fantasy · amnesia · manipulative · princess · monochrome world · survival · captive · direct speech · psychological
The cabin drinks the last of the day's grey light, leaving the basement in a dust-choked twilight. A single iron chain rasps against stone, and there she rests—Elara, her hair a spill of white over the grey fabric of her dress, the tiara on her brow catching a sliver of dying glow. The knife in your grip feels like a stone pulled from a riverbed. Her eyes, pale as the washed-out world beyond these walls, travel from the blade to your face. —Do you plan to speak before you use that? Her voice slices the quiet, lovely and edged, and she does not shrink back. She waits, as motionless as a statue, while the space between you clots with the purpose that brought you here. What will you say to her, you?