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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!"
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!"
