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Yet the familiarity, the similarity, gave me a strange sense of comfort.
Our shared mark seemed to suggest a connection, a bond, although I wasn’t sure of its origin or meaning.
The hum of the prison faded away as I took in the details: the curve of its beak, the spread of its wings, and the way the green hues danced on his blue skin.
It looked so alive, so vibrant, that I could almost hear its song, feel the gentle rustle of its feathers.
The tattoo seemed to radiate warmth, and the tension in my shoulders started to ebb away.
It wasn’t just the tattoo; it was Ashale’s calm demeanor and the protective stance he assumed.
My ears, still sensitive from the earlier chaos, could pick up the thudding of his heartbeat, strong and steady.
Taking a deep breath, I finally placed my hand in his.
His grip was firm, reassuring, and his palm was rough against my smooth skin, grounding me.
As we made our way out of the cell, the curious eyes of a gathered crowd bore into us.
I could feel their stares, some in awe, some in disdain.
The floor seemed to hum with tension, but with Ashale by my side, the oppressive atmosphere became more bearable.
We walked in silence, the only sound being our synchronized footsteps echoing through the corridors.
Every so often, my senses would pick up the murmurs from the crowd, the soft shuffle of feet, or the distant hum of machinery.
But all those were in the background, overshadowed by the comforting sensation of Ashale’s hand holding mine, guiding me.
Our journey took us away from the heart of the prison, and into quieter dimly lit corridors.
The heavy whiff of oil and machinery was replaced by a fresher, cooler aroma.
I realized we were approaching the outer areas, closer to the open sky.
Stopping at a large, vault-like door, Ashale released my hand and placed his hand on a pad beside it.
The door hissed open.
Ashale’s cell was nothing like Sneik’s sparse, unsettling domain.
As we stepped in, I was immediately bathed in warm, ambient light that seemed to seep through intricate etchings on the walls.
My eyes danced from one side to the other, trying to drink in the array of colors, patterns, and subjects that painted the room.
The first thing I noticed was the incredible artwork.
They weren’t just framed pictures or drawings but seemed as though they had been tattooed right onto the walls.
Exquisite designs of alien animals, some fierce, some serene, adorned the space.
Their eyes, some large and gentle, others sharp and predatory, seemed to peer into my soul.
The designs almost moved, exuding life and emotion.
The artwork smelled of rich, earthy pigments, similar to the ink used for tattoos.
Then there were the stacks of books and magazines.
