7. Belle
Belle
Irage against the wooden doors of my prison, my fists bruised and numb.
To think, just hours before I stumbled into this room, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed as I gawked at the riches around me.
Who did I think I was—a fucking cartoon princess?
The Pans bought me, hiring pirates to steal me from Earth, and carried me off to their mythical land of douchebaggery.
Of course they didn’t bring me here to sit pretty and gaze out upon the gardens.
I was blinded, attributing the grandeur to civility.
I’d be better off back at home, fighting for freedom in some human trafficking ring.
Not that I want to compare one trauma to the next, but my situation feels much more hopeless.
I’m in another world with rules I don’t know, stripped of even my human power, and forced to be the plaything of some fucked up sibling rivalry.
I pause my outburst. It’s no use anyway.
Even if I could get through the locked doors, the guards—or Shadows as Pan called them—would just fling me back.
Another woman might curl into herself, accept defeat, and wallow in self-pity for a moment.
I’m tired enough to do so, but my mind won’t let me.
I’ve lived enough fucked up situations to figure a way out automatically.
I glance around my room, noticing the bowl of fresh fruit at the table in the corner.
A kettle sits next to it with what I assume is hot water.
It could be poison, punishment for my outburst, but if they want me pregnant with their heir, that idea wouldn’t make sense.
The room confuses me even more with my newly wilted rose colored glasses—a vanity adorned with perfume and powders, a boudoir overflowing with silk dresses, enough pillows on the bed to constitute as a ball pit—why not just lock me in a cage?
It seems easier that way. I bet that the illusion of luxury is just a cog in the mind-stretcher they’ve strapped me in.
I feel my chest, searching for the knife I stole from the dinner table.
Now that I look at it closely, it resembles more of a dagger.
Of course, the Pans would eat their food with weapons.
They’re evil villains after all. I don’t know why I snatched it.
It’s not like I can defend myself while wearing the stupid Darling, but wrapping my hands around the hilt calms me some, making me feel less helpless.
The closed window shakes with my pounding footsteps, catching my attention.
Perhaps I can’t put up a fight, but I won’t need to if they can’t find me.
Pan mentioned I wouldn’t be able to leave the property, but maybe there’s a crack in the barrier.
It’s stupidly wishful, but I can’t sit idly.
I attempt to open the window, but of course, it’s locked.
I shove the blade of the dagger into the crack, shimming it until the sweet sound of the lock releasing greets my ears.
The thick night sounds around me, and below, trees dance in the breeze.
Vines crawl along the stone walls, offering hope that I’ll be able to scale the three flights.
I bunch up my skirts and fling my leg over the side, a small dose of relief washing through me as I take hold of the meaty plants at my side—they should support my weight.
This won’t be my first time climbing from a high window, desperate for my life, but I’ve never done so wearing a fucking ballgown and a magical collar that could halt me in place.
With each shaking inch downward, my nerves lighten.
I worried the Darling wouldn’t let me exit through my window.
Perhaps I can trick my binds. I stuff away the idea for another moment, one where I’m not a finger slip away from death.
I’m a jittery, sweaty mess once my kitten-heeled feet meet the ground, and I nearly vomit as I glance up at the distance I descended.
I only give myself a few moments to compose myself before flashing toward the garden around me.
Starlight twinkles over dewy leaves, strips of brush lead to tranquil seating areas, and trickling fountains are arranged throughout.
It’s so fucking perfect that it makes me want to destroy everything in sight, if only to prove I can, but there’s no time for my tantrum.
My energy already wanes from my useless fights with the wooden doors and the pea-brain muscles that threw me into my room.
I rush toward the stone wall at the end of the property.
My search begins on the ground, looking for a hole I can make wider to push myself through.
Perhaps some form of Neverhaven vermin made a dent in the barrier.
My heart soars as I find a rock misplaced.
I take out my dagger, a surge of energy barreling through me as I use all my force to drive the weapon into the hole.
I’m thrown backward, as swiftly as my momentum to the wall, and I’m left lying on my back, staring up at the twinkling night that I swear looks like the eyes of the gods laughing at me. Stupid. Fucking. Darling.
I vibrate with pathetic sobs—reality finally washing over me.
I have no plans to move. Does the Darling hold tracking magic?
Would they think to look for me under the brush?
There’s only one way to find out, and I plan to go as long as I can, hiding in the garden, if anything, to gain some peace and allow myself the long-overdue sorrow.
I roll to my side, making myself comfortable for the night—thankful I’ve been conditioned to primitive sleeping environments.
There were plenty of foster homes that made outside living far more desirable, and I ended up “camping” on most nights.
I don’t need fluffy comforters or lavender-scented soap.
The Pans think they can torment me into compliance, but they don’t know how far I’ll go for my freedom.
Something rustles in the bush next to me, and I scream, jolting upward before folding into myself.
I may be used to roughing it, but I’ve always been a little bitch when it comes to jump scares.
I strain my eyes against the darkness, my heart beating as I wait to see what beast emerges from the shaking bush just a few feet in front of me.
A furry animal crawls out, stopping once its beady eyes meet mine.
I don’t move. Raccoons aren’t to be fucked with on Earth.
Sure, it’s cute, but I don’t know if it has rabies or some worse Neverhaven equivalent.
“What the fuck?” I whisper as I examine the fluffy gray and black creature. It’s almost exactly the same as an Earth raccoon except tiny antlers stick out from its head. He sits on his hind legs, licking his paws and blinking.
“Why do you have antlers?” I whisper.
I swear it shrugs.
I yelp, pulling back. “Did you just understand me?”
It gives me a blank stare.
“Okay, maybe I’m just going crazy.” I unravel a thought. “If anything, your ridiculous appearance may just prove how crazy all of this is. I’m probably mouth breathing in some hospital bed in the city, completely comatose while my mind makes up the most ridiculous reality.”
The raccoon just stares.
“Not that that makes me feel any better.”
He tilts his head. He should be running away by now. He should be afraid of me, but obviously, he’s not a normal raccoon.
“Seriously, though. Who thought you up? Why do you need antlers? There’s no evolutionary reason why you’d need those things. Well, as far as I know…”
The raccoon steps closer, and I tense. Perhaps the antlers are for impaling their oblivious victims. Wouldn’t it be just my luck that instead of being killed by my captors, death comes to me in the form of an adorable, horned woodland creature?
He stalks closer, giving me plenty of time to stand and retreat, but I don’t move.
I’m probably just depressed, but the thought of the Pans finding me in the garden, impaled by a raccoon, fills me with a unique type of glee—their prized collectible so easily lost. Of course, that thought lasts only a moment, because my innate drive to survive is the only instinct that has kept me alive through the years.
I scramble backward, and the raccoon halts, giving me an apologetic look—as much so as an animal can provide.
“What do you want?” I whisper, genuinely intrigued.
He backs away carefully, pushing himself into the shadows from which he came. Once he’s disappeared, I’m mildly disappointed. He’s obviously not dangerous, and I could really use some sort of friendly company right now.
He pops from the bushes again, this time carrying a tiny green rose in his mouth. He drops it in front of me before scurrying backward.
I slowly pick up the flower, examining it, and find the bumps where the thorns used to be.
“Are you giving me a flower?” I whisper, too embarrassed by my assumption, even if we are alone.
When am I going to stop trying to believe I’m a cartoon princess stuck in a storybook and instead accept my grim fate?
The raccoon stands on its hind legs and rubs its tiny black paws together before giving me a nod. I laugh. The sound sickly and foreign in my throat, but clearing the gray fog occupying my body. I stiffen. “Wait. Are these poisonous?”
The raccoon shakes his head. I shouldn’t believe an animal, especially a mythical one in a realm of nightmares, but I have too much to worry about already.
I’ll take the offer of friendship, mostly because I’m too tired to think rationally.
I yawn, settle into the thick grass, place the emerald rose in front of me, and watch as the racoon crawls closer.
He makes small circles before cozying up next to me.
I chuckle. It’s so fucking stupid, but I can’t reject it.
Instead I let my eyes blink shut, the noisy night lulling me to sleep next to my new annoyingly adorable furry friend.