Val - Perfect Cage

Whatever happens after today, I can forever glow in smug satisfaction that I've worn the ghost of a path in this rug, which is probably really expensive. Granted, it's because I've been pacing so long, but it's worth it.

Or was it already there? Maybe some other poor sap of a girl wore the same track. Another one who thought she could fight her way out of this place with a little stubbornness and a bad attitude.

Spoiler: she's probably bones now.

Getting dressed after the bath was an unsettling experience. Not only because the clothes are soft and pricey, but because they fit me perfectly. I chose black skinny jeans, a black hoodie and soft-soled black leather boots. Perfectly reflects my mood.

Shit they feel good. I feel good in them.

There's no clock here, so time has lost all meaning. I searched for a phone, tablet, TV, any technology, nothing. Just four grand walls, a heavy-ass bed, a bathtub that could fit three of me, and time. Endless, silent time. The more I move, the more I realize how quiet it is. Peaceful would mean calm, and it really, really isn't. Creeping unease that settles into your cracks is what this is.

I pause at the door again, trying the handle for the ten thousandth time. A girl can dream it will have magically unlocked, right? Fists clench and open, clench and open. I picture ramming them through the paneling. I picture setting the whole place on fire. I picture walking freely.

But the pictures are fuzzy and hard to hold. Just as I'm about to scream into the void for the hell of it, he opens the door. I didn't even hear a key or a lock click. He fills the doorway, like, the whole width and height of the door. Which, I guess, is pretty damn impressive. Wait, no, did I just complement this thing? No, it's worse. I think he actually looks hot leaning into the room, as even the light bends to his will.

I've officially lost it.

His eyes flick over me, cataloging everything from my boots to my freshly wValed hair. I swear he smiles wider when he sees I dressed myself.

"Now," he drawls, voice silked in satisfaction, "isn't that better? All shiny and new."

Knives, guns, bombs, just imagine all the ways you can slice that smile off his face Val. My lips squeeze together, because I'm worried about what will fire out of my mouth. And I need him to keep this door open right now, it is literally my only option to get out. While the very loud part of me is screaming run, the other fucked up part is itching with curiosity about what comes next. Sicko.

Pushing the door so it stands fully open, he reaches in and grabs my hand. Threading his huge fingers through mine, trapping me in a new vice.

OK, so bolting as soon as I step into the hall is out of the question. Time for plan B: Kill him with kindness.

Worryingly, I think he thinks we're lovers. That this is a date and not a hostage situation. His grip is firm enough to say you're not going anywhere without me, pet.

He starts walking, leading me behind him.

"Let me give you the tour," his tone low and warm. Fine by me big boy, let me swoon over your crown moldings while I plot your demise.

But as we step out, I finally get a proper, none traumatized because I apparently have magical powers, look. At the pristine floors, gilded sconces, art on the walls that costs more than I've stolen in my entire life. I already know I'm going to detest every second of this.

All's fine, you've got this bitch. Play nice, walk through his House of Eternal Misery. I've done worse to survive. So I squeeze his hand, just a little, and lift my voice into something soft and breathy.

"You never told me your name."

He turns his head, just slightly. I expect to see a smirk, but instead his brows crease.

"Caelum."

"Caelum," I echo. "That Latin?"

He doesn't answer, which either means yes or he doesn't care. Probably both. We keep walking. The first room is a library. Massive, of course. Floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books covered in centuries of dust. It dances in beams of unnatural light, and there's not a single chair.

Next is a ballroom. Seriously, who needs a ballroom? Polished floors that gleam under the low light. A grand piano sits in the corner, keys untouched. No footprints. No scuffs. No sound.

Then a gallery. Paintings that stare back. One hall lined with swords. Another with masks. No bedrooms. No bathrooms. No sign of life. Not even a hallway rug out of place.

On we go, room after agonizing room. One after the other, after the other. And all the while, his hand stays wrapped around mine. He strokes his thumb over my knuckles absently, petting me. I can't pull away without making a scene, and I know he wants that. He wants an outburst. So I hold on, breathe slowly, focus on the feel of my boots on the floor.

One step at a time.

Every room we move through, dread builds.

It's not just the size, or even the emptiness. It's that every single part of this place reeks of loneliness. Designed to contain with its heavy doors and stretched hallways. We aren't walking through a home, it's a prison with chandeliers.

Breathing gets harder the further we walk as my chest tightens. Claustrophobia crawls up my spine, curling into the base of my skull. I'm trapped, this is a trap, I'm going to fucking die here.

"You like it?" Caelum asks casually, as we pass another sculpture watching me with dead eyes. "There's room for an army in here. A kingdom, even."

I try to laugh, but it comes out thin and cracked. "A little much for one guy."

A hum, he's amused. We turn a corner and I spot a corridor that seems to stretch forever. The ceiling curves overhead, painted with something celestial and strange. I don't want to walk down it. I don't want to see what's at the end. My feet drag, just slightly.

And that's when reality really hits. He didn't bring me here to impress me with this place.

He's showing me my cage.