The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis

It was almost funny, if you didn't count the part where I couldn't breathe.

They had it down to a rhythm now—tilt the head, pour the water, pause just long enough to make me choke on hope, then start all over again. The cloth over my face clung tighter with each round, muffling my gasps, twisting my lungs against themselves. One of them had learned the trick of pouring just warm enough water to make the body think it was safe—no shock, just the kind of heat that dragged memories to the surface like bloated corpses.

I counted each pour in my head. Not because I couldn't break free. But rather because I wanted to know exactly how far I could go before I broke.

The Third Prince was watching from the edge of the chamber, his arms crossed in front of his chest, and a lazy sneer carved across his face. The torchlight flickered over the damp stone walls, dancing across the damp curves of the iron table I was strapped to. There was no rush in him. No urgency. Just a man playing god with borrowed lightning.

He thought this was the beginning of my end.

I took another mouthful of water through clenched teeth and let it burn down my throat.

He gave a signal, and the cloth was yanked away. I coughed—once, sharp, theatrical—then tilted my head toward him and smiled.

"It's clear that you've never accidentally waterboarded yourself washing your hair upside down in order to get some good curl definition," I rasped. "You should try it sometime. I highly recommend it."

The nearest guard flinched. The other one just stared.

Zhu Lianhua blinked. Then his mouth twisted. "You're mocking me."

"Obviously."

"You're strapped to a table."

"Tables don't concern me."

"I could have your tongue cut out."

"Would that stop me from thinking you're pathetic?" I let my head fall back against the metal with a soft clink. "No. But you're welcome to try."

His eyes narrowed. "You think this is funny? You think I won't go further?"

"I want you to go further," I said sweetly, a bright smile on my face. "Go ahead. Pull some more nails. Break a bone or two. Let's see what happens when you find out the stories are true."

I didn't need to fake the shiver in my body—that part was real. Cold water seeped into the thin fabric clinging to my skin. My arms, stretched above my head, had long since gone numb. But I didn't heal. I wouldn't. Not yet. Let him believe he had control.

Let him hang himself with it.

He came closer this time, holding a thin blade in his hand—something curved and ornamental. Not meant for killing. Meant for cruelty.

"People say you killed an entire army," he murmured, brushing the blade along my cheek. "That your black mist devours men whole. But I don't see it. All I see is a spoiled little whore with a Shadow Guard and a mouth that's going to get her killed."

His blade dug in.

The cut ran shallow at first, then deepened, tracing a line just below my cheekbone on the other side of my face from his first cut. Like before, it wasn't enough to kill. Just enough to scar.

"There," he said with smug satisfaction. "Let's see you flirt your way out of that. You won't have so many men hanging on your every word if they can't stand to look at you."

The blood was warm as it slid down my face. I let it. Let it pool under my chin and soak the collar of my robes. He wanted ugly? Fine. He wanted damage? I'd gift-wrap it.

One of the guards stepped forward with a metal rod—heated just enough to sting. I barely glanced at him.

"You're wasting your time," I said evenly. "I've been through worse with a sewing needle and a full moon."

"I told you to scream," Zhu Lianhua hissed, his eyes flashing.

"I don't take requests."

The rod came down, pressed against the soft skin of my side, just under the ribs. A hiss, a puff of smoke, the scent of burnt flesh. My jaw tightened. But I didn't cry out.

He was unraveling. I saw it in the twitch of his eye, the way his voice shook when he ordered another blow. His expectations were breaking apart. I wasn't the Zhao Xinying he had built in his head—the shadowy figure in his nightmares who smirked behind fans and poisoned noble sons. No. This was something else. Something worse.

"You should be begging," he muttered, pacing in front of me. "You should be crying, pleading for me to stop."

I opened one eye and smiled through blood-slicked teeth. "You really don't understand me at all."

Then, he lost it.

He lunged forward and drove the blade into my thigh—deep enough that I gasped. That one hurt. Good. A tremor shook through me, but I forced myself to laugh. A low, cracked sound that echoed off the stone walls and turned the torchlight sour.

"I let you take me," I whispered, the grin back on my face. "And like a good little puppet, you do everything that you are told to do."

He froze.

I let the words hang, soft and cruel.

"I let you have me, Zhu Lianhua. Because I needed a moment like this. Because you only show your cards when you think you've won. And I needed to see the full hand."

"Liar."

"I could have snapped your neck back in the village… before they took you out of that cage," I purred, tilting my head to the side as I smiled wider. "But where's the fun in that?"

He slapped me hard across the mouth. I tasted copper and let it run down my chin.

"I'm going to break you," he snarled.

"You'd have to reach me first."

He stormed away then, barking orders to the guards. The next round came fast—another cut, a cracked rib, a whisper of flame against my skin. My body screamed in silence, muscles locking tight, every nerve alive and singing with pain. But I didn't give him the sound he wanted.

Not a whimper.

Not a sob.

Just silence.

Then came the water.

The cloth was slapped back over my face, and the rhythm resumed. Pour. Gasp. Choke. Pause. Pour again.

But this time, as the world blurred into black and pain, I counted something different.

The seconds it would take to melt the chains.

The power was already building beneath my skin—soft and glowing like an ember tucked under the ribs. It would be so easy to let it loose. But not yet.

Not until he whispered what I needed to hear.

Not until he saw me rise from this table, drenched in blood and fury.

They thought they were breaking me.

But I was just creating their own cages...one pour at a time.