Filed to story: Tangled in Moonlight Unshifted Novel by Lenaleia
Horrible.
“What the hell is happening?” I whisper to my reflection.
The girl in the mirror has no answers. She looks as lost as I feel.
I turn to the shower, eyeing it warily. Part of me wants to march over and slam open the door, demanding answers to all my questions.
But a larger part craves the promise of hot water, of washing away the grime I can feel coating my skin, and the memories of… however long it’s been.
With shaking hands, I peel off the shift dress. My body underneath is a map of bruises and scrapes. Some look fresh, angry red against my pale skin. Others are older, fading to sickly yellows and greens.
Marisol didn’t beat me.
In fact, for being a kidnapping victim, it wasn’t technically all that bad, I guess.
But I did do a lot of thrashing around, trying to escape my chains. That usually involved falling to the floor in various painful ways. And when it wasn’t escape attempts, it was me trying to do basic stretches and exercises to keep up my muscle masshard to do with heavy chains weighing me down..
Honestly, I’m surprised my wrists and ankles aren’t broken.
The water hisses as I turn it on, steam quickly filling the small space. I step under the spray, whimpering as the hot water hits my battered skin. But the pain fades, replaced by a blessed warmth that seems to seep into my very bones.
The water cascades over me with a sense of peace and cleanliness I haven’t felt since… well, before.
A bar of soap on the ledge is the first thing I grab, rubbing it all over me until it turns in a dingy at my gray, scrubbingkin as if I could wash away the memories along with the dirt. By the time
I’m done, my skin is pink and raw, but I feel more like myself.
My hair is a tangled mess. I’m not even sure it’s possible to brush it out. Still, I take my time washing it with shampoo and conditioner, leaving in a layer of conditioner in hopes it will help with brushing out the tangles.
Stepping
Out of the shower, I wrap myself in a fluffy towel. Steam clouds the mirror, and I wipe it away with my hand. The face that stares back at me is familiar, but strange. There’s a hardness in my eyes that wasn’t there before.
A sharp knock on the door makes me jump.
“Hurry up in there!”
The tiny woman’s voice cuts through my thoughts. I look around, realizing there are no clothes for me to change into. Do I put the dirty shift back on? Wrap myself in a towel and hope for the best?
“Um,” I call out, hating how small my voice sounds. “I don’t have any clothes.”
There’s a huff from the other side of the door, then the sound of retreating footsteps. A moment later, they return.
“Open up.”
I crack the door open, peeking out. The tiny woman thrusts a bundle of fabric at me.
“Get dressed. Quickly now.”
The door shuts again, and I’m left holding what turns out to be a simple dress and undergarments. They fit perfectly, which is both a relief and slightly unsettling.
Who are these people? How do they know my size?
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. It’s time for answers.
Opening the bathroom door, I step out, ready to face whatever waits for me. The tiny woman is there, tapping her foot impatiently.
“About time,” she grumbles. “Come on, then. They’re waiting.”
“Wait,” I say, finally finding my voice. “Who’s waiting? Where am I? What’s going on?”
She turns, fixing me with a look that could curdle milk. “Questions later. Move now
I want to argue, to plant my feet and refuse to budge until I get some answers. But the fire inside of me fades almost immediately, and I follow along, properly cowed by this woman’s barked
LISA
Wherever I am, it’s huge.
We’ve taken at least three or four turns, and I’ve already forgotten how to get back. Was it left it?
first, or right? The last turn was to our right. Wait… Wten how to get back. Was it left
Shit.
Every time I lag behind, trying to map this place in my headwhich is little better than at toddler’s scribbling at this point, with my confusion over lefts and rightsthe tiny woman turns and scolds me, telling me to pick up my feet.
Before, I would have given her some sort of smartass comment and maybe even slowed down.
But now, my body feels cold sweat at the idea of making her angry. Even if I’m a prisoner, at least I’m a clean and comfortable prisoner here. I don’t want to go back to the previous standard of kidnapping.
So I shut my mouth and hurry behind, wondering how she can be so freaking fast with such tiny legs. She’s probably the size of a kindergartener, but faster than a fullgrown adult.
What bizarre witchcraft is that?
I force myself to focus on the path ahead, ignoring the endless parade of closed doors lining these stark corridors. No pictures, no decorations, not even a potted plant breaks up the monotony. Just door after identical door, their handles gleaming dully in the harsh overhead lighting.
The silence is oppressive. Our footsteps echo off the bare walls, amplifying the sound until it feels like we’re being followed by an army. I resist the urge to look over my shoulder.
“Keep up, my tiny guide snaps for what feels like the hundredth time.
I lengthen my stride, closing the gap between us. Seriously though, how can someone so small move so fast?
We round another corner, and I blink in surprise, Windows. Actual windows line this hallway, letting in natural light.
Wow.
The sun.
I haven’t seen it in so long.
Before I can get a good look outside, my guide veers sharply to the right. She pushes open a set of glass double doors, ushering me through with impatient gestures.
Heat and humidity hit me like a wall. I stumble, momentarily disoriented by the sudden change in environment.
We’re in some kind of massive greenhouse. Lush greenery surrounds us on all sides, climbing
Lisa: Strango Introductions trellises and spilling out of planters. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and tropical flowers.
Beads of sweat immediately form on my skin. My simple cotton outfit, so comfortable in the air conditioned halls, now feels stifling.
My guide marches ahead, seemingly unbothered by the giant blanket of warmth pressing down on us. I trail after her, trying not to trip over the uneven stone path winding through the foliage.
As we walk deeper into this indoor jungle, a thought strikes me with the force of a physical blow. I could run.
The realization freezes me in place. I could turn around right now and bolt. My guide is tiny. I could easily outpace her if I tried, right?
But then what?
The momentary surge of hope fades as quickly as it appeared. I have no idea where I am or how to get out of this place. Those endless, identical corridors would become a maze. I’d be caught in minutes, if not seconds.
And who knows what punishment would await me for trying to escape?
I shake off the fleeting fantasy of freedom and hurry to catch up with my impatient guide.
She leads me to a secluded area of the greenhouse, where an equally diminutive old man sits at a table. His beard cascades to his feet, and he peers through spectacles at a newspaper covered in unfamiliar script. A lavish spread of tea and snacks adorns the table before him.
Incongruously, it’s sized for normal adult humans.
He’s sitting in some kind of booster that gets him to the level he needs to reach the table.
I’d laugh, but I’m too worried about my fate.