half a week before the winter, the chill bites before it comes

[forthsofar]

A pack of them come by her cage in the corner of the throne room once her captor--their master--has lumbered off in search of other pleasures. Mistress-to-be needs cheering, their leader says, unlocking the door and hauling her out into the rough grasp of two others. Can't send you in like that, though, filthy little bird. She's tried fighting before, gained the bruises and the scratches to prove it; now, she simply lets them drag her off, shaking a little in fear and barely-suppressed misery, hating them for everything they've done to her and Charlie and all the rest of the people she's seen and heard suffer.

Hating herself, too, for being so stupid and giving in so quickly now.

First, they take her to a vacant room somewhere in the labyrinth of the castle, cold stone walls and a hard tile floor. She's stripped and scrubbed, doused in frigid water and manhandled with an unseemly relish, the goblins erupting in a symphony of cackles and hoots every time something they do results in a whimper or shriek. Once clean, they throw a dress at her, clingy and lurid red, the sleeves long enough and back high enough to cover the worst of her bruises. New feathers, birdie, one of them purrs, watching her shiver as she pulls the dress on. Prettier plumage, to make the mistress smile.

Two goblins had brought the cage--her cage, she's ashamed to think of it as now--down to the corridor; they push her back in and lock her up, then carry her through another set of twisting passageways to a warmer part of the castle, stopping in front of a carved wooden door that opens to the lead goblin's knock. Rosie only sees the barest glimpse of the woman inside, dark dress and moonstone-pale hair and a severe expression, but she recognizes her instantly.

"Sabrina!"

Comments

[forthsofar]

"You're probably right. It's horrible." Rosie despises that Dark Lord for all he'd done to Sabrina, her friends and family and now Salem too. Detests this one too, with his goblins and grim stone castle, the pervading aura of fear and pain that he'd wrought on everyone who'd fallen beneath his sway. She'd never expected to have one devil to hate, one that's more than just a metaphor or a character in a Sunday sermon; now, she simply wonders how many more she'll have to confront before her stay in this strange, absurd city is over. "Being compelled to do...anything, at all, that's not freedom. No matter who's asking it of you."

The brush of Sabrina's fingers in her hair, the light pull as she cards her hand through her curls, eases a little more of her remaining tension and concern. Enough that she lets the idle, half-joking--she thinks--threat pass with little more than a faint roll of her eyes and a lopsided, fond smile. "A few, I think?" she says. "But nobody I recognized, none of my Darrow friends from school or people whose pets I've taken care of. Most of the people I saw in the dungeons were people from elsewhere, like us."

[signed_sabrina]

Sabrina has spent the past couple of days in this desperately horny-looking, gothic bedchamber pretending to consider some unseen Lord of Darkness's attempts to court her, so of course she's not joking. But she doesn't point this out.

"Makes sense," she murmurs, still stroking Rosie's hair. "Nick and I were thinking that maybe it has to do with some kind of-- light, or purity. They weren't interested in either of us until we showed up here, and we both are technically in some kind of contract with the Path of Night back home. And it's what I am, who I am, that makes him want me."

[forthsofar]

She lets her eyes close at the continued touch to her hair, the slow motion of Sabrina's fingers running along her scalp. "That could be," she says. "When they captured me, when I was out on the street with Nick, they almost seemed...amused he was trying to save me at all. It was like he didn't matter, except as something to get through. To get to me."

Rosie shivers again, remembering the high, hysterical sound of the goblins' laughter, the way they'd chanted A chase! A chase! as they swarmed towards her and Nick. She moves closer to Sabrina, taking what comfort she can in her friend's embrace and the plush, warm bed they're both lying in.

"I don't know how much I have to do with light. Purity, maybe, but..." She trails off, blushing faintly. "It all sounds a bit like when I was mistaken for a fairy, back in Anterwold, though how these things would know anything about that, I haven't the slightest idea."

[signed_sabrina]

"That's how it was with Charlie, when it happened. After I set the first one on fire, they paid attention to me as a threat, but..." She shrugs a little, not wanting to think back to it, the pain throbbing in her hand, and how truly frantic they'd both been as they were torn apart.

"Maybe it's only evident to those of us who enough enough of the Night in us, then," Sabrina murmurs. "You and Charlie both have a light. It's in the goodness of your hearts, and I don't mean purity like that, because I can assure you that Charlie has a very inventive streak--" She laughs despite herself. "Sorry. No, it's hard to define. A purity of spirit. Untouched by darkness."

[forthsofar]

Her blush deepens, but Rosie laughs too, the sound and the conversation almost seeming normal despite their surroundings and the situation both of them have wound up in for the time being. "That isn't information I ever really needed to know about Charlie," she says, teasing and fond and a little embarrassed, "but...good for you both, I suppose."

The rest of it, the idea of some inherent goodness shining from within her, almost sounds too fanciful to be wholly believable. Had it been suggested to her back home, before all that had happened with the strange doorway in the Professor's cellar, Rosie might have discounted it completely. Now, she's far less certain--or perhaps just more willing to see the idea through to whatever end awaits her.

She can only hope it's a good one, this time.

"And they're trying to stamp it out," she murmurs. The idea turns her stomach despite the safe embrace of Sabrina's arms and the remembered echo of Nick's promise when he'd found her in the throne room: We'll get you out. We're not leaving you here. "To stamp us out."