Auntie!" My call was muffled beneath the mound of pillows and stuffed animals over my body. I was nine, and I was far too old to be acting in such a way, but being buried beneath the fluffy things made me feel a bit more secure as my mind continued its assault.

"Yes, Paragon," she replied with a voice that sounded like warm honey on a cold winter night. I felt the load of objects grow lighter until she plucked the oversized teddy bear from my head. I screwed my eyes shut to ward off the new light.

"Can you read me a story?" I asked, keeping my eyes shut. "I can't sleep."

"Oh, come now, Paragon." Auntie tutted, brushing back my hair. "It's well passed the time of tales."

"Pleease."

"What's really bothering you?" Auntie murmured, continuing to brush back my hair.

I opened my eyes just enough to peer through knit lashes. "I want a story, Auntie."

Auntie sighed. "Very well. Which one suits you?"

"I don't care." I pulled my favorite stuffed animal—a purple koala named Purpa—against my chest and closed my eyes tight once more. "You pick."

"Alrighty," she pulled the well-worn book from its place on my nightstand and flipped carefully to one of my favorite tales. "Once upon a time, there were magical people who lived high up in the clouds and were gifted with the most wondrous abilities. They were known as the Telvi..."

The serene darkness shifted into a blurry field of emerald. I squinted against the bright light as my eyes adjusted, and the amorphous expanse of green sharpened from an amalgamation of colors into recognizable shapes.

Trees. More precisely, a forest mural. This isn’t my room... I thought with the vague inkling that there was something amiss. I tried to move—to shift up into a seated position—when a wave of pain ripped through the haze. I drew my hand up to my temple to find dried blood sticking to my hair.

Bumsnort Barbecue. Images flashed through my mind like a low-budget stop-motion film. What exactly had happened? All I had done was attempt to confront the waitress. How did that turn into a kidnapping?

I took stock of the rest of the room in search of an explanation. It was not an unusually large room, but it accommodated a bed, an armoire, a bookcase, and a small desk. From summers spent working in Auntie's antique shop, I knew the furniture was expensive. Each piece skillfully emulated the forest mural that continued onto the other three walls, interrupted only by two doors. I scanned the vaulted ceiling and found nothing but a crystal light fixture. There were no air vents or windows in sight.

I replayed the whole disaster again, trying to understand what was going on. Reese had referenced the Telvi—a race that existed in an old book Auntie had owned since she was a girl. So either these people knew my reading list, or the book was more popular than I thought. Auntie had always joked they were great tales for another audience, but I‘d never met anyone who knew about the Telvi, so maybe they were only found in distant, isolated lands. Reese could be Canadian.

I tried to stave off my burgeoning fear; this is probably just some mistake. I'm sure there is a perfect explanation for this whole mess. I clung to that hope as I pulled myself out of bed and investigated the doors.

The first mahogany door engraved with deciduous trees revealed an impressive bathroom rivaling the bedroom in size. I tried the second door detailing an stag atop a boulder, but it didn't budge.

"Hello, anyone there?"

"She's awake," someone hissed faintly from the other side of the door.

"Golden sky above!" Another exclaimed two decibels too loud.  That must be Reese. "I thought I accidentally killed her! I'm so so so sorry that I—"

"Silence, Tyro!" The original voice snapped. I recognized Scary Lady. "If you don't stop apologizing, I will toss you out to the sylphs!"

Sylphs? The little flying demons?

"Is anyone going to tell me what's going on?" I called again, my voice cracking. Someone had to tell me what was happening and why it was happening. I had no phone, no weapon, and no way of knowing where I was. I tried replaying the events and everything that Reece and Scary Lady said, but nothing made any sense.

"Hello?"

Nothing.

"Hello?!" I listened again, hoping the talkative waitress would have something to say.

Silence was the real enemy, and she stretched out her campaign with relentless determination.

"Someone?" I felt the panic building once more in my chest, but I pushed it down as far as I could.

This can't be so bad, I insisted to myself. I've got the lucky bookmark and eight years of Girl Scouts training. I can handle this.

I had to stay positive. I had to focus. I couldn't worry my way into a spiral. I had to stay positive. I took purposeful steps back to the bathroom sink to scrub the dried blood from my hair. Once the blood was gone, I focused my efforts on searching through the rest of the room. All the while, my thoughts circled my predicament like sharks around a bleeding seal. Reese had recognized me; she'd kidnapped me with the help of Scary Lady. But how did she know who I was? Why did she think she was rescuing me? And how did she know about the Auntie’s stories?

What am I supposed to do? I pondered silently to the four voluminous dresses I found hanging neatly within the armoire. Wear one of you so I look all nice and pretty when they hang me?

They didn't respond telepathically or out loud, so I continued on with my inventory, interrogating several more items for information without any success.

Surely you will be more help, I said to the case of books, unable to withhold the slight windfall of emotions they evoked. Books: bound and shelved adventures that promised freedom from reality. I drew my hand to the metal knob, eager to find what literary tastes my captors held, but I tugged at the knob only to find it locked.

If the doors are locked then there must be things worth locking away inside there. I pulled again, this time try to force the door open, but it was no use. The door didn't budge.

After directing cruel thoughts at the literature, I resigned myself to sit, wait, and ponder.

I took a pen and paper from the desk and wrote possible explanations for my situation. I came up with plausible conclusions like Reese must be a family acquaintance of my mother and Scary Lady is Reese's boss. But when I ran out of sensible connections, I stared down at the piece of paper, unwilling to write down the possibilities. Eventually, my unwritten words became a mess of impossibilities that I couldn't begin to believe, leaving me to face the stark truth of reality. I had no real idea what has or would happen to me. I didn't even know if I was in North Carolina anymore.

I was just some lost teenage girl with underdeveloped survival instincts and overdeveloped sarcasm. My chest restricted with anxiety, but, once again, I shoved it down as far as I possibly could. Self-control was the only thing I had, and I couldn't lose it to anxiety. I had to stay focused and hopeful. I had to think of things in terms of logic. I had to ignore the nagging piece of my brain telling me I couldn't do it.

And more than anything else, I had to rebel against the whispers reminding me how badly things turned out with Sloane.

My wait lasted what could've easily been minutes, was likely hours, but felt like a lifetime. Finally, a soft click resounded in the silence, sending my body into a rigid, marble-like stillness.

"How are you doing in here?" Reese called poking her head in the door. "Is your head okay? I'm really sorry about— I didn't mean to hit you like that. I was just trying to shut the car door and you were unconscious and I was in a rush and I didn't realize your head was in the way and... I'm so sorry." She stepped into the room. "I mean, I'm so, so, sorry. Golden sky above, your Gwyndolyn Dare, and—" Reese fell into an incoherent ramble, holding the silver tray like a shield over her ugly flannel uniform.

She finally paused from her words, looking pensively to me for a reaction.

I take it all back. Reese would be a terrible criminal. Despite the situation, I felt a great deal of sympathy wash over me. "Just... please don't do it again."

She nodded vigorously, a relieved grin overtaking her face. "Right, right. Of course. Will do." She shoved the tray into my hands.

I held the empty tray, turning it over before looking at Reese for some sign as to its purpose.

She looked down as if confused before realization dawned. "Oh, right." She fished a wrinkled envelope out of her back pocket and laid it on top of the tray, turning an awkward delivery into a foreboding moment.

She fell silent, and I stared down at the note. My went throat dry as I fumbled with the envelope, ripping at the seal until the envelope flutter to the floor. I was left with nothing more than a small note with a few lines of script.

Miss Gwyndolyn Dare:

Your presence has been requested. Please allow the messenger of this note to make you presentable for the respectable party. Failure to comply will incur consequences.

Thank you.

Respectable party? I thought, sparing Reese a cursory glance as she began tapping her hand against her side impatiently. I couldn't think of any run-of-the-mill Dateline kidnapping that would be carried out by 'respectable' parties, and it made me sick to my stomach.

"Consequences?" I murmured to myself.

"I know; I thought that was weird too. I asked what they meant by that, but nobody bothered answering—just like always. Honestly, I really hate how the virago are always 'classified' this and 'Reese, be silent' that. I mean they could always mean torture, but you are Gwyndolyn Dare, so—"

"How did you know who I was at the restaurant?" The question leaped from my mouth before I could stop it.

She shrugged but looked less oblivious than before. "Because you're Gwyndolyn Dare."

"Which means what exactly?" I asked, edging my voice with frustration-fueled brazen.

She frowned as a sudden realization sparked in her eyes. "Right, I'm not supposed to be talking to you." She took a large step backwards and set a steely face. It worked. Sorta.

I focused on my own issues. I had an inclination towards rebellion for rebellion sake, but the thought of torture quickly smothered that instinct. Wouldn't it be better, the sane part of me murmured, to wait and see who I'm up against before I fight back?

But what if it's too late by then? The doubter asked, her thoughts running right back to when I had been that helpless nine-year-old. I took a deep, courage-garnering breath and shook away the useless doubts. If I played along, perhaps an escape attempt would present itself. I pulled words from my brain before stringing them into a question. "What exactly is involved in making me 'look presentable?"

Her face broke into a wide grin. Perhaps the meeting shouldn't have been my primary concern.

"Presentable" involved Reese shoving me into the bathroom, breaking her silence long enough to tell me I "stunk like phoxa dung" and needed a shower. After I'd cleaned up, I was pelted with clothes. I slipped them on, feeling slightly violated when all the garments fit perfectly. How did..? I shook my head to dislodge the thought. I didn't want to know.

Finally, I managed to step out of the bathroom feeling clean and sorta prepared. The dark emerald dress was made of a silken material; I ran my fingers through the fabric mindlessly.

"Done," I said, drawing a hand over my damp curls. It was time to face the music.

"No, you aren't." Reese chirped, drawing my attention. She stood next to the mirror with an array of beautification devices from the bizarre heating instruments to the arrangement of makeup.

"I- I don't really participate in those sort of activities," I pointed to the assortment of objects.

"Oh, come now." Reese tutted like a soccer mom. "The Board has certain expectations. You have a reputation to uphold."

"Reputation? What are you talking about?" I stammered through my growing number of questions. I needed to project strength, but it was hard when I felt utterly helpless.

She frowned and realized her mistake. "Right... I wasn't supposed to tell you that. Virago keep secrets. And I- I can't." With the most bizarre show of composure, she shuffled a piece of folded paper and stubby pencil from her pocket and scratched away a line of text from her paper. She returned the pencil and paper to her pocket and gestured for me to sit, her eyes cast down to the floor.

"I'm serious. I'm not wearing makeup for you," I insisted, crossing my arms. I wear makeup for my own pleasure. I don't do it for other people. Especially if those people might be some nefarious ring that’s dressing me up to pimp me out.

"Come now," Reese insisted, placing a hand on my shoulder.

The physical contact made me flinch. "Do not touch me." I sidestepped her hand feeling my whole body grow tense. Be strong, not scared, I reminded myself.

A dark cloud passed across her eyes. "Sit!" She snapped with way more force than I would've expected.

"That's not happening." My voice was much more level and much more stubborn.

"It's within my right to force you to comply," she threatened with a dark, bitter glare.

"What are you going to do?" I snarled, attempting the same cold wit that Elise would muster. "There isn't another car door to bludgeon me with." Even as I spoke, a corner of my brain was forming explicatives. What was I doing? I hated when Elise acted like this! This wasn't strong! I was taking out my fear on Reese by being a total—

She stepped back; her eyes grew cold. "I would've never expected someone who knew nothing of their station to still be such an entitled brat."

I'm not entitled. I'm not. I just— I looked down as a wave of self-disgust enveloped me. I hate makeup, but, in that moment, I hated myself more. After a hard glare to my benefit, Reese picked up the makeup and began packing it away.

"You may go," she murmured.

I nodded, and I glanced back at the door. I didn't have a clue who The Board was, and I was utterly oblivious of their motives, but I needed to know. I inhaled sharply and pulled the door open.

The sizeable looming frame of Scary Lady dominated the hall. I ignored the anxiety coiling in my throat. She huffed and gestured down the hallway, and I followed with great trepidation. The hallway was simple in design with glossy marble floors, taupe damask walls, well-spaced recess lighting, absolutely no windows, and absolutely no doors.

I followed Scary Lady through a maze of odorless halls and an ominous feeling began building in my gut. In the buzz of Fight or Flight instincts, I couldn't think of any innocent reason I would be led through endless halls by the giantess. I was close to commenting when she stopped, and I crashed headlong into her back, eliciting another perturbed grunt.

What the—

She stepped aside, and my heart died. Behind her, a dark mahogany door interrupted the endless hall, offering the answers to my questions—for better or for worse. Scary Lady pulled open the door and shoved me inside.