Chapter Two
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Francesca
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"What the hell?" I grumble from the side of the bed, the cold, hard floor brutal on my poor butt.
I drag myself up onto my knees, rubbing my tailbone as I do, before leaning my elbows on the bed.
Then I scream so loud my lungs might burst. Fear propels me to the corner of my room, where I continue to shriek with all my might.
No one is going to hear my screams. I'm all alone at home. That's my parents—I'm leaving to live off-grid, and all they had time for was an insanely pretentious birthday party before leaving for Madrid on business.
I should be grateful they're not going to miss me. Had it been one of my seven brothers fleeing civilization for the wilds of Alaska, they'd be crying their hearts out. Silver lining and all that.
The cleaning staff won't return until tomorrow morning. The numerous guards at the gate, protecting the house like a fortress, are too far away to hear me.
Since I can't multitask between screaming my insides out and investigating what the hell is going on, I reduce my screams to panicked whimpers.
Shaking, I reach out and flip on the main switch, flooding my room with light, just in case I'm imagining things.
Are my eyes actually seeing what I'm seeing?
No, I have to calm down and reassess the situation in my bed with a rational head.
So... actually, my bed is filled with green... trolls. Three in total, I think. There really are trolls in my bed—the kind I'd see in movies or read about in books, because that's the only place they could possibly exist.
Also, they're very much naked. And by "naked," I mean I can see everything, from their scarily ripped bodies, stacked together with nothing but boulders masquerading as muscle and thick, ropey veins, down to their.
.. my gosh, insanely ginormous cocks, which are, in fact, flaccid.
.. I think. But what do I know? Their green cocks, I reiterate silently for good measure.
They slowly stir awake, their grunts deep, guttural, and unnerving, like the slow rumble of thunder. Then they start to move, and it's as if there are literal mountains shifting around in my bed.
They seem loopy and disoriented, as if their bodies are made of green jelly. Yes, I can't get over the fact that they're green.
They keep toppling over each other as they try to raise themselves into a sitting position. What the hell?
Wait, I need to think clearly. If I'm one thing, it's practical—most of the time. Before I act, I need to make sure this is not a dream. I close my eyes and count to ten, but when I open them, the trolls are still there. I pinch myself, feel the pain, and confirm I'm awake, but they're still there.
Eventually, they roll off the bed with an ungraceful, catastrophic thud that seems to shake the whole house, dragging my linen with them and entangling their limbs in my luxurious sheets.
Okay, so this really is happening. There are now three mammoth trolls fighting with my mulberry silk bedding on the floor of my bedroom—and losing to the lustrous fabric. I still can't believe what I'm seeing.
After much production and exaggerated theatrics, they finally make it to their feet, wobbling all over the place, holding their heads in their massive hands, grunting like bears as if they have the world's biggest headaches.
My gosh, they must be at least eight feet—okay, maybe seven feet realistically. And their cocks... Nope, not going there. I drag my gaze back up to their faces.
I have no idea why, and I don't want to analyze it any further, but the instant my eyes land on their faces, my entire body heats up from the inside, my nipples harden, and a pulse between my legs starts to throb.
They are utterly terrifying to look at—harsh and angular, their jaws unbelievably structured and sharp, their lips full, their hair as dark as night, and intricately braided in places.
Their features are carved out of a... a beautiful nightmare, and I can't stop staring at them.
Umm, what's wrong with me?
They see me. Oh, fudge. I feel my panties dampen at once, and I immediately brush aside the feeling, replacing it with the utter terror I should be feeling.
Waves of startlement shimmer from their gold-orange, deep-set eyes before they repeatedly blink, as if they could blink me away.
Umm... they're startled? Imagine how I feel after being pushed off my bed in the middle of the night by three hulking ogres. And no amount of blinking made them magically disappear either; trust me, I tried.
They're coming toward me like overgrown, drunk, green toddlers, and in the process, they've already crushed my chair as one of them fell over it.
Another knocked over a crystal lamp, and the third bumped his head on the glass baubles from the chandelier hanging fashionably low from the ceiling.
He proceeded to try to attack the chandelier, but his hands flailed too much, and he couldn't quite catch it.
Crap. I'm still their target. The gap between us is growing smaller. They look as if they're hungry. Oh, double crap. Are they going to eat me?
No. I will not be eaten by trolls right before I have a whole life of freedom ahead of me. Not going to happen.
Then it dawns on me. This is a prank. A bloody prank.
It's either my brothers or cousins—or both—in cahoots trying to... what? Scare me? Where on earth did they get those costumes from? With penises. Eww.
"Haha, very funny. You got me. Now get out of my room. I need to sleep."
They don't immediately remove their masks now that their jig is up. Instead, I get more incoherent grunts.
"Fine," I say, "You want to play? Let's play. I'm going to make you eat these costumes."