Out of the Burning
"My lady?"
(A familiar voice)
Shelley looks up from the bare patch of wall her eyes had been focused on for the past... she couldn't say how long. The vestiges of the Compulsion prevented her from trying to get out, and in any case, the door was still locked. She feels... empty from crying. Loira had sat with her, talking brightly about the gardens and grounds in an effort to cheer her up. It had taken all her will not to scream he's killed them all, just for following me and he's got me again after I thought I was safe, I don't care!
"My lady- Lord Ishamael has requested that you come to dinner."
The woman is carrying a black dress - all the dresses he gives her are black, so is the one she is wearing now - and holds it up to the light with a small smile.
"He told me to bring you this - would you like some help dressing?"
But Shelley is staring at the garment extended to her. She recognises that, the dress from the birthday she had preferred to forget.
He kept it. He- why did he keep that?
DA
Numbly she takes it, shaking her head. She could refuse to wear it. And... what? She was already wearing something chosen by him. Doubtful he would mention it to her, but for not convincing her... Shelley glances up at the woman, her kind but distanced gaze.
"I won't be long."
The woman nods and curtsies again before leaving her to change. Shelley swallows back tears for what feels like the hundredth time, before hastily undoing her sash before she can begin sobbing again. If they are dead, Elan will pay somehow. If not... crying is no way to help them.
She drapes the discarded garment over a chair, reaching up to adjust the pins holding her hair up - a new style she had never come across before - then pulls the more elegant dress over her head, buttoning it with surprising ease considering how long it had been since she had worn it.
(I will teach them all)
Smoothing the warm material over her hips, she turns reluctantly for the door. She only just places her hand on the handle before the warmth of the dress abruptly becomes heat. Weaves of blue flame unravel and interlink inwards, burning with vicious speed through to her body. The girl screams, collapsing as the firetrap intensifies in unimaginable agony, flames still burning even under her as the pain builds and builds until she can't
take it
any-
(That would teach Ishamael)
(A familiar voice)
Shelley looks up from the bare patch of wall her eyes had been focused on for the past... she couldn't say how long. The vestiges of the Compulsion prevented her from trying to get out, and in any case, the door was still locked. She feels... empty from crying. Loira had sat with her, talking brightly about the gardens and grounds in an effort to cheer her up. It had taken all her will not to scream he's killed them all, just for following me and he's got me again after I thought I was safe, I don't care!
"My lady- Lord Ishamael has requested that you come to dinner."
The woman is carrying a black dress - all the dresses he gives her are black, so is the one she is wearing now - and holds it up to the light with a small smile.
"He told me to bring you this - would you like some help dressing?"
But Shelley is staring at the garment extended to her. She recognises that, the dress from the birthday she had preferred to forget.
He kept it. He- why did he keep that?
DA
Numbly she takes it, shaking her head. She could refuse to wear it. And... what? She was already wearing something chosen by him. Doubtful he would mention it to her, but for not convincing her... Shelley glances up at the woman, her kind but distanced gaze.
"I won't be long."
The woman nods and curtsies again before leaving her to change. Shelley swallows back tears for what feels like the hundredth time, before hastily undoing her sash before she can begin sobbing again. If they are dead, Elan will pay somehow. If not... crying is no way to help them.
She drapes the discarded garment over a chair, reaching up to adjust the pins holding her hair up - a new style she had never come across before - then pulls the more elegant dress over her head, buttoning it with surprising ease considering how long it had been since she had worn it.
(I will teach them all)
Smoothing the warm material over her hips, she turns reluctantly for the door. She only just places her hand on the handle before the warmth of the dress abruptly becomes heat. Weaves of blue flame unravel and interlink inwards, burning with vicious speed through to her body. The girl screams, collapsing as the firetrap intensifies in unimaginable agony, flames still burning even under her as the pain builds and builds until she can't
take it
any-
(That would teach Ishamael)