10. TEN
TEN
CAGED BENEATH STARS
I tossed and turned, haunted by phantom images of Donte and my family. They were so vivid I almost believed I could reach out and embrace them. Voices spoke, but I couldn't understand the words. I felt the fleeting touch of hands as I stumbled along a misty land of light and shadow.
I awoke among luxurious silken sheets and ruffled down covers that cloaked me in veils of white and gold. Cradled in a soft nest of pillows, I stared around in confusion. This wasn't my room. The memory of falling asleep eluded me. Had the night already passed?
Then it hit me—this was no dream. I was very much awake. Unlike a nightmare whose images faded, no amount of blinking would banish the walls of the room that rose solidly around me.
I remembered speaking to Seraphina, but everything else had faded into blankness.
Gazing at the ethereal light filtering into the room, I watched golden motes dance in the air.
A warm, fragrant breeze wafted in from the French doors.
Roses. Their perfume filled me with pangs of longing.
Gurgling water accompanied the serenade of birdsong, and somewhere in the distance, wind chimes tinkled.
Memories of my abduction began to surface.
I was in Seraphina's room, trapped in a situation from which I could see no escape.
I tried to take comfort in her words, but taking comfort from someone who lived under the same roof as my captors felt dangerously na?ve.
According to Seraphina, my fate was to be no different from hers.
What was I supposed to do? Choose someone I didn't know to become.
.. what? What would happen if I refused to choose one of them? Would I die, or worse?
The world beyond these walls called to me.
My thoughts turned to the Gatemen, stirring a fear far deeper than any I'd felt during my abduction. They had appeared out of nowhere in the forest, violent and otherworldly like the Elysium brothers and yet I wasn’t sure they were the worst threat of the two.
I could only imagine who they were and the kind of world they called home.
The Gatemen seemed to have appeared with the intention of helping me, but how could I be sure what they really wanted?
After all, Cillian and the others had warned me that the Gatemen weren't to be trusted but of course they would say that, wouldn't they? There was so much I didn't know and so many answers I didn't have. I knew only one thing for sure: I had to find a way to escape.
My temples throbbed. So many things ran through my mind, and despite myself, I couldn't stem my rising anxiety.
Though Cillian and Seraphina claimed to protect me, their protection felt like captivity.
A part of me knew this wasn't as reassuring as I wanted it to be.
They may have been less cruel than the others, but they were still holding me here against my will, still demanding I make a decision that would have consequences I was unaware of .
The more I dwelled on it, the more I understood that I was a pawn in a game I didn't understand, and whichever choice I was forced to make would inevitably come at my surrender.
With this realization, a fierce urge to escape ignited within me.
A part of me was determined to get out of this, go home, and forget any of it ever happened.
Without waiting for my resolve to falter, I swung my legs off the bed and stood.
The lovely white eyelet empire nightgown left out for me by Seraphina rustled softly against my skin.
The message was clear: they controlled everything, even down to what I wore.
Seeking something familiar, my fingers found the golden rose clasp in my hair, still firmly gripping my artfully twisted plait.
Slipping into white lace slippers, I hurried to the bathroom and faced my reflection. The girl staring back held herself differently—more regally, yet with a hint of defiance in her eyes. She looked like someone they had dressed for a ceremony, but I knew better.
I wasn’t their bride.
I was their prisoner.
As my hands traced the satin bow at the bodice of the gown, a thought struck me.
I could take it off, reject their control completely.
But then what? Parade around this place without a stitch on.
That seemed like the least of my concerns right now, and admittedly, this was the most beautiful garment I'd ever worn.
Noticing a crystal perfume decanter topped with a rose stopper, I dabbed some of the fragrance on my wrists.
Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, letting the scent transport me back to my mother's garden, to days filled with her songs and the rustling of flowers.
Tears welled up, but I forced them back.
Today was not a day for self-pity. It was a day for seeking answers.
I left the bathroom quickly, before my tears could betray me.
The way I was being dressed and pampered.
This wasn't just about making me feel pretty.
It was part of their manipulation, a way to keep me docile.
"No," I told myself firmly, shaking off the image that threatened to cage me as effectively as the walls around me.
Fearing what I might discover but needing to know, I approached the door with hesitant steps.
The thought of finding it locked was terrifying—it threatened to break whatever spirit I had left.
But I needed to confront this reality. I needed to know how far they’d go to keep me here.
As my hand touched the knob, a part of me hoped desperately for it to turn, to open a path to freedom.
But it was as I feared, the door was firmly locked. I twisted and shook the knob as hard as I could, hoping it might give way, but it held fast. In frustration, I kicked the door, releasing some of the pent-up emotions boiling inside me. Pain shot through my foot instantly.
“Ow—shit!” I hissed, hopping once on my other leg as the sting pulsed through my toes.
“Ouch, ouch—bloody hell…”
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “How na?ve to think they’d simply let me walk out,” I murmured. The realization that I was indeed a prisoner was crushing, yet it sparked a stubborn flame within me. At least now I was certain of my captivity. My heart raced as I considered my next move.
I retreated from the door and began pacing the room, restless and anxious.
How long would they keep me here? The thought of just waiting to be called upon or worse, forgotten was terrifying.
I had no art supplies to distract me, nothing familiar or comforting.
Would I just wither away in this gilded cage, a prisoner dressed in a beautiful gown meant to appease me?
As I paced, I strained to hear any signs of life outside my room. Silence. Each minute stretched endlessly. My thoughts raced, how would I get out of this? What could I possibly do against people who seemed to wield magic and control at their fingertips ?
Not ready to surrender to despair, I walked to the French doors, which had been left slightly ajar.
Stepping onto the balcony, the sunshine washed over me, a stark contrast to the darkness of my thoughts.
The sky was a brilliant azure, and I breathed in deeply, trying to draw calm from the beauty of the day.
From here, the world seemed boundless, a cruel reminder of the freedom I lacked.
I watched birds soar effortlessly through the sky and envied their simple liberty.
The vastness above me was both an open invitation and a mocking taunt.
Donte had often spoken of the universe’s mysteries, of possibilities that stretched far beyond our understanding.
I remembered one chilly evening, walking home with him, our conversation drifting to the origins of existence.
“Life is such a mystery, don’t you think?” I’d said, gazing at the glittering constellations. “Where did everything begin? It must have started somewhere.”
Donte smiled. I loved how it lit up his handsome face. His warm cocoa eyes shone, and a chilly breeze rustled his thick chestnut hair. He grounded me in a way no one else ever had. With him, the world always felt a little less noisy.
“From a scientific perspective,” he’d said, “it’s generally believed that our origins stemmed from the Big Bang. It’s the most logical answer, science is based on facts and evidence, not myth or superstition.”
Curiosity piqued, I’d persisted. “If that were so, then what caused the Big Bang? What existed before it, and why did it happen? If that event had occurred by the hand of something greater, then for me, that’s evidence of a creator.”
He gently clasped my gloved hand. “Tilly, maybe there is a creator. I like to believe our souls attach us to an eternal force beyond what our physical senses can identify.”
“Me too.”
He’d tilted his head, studying me. “Is there a reason behind your questions? It’s almost as though you’re trying to find something. ”
I looked at him, wondering if I should answer. “I’m always looking for answers. Aren’t we all?” I squeezed his hand, grateful for the calm logic he brought to my world.
Yet such conversations felt a world away now, and I couldn’t stop wondering if there was some deeper connection I was yet to discover.
I slid down against the wall, wrapping my arms around my knees.
The gown felt cold against my skin now, the fabric no longer a novelty but a reminder of how out of place I was in this scenario.
I tried to keep my thoughts focused on plans and possibilities, but as the day wore on, they increasingly drifted to memories of home, of Donte, and of a life that felt heartbreakingly distant.
A knock at the door jolted me from my thoughts. Not loud. Just enough to remind me I wasn’t alone. Or free. This wasn’t the time for fear. I stood up, brushed down the fabric of my gown, and prepared for whoever was there.
Whatever came next, I’d face it standing.