still defiantly bright in the shadows. The iron bands bit into her pale skin, yet her chin remained lifted.

Across from her, Allisa strained against her own bindings. Her jet-black hair, streaked with electric blue, framed a face carved in quiet fury. Piercing blue eyes scanned the corridor beyond the bars, calculating. She wore black even now—dark fabric clinging to her form, scuffed and slashed from the struggle that had brought them here. The chains crossed over her shoulders and around her waist, secured tight to the wall, but they had not stolen the fire from her gaze.

“They think iron is enough,” Allisa muttered, her voice low and edged like a drawn blade.

Lyra’s lips curved faintly despite the bruises on her cheek. “It dulls the flow,” she admitted softly. “But it does not silence it.”

Somewhere beyond the heavy door, armored boots scraped across stone. A guard laughed—harsh, careless.

Lyra and Allisa yanking at their bindings a little rougher now, each movement caused their ample chests to sway from side to side. "Gah!" Lyra exhaled. "These bindings are stronger than expected." Her voice rattled, as she gazes over at Allisa, who is nodding back at her.

"We're going to have to find a different way out of these chains..." Allisa sighed softly.