“What is 2+2?” 

“Ahh… ha… four.” 

The pressure that came over Rickard from the response was immediate and harsh. It was a crushing step that fell upon his leg, the boot of Dalia pressing down until there was a snap and a scream echoed out through the room. Moments later there was a healing warmth that surged through him and the tiny limb was just as it had been before. Rickard was gasping and panting from his place on the floor. 

“Tsk. How long have we been at this, little Rose? Two weeks now? Yet still you seem unable to grasp basic addition. 2+2=5.” Dalia boomed from on high. 

Rickard was splayed out upon the tiled floor of Dalia’s room, his limbs tied down with pieces of sticky tape adhered to the floor. Since he had entered Dalia’s tender love and care he had seen two places. The inside of her boots and this floor. Those were the only two places he had managed to see in his time. He had no idea what was happening in the world beyond this one. He hadn’t seen anyone else. Only Dalia. Only this dark haired tormenter. 

She paced over to a table nearby and lifted a cup of water to her lips, taking a little drink. Ah, what he wouldn’t give for something to drink. He eyed her with envy as she sated her thirst, the Prince finding himself being worn down from the weeks of constant and unending torment from Dalia. He knew. He knew what this was all for. Logically he understood what Dalia was trying to do. What Nalista wanted her to do. Even logically understanding that it did little to help him though the days. 

“Thirsty?” She asked. “I can’t well have you dying of thirst on me I suppose. Her grace would be terribly disappointed.” 

Her booming steps came back over and she took a drink of her water again before leaning over where he was. Her lips parted and sent a constant dribble of saliva mixed with water down upon him. The water falling from such a high distance struck him harshly in the head, black spots dancing before his eyes as the liquid smashed into him. He found it impossible to breathe as well without inhaling the water which he also did. By the time he was done he was coughing and sputtering, wheezing as his body was covered in water mixed with her saliva. 

“Not to your tastes? Perhaps you prefer my sweat after a long day of walking after all. Fitting for a worthless animal.” She sneered. 

Rickard vastly preferred the patronizing of Nalista and her friend. This was just a constant stream of abusive torture. Her boot lifted up and was placed over an arm this time, it hovered there, the massive thing now very much an instrument that saw him flinch out of reflex when it came near him. It always came with that question. That terrible terrible question that he wished she would stop asking him. 

“What is 2+2?” 

“F-Four! It's four!” He cried out, trailing off into a pained squeal as she broke his arm as easily as she would a twig and healed it moments later as she always did. 

So many times. So many times he had almost said five. His mind went through the mental gymnastics to try and rationalize something so very basic and fundamental being not true. That 2+2 didn’t equal 4. Because Dalia said it equaled 5. She always told him the correct answer afterward. Always without fail in some manner. Giving him the cheat sheet to stop the pain but to answer that. To give in like that. It meant she could make him say anything. 

“Five. Like the five toes you’re trapped with on a daily basis. The five toes you have to lick moisture from in a vain attempt at self sufficient survival. Picture them in your head, I’m sure that will help you answer it correctly.” Dalia said with a sneer. 

She lifted her leg back and reached back, tugging off one of her boots and tossing it aside. Once she did she hovered her pale and flawless bare foot above him, flexing and curling toes slightly marred with the faintest bits of sweat. She wrinkled her nose as she looked down at him through splayed digits. 

“See? Lets help you count shall we?” 

“P-please… no more…” Rickard managed to wheeze. 

“One…” Her big toe pressed down on an arm and with the slightest pressure there was a crack before she lifted it back up. “Two.” Her second toe broke his other arm, Rickard’s world becoming nothing but absolute and sheer agony. He couldn’t even pass out from shock due to her spells placed on him. “Three. Four.” Her third and fourth toes moved dexterously to crush both his legs next. “Five.” She tapped his head with her pinkie toe, not crushing it but causing it to smack into the floor. 

“Isn’t counting fun, little Rose? Teaching math to animals can be so very difficult at times.” She remarked as she snapped her fingers. 

A healing warmth washed over Rickard again, tears springing to his eyes as the warmth mended his broken limbs and rendered him whole again. Gods it was so terrible. He just wanted to go somewhere far away. Somewhere this woman wasn’t. Somewhere in his head where he could just escape to. In the darkest depths of his mind, he wanted to go back to Nalista. She engaged with him to some degree at least. When it amused her. 

She tapped her finger along her thigh as she seemed to be pondering something, her eyes calculating behind those glasses of hers. Finally a smirk essayed its way across her lips. She snapped her fingers and spoke a series of words he wasn’t familiar with. He felt another warmth for a moment before it was gone. 

“W-what was… was that?” He gasped. 

“A spell to keep you nice and alert. I use it on myself at times when I need to work tirelessly for her grace. I’ve heard you disgusting little animals need a full eight hours of sleep every night. We elves can last days without it and not notice an issue, moreso with the help of magic keeping us alert. It's why we can catch your armies.” Dalia remarked as she reached down. 

A well manicured nail scraped the sticky tape from his limbs painfully before she held his limp and pale form up between her fingers by the arm. He was before her rather lovely and beautiful face. It was hard to believe such a face hid a creature capable of depths of cruelty even the torture masters of Albar would balk at. A woman with centuries to master a particular craft she seemed to enjoy. 

“We’ll be marching tomorrow. Will be quite a long trip and I need to be awake and alert. So you of course have to remain awake and alert. You won’t be able to sleep a wink. No matter how hard you try. Until I remove that spell you will be awake. Aware.” She reached down with her free hand and pulled up her discarded boot. The dark haired elf held it under Rickard as understanding filled his eyes. 

“W-wait, yo-you can’t!” He protested. He had never actually heard of what happened when one went without sleep but it couldn’t be healthy. 

“I can do whatever I want, you disgusting worthless thing. Any elf can do what they want to you. Now, enjoy your proper place.” She dropped him inside. 

Rickard landed upon the rather plush insole of Dalia’s boot. He rose up and looked up just in time to see her sliding her foot down inside. He ran toward the section where there were imprints of her toes worn into the boot. The inside smelled faintly of leather mixed with sweat from a day of work. The dark haired woman served the Grand General with a religious zeal, tireless in her labor. Her labor now included breaking him for her. Her massive toes slid in place, Rickard only left with a slight spot of freedom. He knew he was relatively safe from being crushed underfoot unknowingly. Dalia generally ensured he had protective charms to prevent that. A very cruel mercy. 

The first day was not terrible. No more so than usual in any event. Rickard found himself caught in a constant motion machine of misery, her steps bouncing him around until he slid under her toes. Where his role often became fidget toy for the massive digits. The dark haired prince was of course quite tired by the end of it but as she had stated, there was no sleep. No escape in the land of dreams. He was awake and aware at all times. 

When she got on the road to march it was worse. There were very few rests. Simply him trapped in her boot and often trampled endlessly. The only moments he had of peace were when she took her feet from within her boots and massaged them for a bit or gave them some fresh air. Time was slowly, very slowly becoming harder to track over the course of those days. He could occasionally get glimpses of outside but they didn’t tell him how many days were passing. 

It was no doubt a number of days in when his mind started to mess with him. He could swear he could hear her voice. Whispering. 2+2=5. 2+2=5. 2+2=5. He would hear it when there was no way she was saying it. He would hear it in her voice. He would hear it in Nalista’s voice. Then, he would hear it in his own voice and he lifted his hand to his mouth. He didn’t think he had said it but what if he had? No, there was no way he had said it. 

Time became a soup. A soup where he couldn’t understand anything. He couldn’t retain much. He barely remembered times when Dalia removed her foot now. She had done so no doubt many times, water occasionally was poured down her foot and into her boot and he had to drink it off her toes. Crumbs lingering between her toes. These were times when she had not been walking but it was all a blur. 

His mind was becoming a slurry, a melted slurry where reason didn’t matter and logic didn’t matter. He couldn’t form thoughts without knowing if they were his own. It was insanity in its purest form. He couldn’t sleep, he tried to force it but it wasn’t possible. It wasn’t something he could do. 

Over and over it went on and on, his eyes seeing things that couldn’t be real. The crushed form of his brother beneath one of Dalia’s toes. The eyeless and tongueless face of that healer girl long ago that he had condemned, sneering at him. He curled up into a ball at times and just held his hands over his ears and closed his eyes, whimpering as it did nothing to stop the carnival of horrors. It did nothing to stop the hold Dalia had over his brain. 

He had shut down mentally in a number of ways. Before he was hesitant to eat and drink in the ways that Dalia forced upon him, now it was automatic. Now it was just something he prepared his body for whenever water cascaded down those toes. Whenever he spied crumbs of food between her toes. It was instinct by this point as he worked and functioned more in the manner of an animal like Dalia had called him. Over and over again. She had called him an animal. A thing. Worthless. Small. 

“Worthless Animal. Little Rose. Small Stupid Human.” He caught himself saying. Did he say it? Did it matter? 

The Prince watched Dalia pull her foot out at one point and then gravity shifted. The air rushed around him as he found himself falling through the air and he eventually landed in her open palm. The dark haired woman gazed down at his dirty, ragged, and absolutely tired form. Eyes half mad from sleep deprivation. He in turn looked up at her and felt fear lance through his heart at the cold orbs behind the glasses judging him, assessing him. 

“Tell me… what is 2+2?” She asked simply. 

“Five.” 

His lips moved and spoke it on instinct. Impulse. Without thinking. And on some level he must have realized that because his eyes went comically wide. He felt something flood his veins. A sense of some form of loss. A crushing sense of despair. 

“Good boy. Now. Sleep.” She snapped her fingers. The instant she did the world went dark as his body simply shut down.