Katrina skipped through the door, dodging to one side just as a pot sailed through the doorway where she had been standing. Along with the pot Katrina heard distracted cussing. Katrina waited for a moment, to make sure that there would not be any other objects flying through the door. Sighing she stretched, arching backward to try to release some of the kinks in her back. Katrina didn’t know how long she had been there. She rarely had time to rest as she had shunned the bedroom she originally woke up in. The best she could find was a small corner that smelled like a pet used it as a toilet. Katrina had tried to keep up with the days by making small scratches on the wall in her corner but whenever she left, so did the marks. Katrina used every conceivable moment to try and escape. There didn’t seem to be any doors that led to the outside world. And after poking her nose into a few rooms that were occupied, she learned stop and listen to make sure it wasn’t a frequently used room. When Katrina wasn’t poking her nose where it didn’t belong, and when she wasn’t grabbing a few minutes of important rest, she was busy running errands, trying to avoid being a nursemaid or working for the cooks. Katrina’s most hated task was when the fey children cornered her and literally made her into a horse, whipping her when she bucked them off; or having her stand in as a chess piece, squealing with joy when Katrina had to try to avoid being decapitated when her player made a wrong move.
However, Katrina had learned to use her time wisely. Among the first things she learned was that magic was real. And because her captors could magically heal any damage done to her, she was constantly in danger of getting hurt, or worse, dying. Katrina also learned that whoever her captors were, they were NOT humans. The closest experience that Katrina could relate her experience to was the fairy tales that she read as a child. Not the rosey coated fairy tales peddled by Disney but the originally horror tales by Anderson or the Grimm brothers. Katrina had to rapidly adjust to her new surroundings and even though she still had a hard time believing that she was really in a fairytale, she could not doubt the lacerations or near death experiences that she had encountered while in this strange place. Every few days the same little man would call her back to the throne room and asked her if she was ready to make things right and Katrina always stated that she couldn’t, the final decision was not up to her, she didn’t understand what he wanted.
Later that night Katrina was curled up in the foul smelling corner, nursing her left arm which had been very nearly severed earlier that day; and reviewed what she knew of fairytales. There was always a hero (or heroine), a villain, a damsel in distress, and a quest. Katrina did not want to be the damsel in distress. Although, she wouldn’t mind someone else taking over this story and freeing her. Katrina knew that if she waited for someone else to bail her out, she could be waiting for a very long time. And, Katrina thought to herself, I’d have to stay alive. That, at least, was looking less and less likely to occur. It also seemed pretty far fetched that she would find a way out of this place without help. Everyone that Katrina had met so far, had either been trying to kill her, or had simply used her. Katrina hadn’t encountered anyone who had even remotely appeared interested in her or even courteous in passing. Katrina knew that she was running out of time. She would have to make a decision. She would have to accept MAN offer and try to fix whatever she had done to land her in this hell hole. Katrina wiped away a few tears, silent crying another constant in her life. All fairy tales start out this way, Katrina reminded herself. All I have to do is make it through. I can do this, I can survive. When even her silent pep talk failed to strengthen her resolve, Katrina closed her eyes, ignoring the continuous flow of tears and determined to get some rest before the next day’s horror’s greeted her.
No comments:
Post a Comment