The chains were added after the first escape attempt. She had managed to rip out her fingernails. They’d grown long and unclean, sharp talons that could take a man’s eye out with a single scratch. Her teeth, rotted and falling from her head, were still strong enough to rip and tear the nails from their soft beds of flesh. With these tools she had forced the lock, the blood from her hands acting as a lubricant.

They found her a mile away on the riverbank raving and insensible. Her hands no more than claws, blood streaked across the white cotton of her winding sheet. There wasn’t much left of her by then. Shrunken and skeletal, a wraith not part of this world, not yet fit for the next.

At night they heard her moving, the whisper and rasp of fabric hardened with bodily fluids and embalming oils. Her voice had left her long ago, vocal chords rotted and snapped. What came from her throat was choked and shattering. Many fled, terrified. Countless mornings the post would be found abandoned.

The chains were heavy, forge strengthened, sometimes she would throw herself at the door and the chains would rattle and ring. To prevent this they doused the heavy steel in holy water. Bathing it with blessings. A scab of rust steadily grew, locking the links into place. Her movements grew weaker. In the early days she had paced the cell, shrieking obscenities and taunting her watchers. Now, she lay in the shadows, too weak to stand. The body that had once thrilled men was now bloated, oozing sores and pus. The embalmer had done an imperfect job. What should have remained pure was now tainted.

So the watchers waited, knowing that it was just a matter of time.

Inspired by Dracula@home by extranoise.

Also playing this week are the Gurrier, teaandcakes and Chris.