DAY 52-1: DECK TOWER

   In the meagre five minutes Leda wakes inside a cramped steel cage, stark naked and attempting to digest her current situation, she explodes with a shout to seal her frustration: "What the hell is going on?"

   A crushing pain hammers incessantly inside her skull, in a pattern that leaves her more agitated than fatigued. Her mouth is dry, proving her dehydration. The worst hangover in history is upon her and yet on top of that she comes to inside some kind of cage—nude—and unnecessarily cold.

   Leda grits her teeth, her mind racing from paranoia alongside a painful migraine. What exactly happened to her last night? A dream? Albeit fuzzily, she recalls a dark-skinned, rudely tall man. She also distinctly remembers placing a gun barrel to her temple and blasting her brain to bits...

   She shivers.

   The fact that she killed herself had to have been a part of the dream. She's alive now, right? Her brain is conjuring these thoughts the same time it feels as if they'll explode in her skull.

   Not to mention how ill she feels; so sick, for that matter, she can upchuck at any given second. She had to have gotten as drunk as she did in order to sustain a hangover this bad. If so, her stupid intoxicated self definitely agreed to a gamble so absurd she was willing to shoot herself in the head in response to a stranger's request.

   How is she alive now, then? Moreover, why is she naked in this otherwise glamorously grand room?

   Eyebrows pinched tight, Leda taps her fingernail impatiently against her bare forearm, peering downwards at her ashy brown skin.

   Maybe she did hallucinate blasting hers brains out. Maybe somebody—the man—took advantage of her and brought her into this cage where he...

   Her look hardens.

   No, she would've at least summoned some kind of recollection about that. And she would've definitely felt violated now too. Besides, someone would have to be really messed up to try to come onto her inside a cage of all places.

   Then again, if she fell unconscious before she could play a game like Russian roulette—where the wager was to give him her dead body—then who's to say that man had the decency to refrain from getting it on in a cage?

   The more she ponders it, the more the spiralling notions drive her sanity further and further from the bill.

   She knew her drinking problems would one day get her into a terrible situation but this is next level. She has to get out of here.

   Right as the notion comes to mind, she moves her stiff limbs. She falls onto her palms and knees, careful not to bump her head against the low-hung bars.

   Once she tries to jiggle the cage open, the door to the room slams open.

   The one who steps inside is not the lust-filled man she expects.

   Instead, it's a girl. Short-statured and donned in a plain grey overall dress and apron that wraps around her hips. She grips a fancy tray in hand, bright orange hair cascading in curls over her shoulder as she kicks the door shut with the heel of her flats. Her facial features are still, dark red lips tight against her pale skin.

   At least, they are, until her bright blue eyes meet a gaping Leda's and lighten.

   She stumbles, practically bolting toward the cage. Leda flinches as the girl falls to her knees, casting the tray and squishing her face against the metal.

   "Miss, you're finally awake! You passed out last night and haven't woken since. I was beginning to worry."

   She... passed out? Last night? As Leda's sanity attempts to process her words, her eyes bulge. Was she so intoxicated she couldn't tell man from woman? She does have the same coloured hair, but...

   "You—you're a girl? A girl wanted my dead body?"

   The one in question merely cranes her head to the side, tufts of her orange curls falling over her cheeks. "Hmm?"

   No cynicalness or sadistic demeanour. Rather, she radiates as much innocence as her soft-spoken voice.

   Leda swallows, which is hard due to how scratchy and dry her throat is. Calm down, she hisses to herself. Why is she having second thoughts now? This isn't the time nor situation.

   She should be taking this as her chance to figure out what's going on.

   "Bimbo," she says once assured of the notion. She folds her arms across her exposed chest, shielding whatever's left of her dignity. "Did you violate my body or did I kill myself—tell me what's going on."

   Although her words are blunt as can be, the girl stares at her, occasionally fluttering her orange lashes. Her head tilts in the other direction, as if in an attempt to process her statement.

   Leda's lips meet in a line. Does she not understand her? But she was speaking English a few seconds ago.

   Brows tapering together, Leda's fingers furl into fists. Another shiver runs up her spine.

   She shifts her question: "Where are my clothes?"

   Her previous yells must have been more incoherent than she thought because this time, the girl brightens.

   "Considering they were soiled in your blood, I took it upon myself to clean them for you," she enlightens her. "Here, I brought you a spare so wear them instead."

   She ascends and hastens across the linoleum floors toward a nightstand where a pair of clothes sits. All the while Leda sets her jaw. Did she say her blood? Then, she really shot herself after all...

   And yet she's here now—alive?

   Disliking the exasperation welling within her, she scowls in the distance at the girl humming as if this situation isn't far from the norm.

   "Who are you?"

   She returns to her side, a miniscule smile in play. "I go by Nia. I work in the Deck Tower as Master Rhett's assistant."

   Master? Judging their earlier interaction, this 'Nia' isn't the one who shepherded her into that alleyway and gave her the gun. Then is this 'Master' that rude man?

   In that case, it's for certain what happened wasn't an illusion. She really did meet that man and play that risky game.

   Leda's stomach clamps as the realization dawns upon her. Wincing, she clasps her abdomen. It's a piercing kind of pain.

   "I apologize on behalf of Master Rhett," Nia says. She slips out an assortment of keys from the front pocket of her apron and extends one to unlock the large cage. As it clicks open, her lips twist up sheepishly. "Though he may have decided this without adequate explanation, I'm sure he did it with the best of intentions."

   She lowers the garment she's prepared as well as slides Leda the tray from earlier.

   "But I guess you wouldn't know who that is, would you?"

   Removing her hands from her stomach—although not wanting to due to the soaring ache—Leda grasps the fabric between her fingers. The tautness of her nerves have settled considerably, but that doesn't erase her aggravation. "Is this a dream?"

   "If thinking so will help you cope, then a dream is fine."

   "You're not making any sense."

   "I deeply apologize, Miss. I am in no position to efficiently answer why you are here and what it means for you. Words from Master Rhett would be more beneficial than a wench like myself."

   Without allowing Leda the opportunity to escape to safety, Nia shuts the cage. She fastens on the lock without a second to waste.

   "I'll leave your food here. Your stomach is hurting, is it not? It's best to satiate your appetite and wait for me to bring further word."

   Leda's eyes trail the tray and its cover adorning the dish. There's not even painkillers and water to go along with it. Then again, her expecting a way to rid her headache in such a surreal situation really is pushing it.

   Nia is up on her feet and gracefully turns to go.

   "Nia."

   As if expecting the call of her name, she rounds on the balls of her polished shoes, dress waning after her. Unlike the previous times, Leda can clearly spot a humoured glint in her otherwise stunning eyes. "Yes, Miss?"

   "Am I dead?"

   Her blunt question does little to stun her. With a meek smile, Nia takes her leave at that; closing the door and allowing an uncomfortable silence to sift through.

   Leda heaves a loud breath. What did that mean? Is she actually dead? Is this the afterlife?

   She slips on the attire. Outdated undergarments aside, it's a dress far more colourful than Nia's, but a lot more modest than she's used to.

   Though ambiguous, Nia's words are definitely enlightening. At least with them, Leda knows who to direct her questions to—and upon her departure—where to go as well.

   This 'Master' fellow has a lot of explaining to do.

   Leda spares a sharp survey of the room, noting the petite bed and ivory walls and decor, down to the ceramic floor. Then, she dangles a set of keys before her eyes—the batch she'd swiped from Nia's pocket without her knowledge.

   Attaining them was far too easy, really. Especially considering Nia shamelessly showed her where she placed it.

   The corners of Leda's mouth curve upward.

   Talking with Nia truly has been enlightening.

   Hunching her torso, Leda extends the swirly key she remembers Nia used into the lock. Despite being unable to see its entirety in the blindspot she's in, she cranks it anyway. Clicking, it falls and hits the ground. Leda triumphantly pushes open the cage and wriggles right out.

   Stretching her limbs have never felt more invigorating.

   Exhaling loudly, she situates her palm to her hip. Now, then...

   When an enticing, mouth-watering scent wafts into the air, it succeeds in snatching her focus. She lifts the dish's cover, exposing a pile of juicy meat. Trusting it after everything would be a bit naive on her part. However, Nia's words are intriguing in their own notion.

   As if somehow aware about her stomach pain, she told her to 'satiate her appetite', implying eating would somehow solve it. And going off these garments she's bestowed and how easily it was to steal the keys, Leda can be assured this Nia isn't as dangerous as 'Master Rhett.'

   That said, taking a bite out of this meat can either instantly kill her or heal her right up.

   The avid gambler in her takes the fifty-fifty chance.

   She plops a piece of the jerky-esque meat into her mouth. Straightaway, her tongue palate dances.

   It's absolutely delicious.

   She scoops up the entire plate at that. Death aside, if this is the last meal she'll be graced with it's a risk she has to take.

   She needs to remember to ask 'Rhett' what exactly this is before she gives him hell for kidnapping and trapping her naked in a cage.

   That in mind, Leda ambles towards the doorway and stuffs her cheeks with the delicious delicacy. Balancing the plate in her arm, she rotates the knob, and fortunately, it twists like any other door.

   She saunters into the hall.

   The floors and walls are cleansed to the point where her reflection can be seen in them; the pillars dusted so they shimmer as well. Even a red carpet lines the floor, leading the way in this extravagant hall.

   Leda oohs at every nook and cranny of this palace-like tower, chewing softly as she scours the gigantic metallic suits of armour she passes. They appear to originate from a medieval time period. Frankly, the eeriness of them constitute the idea that they'll suddenly start moving like in the movies.

   Her surroundings since she was little consisted of nothing but darkness, dreary streets, alcohol and rundown establishments. And yet here she is, walking through nothing short of a fairy tale.

   She's always been unlucky. Always in the wrong place at the wrong time. Constantly chased and pelted out of cities for stealing from shopping districts. Witnessing the deaths of the people closest to her over and over again.

   There seemed to be no aspect of her life that can be considered fortunate.

   She wasn't born with good looks. Her clothes tend to be in a constant torn state. Her family members are all dead.

   Even the fact that she sleeps in alleyways since she can't afford a proper place to live is able to sum up her life in a nutshell.

   That's why when she tries to discern this all, she can't.

   Where exactly did Rhett bring her?

   "Find him!"

   The shout momentarily jolts Leda from her daze. She freezes, peering out from around one of the glassless windows into the neighbouring garden. Heavy footfalls thunder through the grass, a copious herd of armoured men fading into the distance.

   "Master Rhett made it clear we get him into the tower!"

   "That pesky wolf! Why does he always flee?"

   Leda flutters her eyelashes. Wolf...? They have wolves running around here too?

   Frowning, she cocks her head to the side before stuffing another mouthful of the tasty meat into her mouth. She aims her attention back to the vacant hall ahead and hops up a flight of cobblestone steps that would normally deplete all the stamina she has in her. For some reason, however, the meat she's eaten makes the journey easier.

   Her headache has practically faded, and the pain in her stomach is gone too. The wonders good food can do is indisputable.

   She arrives before tall doors at the topmost step. It towers over her, and the design is peculiar. Four faces carrying four distinct symbols. A spade, heart, clover and diamond.

   Albeit puzzled, Leda nudges the notion aside. She bumps it open a crack, peering into the grandiose room.

   It's exquisite. The walls are covered in wallpapers, vibrant under the glow of the sun outside. The desk in the centre of the room is covered in books and paperwork, with the nearby bookcase completely empty.

   Leda stalks up to the desk, scanning the surfaces of the hardcovers. They're the familiar alphabet she's grown up with, but none particularly flow. Y's beside t's, b's beside d's. It's almost gibberish.

She flips through one of the books.

Correction: It is gibberish.

   Past the outdated black feather and ink accompanying four scrolls on the desk, Leda spots something shimmer at the corner of her eye. The design draws her to what sits there. Setting down the plate and using her ungreased hand, she elevates it for a closer look.

   "What a beautiful hourglass..."

   There's a loud sound—an uncountable number of books crashing to the floor.

   Leda jerks her head. The man of orange hair she's been anticipating stands at the threshold of the shelves.

When her eyes fall upon his nose, her one-track mind only draws a blank.

   It's colourful. Vibrant. Identical to a toucan's.

   Awed, she blinks it in regardless of the silence that ensues.

   He didn't have a nose like this yesterday. But it's definitely him.

   Rhett.

   "You..." He sputters for words, not stopping to address the books he's dropped by his feet. He can't, due to the vast astonishment that consumes him. "How did you get in here? We placed you in a cage—"

   "Oh, that? I unlocked it."

   She falls into his cushiony seat, crossing her leg over the other. Then she tosses the jangly keys onto the weathered marble.

   "That Nia really was careless. Said she was someone's assistant but maybe this place should get a new one."

   She casually reaches for another piece of meat to consume. Truthfully, she can't stop indulging.

   The man, however, eventually regains his poise. The scowl he shoots her—unconditional malice and animosity in tow—only summons a snort past her lips. Using her free hand to slip out the oddly shaped revolver from under the masses of paper, she twirls it.

   "Now," she drawls, resting the familiar barrel to the corners of her upturned lips. "You're the guy from the casino, aren't you? 'Master Rhett,' was it? Care to explain why I'm not dead?"

   His growl grows feral. "There's no way Nia would give you the keys."

   "Of course she wouldn't." Leda rolls her eyes. "I've lived my entire life pickpocketing or manipulating others for cash in order to stay alive. But you took advantage of drunk ol' me because you assumed I'm that kind of damned girl to society, right?"

   She tilts the barrel toward him, pursing her lips in clear disdain.

   "So tell me already. Is this the afterlife or some realistically painted dream? How and why in the world did I of all people survive a bullet through the noggin without being rushed to the ER?" She curls her finger over the trigger, inching it back. "Who the hell are you, Rhett? And what do you want from me?"