Enoch bolted out of bed; a scream caught in his throat. He gasped for breath. Drenched in cold sweat. Again, the same nightmare: dank smell of a dirty dungeon, the clanking of iron chains, scars from leg irons, and the squeaking of rats. It had haunted him for years. He hadn't had the nightmare for almost three months, but tonight it struck again. It had been almost thirty years since he escaped that hell. Still, it was with him every day.

Questions of why he trusted that woman he had just met often crossed his mind. Why did she lead him into danger? He was a prince, and had many suitors lined up for him since his return home. Still he had not touched a woman, nor allowed one to touch him. The company of other men did not please him in the slightest.

He had been a prisoner of war for eight months. In that time, he was beaten and tortured daily. In hopes that he would tell the secrets of his kingdom. He had been a child at the time, he knew not of any secrets. He was beaten for withholding secrets. His fingernails pulled out when he made up secrets. The first time he tried to escape his leg was broken. It never healed correctly and he still walks with a limp all these years later.

He'd be haunted until his death. The pain would remain with him. He would never be able to shake it. For now he splashes some water on his face and stares out into the night. For now the moon would give him some level of calm.