Curled up on the ground was a body - you. You were tossing around back and forth underneath the moonlight that sprung from the window. Your entire form shivering and strands of hair sticking onto your damp forehead, you were burning up. It was most likely a fever, but even so, you couldn't treat it. Stepmother had locked the medicine away in a cabinet... and you knew that even if you went to her for help, she'd leave you to suffer anyway.
Maybe that minor headache you had yesterday really was something after all. It was good Blaise forced you to return home after that incident, because no doubt this fever would get worse had you stayed under the sun for a few more hours.
It wasn't anyone's fault nor yours that you've turned sick, but you couldn't help and grow angry at yourself. You didn't have time to fall weak, not when the ball is nearing everyday and you still had loads to do to convince your family in letting you attend. Why now of all times? For years you've avoided getting sick, but just when you truly needed all the strength you could have, reality had to hit you with a boulder. Your luck was always bad, but this had been a punch to the gut.
These thoughts poked at you and you knew you had to do something about it. It wasn't like you were able to rest peacefully in this state either. So though you felt terribly ill, you decided to use the time wisely. Groggily pushing yourself up from the mat, your tired bones made way to the other side of the room. Pulling out the familiar mannequin that hid in the pile of junk, your pink gown was still in progress. Still, you were patient and knew that in due time, it will be perfect enough for you to wear. It wasn't going to be the flashiest or the most expensive-looking, but it was going to be a piece of you - something to make you feel as pretty and regal as a queen.
With shaky hands, you began to work on the dress again, your features twisting up in concentration and your lips pursing. Clenching onto the pins, your vision turned woozy, but you proceeded with a determined face. Weaving the cloth and adding volume to the skirts at the bottom, you bent over to wrap the fabric around. That was not too good of an idea, for your unstable feet had tipped over, causing you to collapse forward onto the mannequin. You crashed onto the hard, cold ground, your arms hugging the mannequin. Limbs sore from the impact, you didn't bother to stand up. It was time to give up. Laying there with shivers that wouldn't cease, you clamped your eyes shut.
The first thing you saw was a musty, tiled ceiling.
The next thing you noticed was the feeling of a freezing, metallic table underneath you. Turning your head both ways, you realized you were strapped and tied tightly to the table, your wrists already been bounded firmly. You squinted at them to see they were made out of leather. In terms of clothes, the reason you could feel the burning cold sensation of the table was because you were wearing a navy blue paper gown - the type of cover-up that people at hospitals would wear. Laying on a table in the middle of a gray, narrow room, it was obvious that you shouldn't be here. Something bad was going to happen to you.
Pulling your arms from your newly discovered shackles with all your might, by the time you were panting in exhaustion, you still weren't free from them. What was this? Where were you? Who had done this to you?
Pounding footsteps entered the empty, lifeless room. A surge of people in unidentifiable masks that wore white lab coats walked up to you. Holding up syringes with liquid inside that were all sorts of colors - ranging from red to clear to green - the sharp, pointy, steel tips began to near you.
You tried to let out a scream... but it was as if you were underwater. No noise or words were coming out of your mouth, no matter how hard you tried to gain the attention of other people. But what other people? As far as you knew, you were trapped somewhere far from the public eye, meaning there was no chance to retrieve help. Even if you could scream, the same fate would be met. You were helpless.
YOU ARE READING
Ashes of CinderHorror
[Yandere x Reader] Loosely based off of Cinderella || Where the godmother wasn't really a fairy godmother, but a man who was obsessed with the naive, yet kind girl.