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Amaya leans her head against the cell wall. She weakly scratches another tally mark on the wall with a rock. There’s no magic in it, it’s no gemstone, just a rock that had been left in the cell. She can’t know if each mark is actually a day. Maybe it’s more, maybe less. She can only guess based on when she sleeps and when she’s fed, but it’s not as if that’s consistent.
Two hundred and thirty seven.
Eight months.
That first month, every noise, every step had made her sit up with the hope that her friends were coming from her. Now she barely moves. She doesn’t know why they haven’t come from her. Maybe Opal wrapped his castle in so many spells that it’s impenetrable. Maybe the kingdoms are being besieged. Maybe the rebellion has fallen and chaos has won.
Maybe they just don’t need her anymore.
She tries not to think about that. The alternatives aren't any better though. Either she was a pawn and they all turned their backs on her, or they're suffering because she's not there to help them. Her fault or their fault, but it's all her fault for getting captured in the first place. She should've been better.
These days, Amaya mostly thinks about how her parents will react when they find out. Months on Gemworld wouldn’t even be a day on Earth. They won’t be worrying about her yet, at least not anymore than they do every time she runs off to Gemworld. And when they do realize something’s wrong, that she’s not coming back, what can they do? They don’t have magic. They’re not superheroes. They’re her normal, human parents.
They were always most worried by the fact that they couldn't reach her if something bad happened. She was off in another dimension, entirely closed off from them. She hadn't understood how that must've felt for them. She could teleport back and forth whenever she wanted. She can't now. She understands what it feels like to have your family entirely out of your reach. It's a knife twisting in your gut, never ending.
Maybe they’ll track down Zatanna or Doctor Fate or Wonder Woman and beg for their help, but how long will she have been here by then?
She’s been hollowed out to a shell. The movies don’t really tell you how torturous it is to be alone. No conversations, barely any sound. Opal had put her in the farthest, most isolated cell. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’s watching through magic, laughing and enjoying as she rots away. Eventually he’ll get tired of it and kill her. Put her head on a pike and put the pike outside his castle as a warning to everyone.
She thinks she’ll go insane before then. She already is, after all. She can’t remember when the voices started. Usually it’s her mom or her dad. She cries when the voices stop, begging them to come back. She knows it can’t really be her parents, but it’s like a warm blanket being wrapped around her only to be ripped away and for her to be shoved into the arctic.
She digs her fingers into her forearm. She pushes her nails in deep enough to draw blood. Her arms are littered with tiny, nail-sized scars. There are a few longer ones too, where she scratched across herself. It grounds her. When everything else feels like a nightmare that she’s slowly drifting through, the pain is real. As long as she can feel it, she’s real.
She can't decide if that's a good thing.