The Fae Runaways

Chapter 2 - Nw1-B7

She was floating.

Suspended in her tank, no larger than a twin sized bed, reduced to something as pitiful as a goldfish.
Opening her eyes slowly, she blinked up through the drug-infused water.
Ironic, being surrounded by the one element she was normally able to control with a flick of her wrist.
But the sedatives were strong, the shackles that bound her to to floor of the tank stronger yet.

She had been drifting in and out of consciousness for what she guessed was a day and a half, unable to do anything but float. Occasionally she would make a half hearted attempt at breaking free of her restraints, but it was always to no avail.

The tired nymph stretched her tail muscles and flexed her tail fin, curling and uncurling it like she would her toes.

The shackle around where her ankles would be groaned at the movement, eliciting a flicker of annoyance in the drowsy creature.

She glanced down at her lower half, watching her fins bob lightly in the water, scales shimmering softly. While part of it was covered by her black lacy dress, the occasional wink of light bouncing off them seemed to mock her.

She had always proud of her tail, from it's elegant coloring and alternating shades of blue to the immense strength it carried from years of relentless swimming and training.
There wasn't a doubt in her mind that her tail muscles could break through the pathetic metal binding her to the tank floor, if only she could muster the strength to do so.

She pressed a palm absentmindedly to the glass of her cage. She winced as the metal shackle around her wrist rubbed at the bruised skin there, from when she had attempted to break free numerous times before.
The straining against her bindings had worn holes in her dress. It was silly to think in all of the chaos her life had become that something like holes in her clothing was enough to annoy her, but it was one of her favorites.
The color black made her feel powerful, it emboldened her. The lace and skin tight natures of the dress contoured her perfectly, made her feel confident.

Bold and confident...her two most dominant traits had dulled slightly over her time here.

Her mind began to drift. The drugs made it so easy to become distracted.
Her thoughts were disjointed, clouded. As if each one was pushing desperately through a dense fog.

She took a deep breath through her gills, scrunching up her face in a yawn.

Forcing her eyes all the way open, she stared out through the glass of her tank, stretching out one webbed hand and pressing her palm to the cold surface.

Everything fluttered in and out of focus, but from what she could make out from her surroundings, she found she had been moved to one of the testing chambers above where she was normally kept.

She tried to make a mental list of everything she could see from her vantage point- an exercise she had practiced since her capture, to help keep her sane during the countless tests and torture she endured.

A long, white table equipped with ankle, wrist, and neck restraints.

Lovely, - she thought to herself - at least take me to dinner before tying me up.

A derisive huff escaped her lips, a few bubbles forming and floating up to the top of the tank.

A large pure white desk caught her attention next. It matched the walls perfectly in color, so much so that had it not had items resting atop it she might not have even noticed it was there. On it sat a very high-tech-looking computer next to a tall grey filing cabinet.

She could feel herself getting sleepy again. Shaking her head, she furrowed her brow in concentration and zeroed in on the desk and its contents.

A wooden cup filled with a few pencils, pens, and brightly colored highlighters.