AAR’s POV:-

Dude, what’s the deal with Mr. Wacko and his sleeping magic? I still can’t open my eyes properly.

But yeah, I can open them enough to see that we’re in, like, a cage. Or a cell, I guess. That’d be more appropriate. There’s bar in front of us, and walls on the other three sides.

Bee is sitting upright, back against one such wall. Her eyes are large and blank. In her lap is See, snoring soundly. I wish I were See.

I start inching towards them, but then a rattle against the bars makes both me and Bee jump.

There’s this ancient woman standing on the other side of the bars, jingling keys and a staff in her wrinkly hands. She looks like . . . uhm, let’s see. You know how if you fold paper again and again and again until you can’t anymore? If instead of paper it were a human, the result would be this woman. This witch, if I’m not wrong.

‘Hey,' I croak, realizing how dry my mouth is. ‘Can I have some water?’

The woman smiles. Her teeth are like books arranged on the shelf on her mouth, only the books have worms crawling in them, are craggy, and have a reader that most definitely doesn’t take care of them.

Then the witch turns to walk away. ‘Woman!’ I shout after her, running up to the bars, but she’s gone. 'Miss Witch!'

Nowhere to be seen in the corridor. Magic, I guess. I wonder if the other cells are filled as well.

I sit back against the wall like Bee, thirsty as I’ve never been before. I once played a beggar in a play (hey! No role is small!) and I had to pretend like I was thirsty. I guess I’d be able to give the performance of a lifetime in that role if I had to play it now.

'Where do you think Marra and Mr. Om are?’ I ask Bee, closing my eyes.

I hear no response. Instead, a weird sniffing sound – like the sniffs a sick person makes – reaches my ears.
I open my eyes again, look over at Bee, and find her sobbing. Tears run down her cheeks. Just the sight of it crunches my heart.

I walk over to her, even though by now my legs have started to feel like noodles (bad simile! I’m hungry now!). I don’t really ever know what to do in situations like these. Bee's always the one who handles stuff calm-headedly.

I slide my hand into the slight gap between the wall and her back, and the other on See lying in her lap. Then I decide this is way too uncomfortable (you have no idea), so I use that hand to wipe the tears off of her face. I can’t even bear to look at her that way.

'Come on, Bee,' I say in my best serene voice. ‘Hold it together, alright? If they wanted to kill us, they wouldn’t have waited so long.’

False. I knew the truth. They wanted us to die slow, of hunger and thirst and fear. But that does not make for comforting talk.

'There aren’t even any guards,' I continue, hoping to find something to cheer her up while fighting back tears of my own. ‘Maybe – maybe we can escape. You always figure something out.’

She shakes her head, more and more tears oozing out of her pretty, large (and pretty-large) eyes.

Ahhhh, what do I do?!

I end up surrendering, and let out tears of my own. I’m overly aware of every drop that rolls down my cheek, of every breath I intake, of every blink of my eyes. Might as well not let emotions vent up if we’re gonna die.

Bee’s hand clasps mine. At first I stupidly assume it’s an affectionate gesture, but she’s just trying to make me see. My mouth hangs open, like a car's broken bumper.

Our cell does have a guard, after all.

It’s a butterfly. A giant, pink butterfly with the wingspan of a freaking cart.