"I'm sorry! It won't happen again! Please, just let me go outside!"

"That's right, it won't. Because you are never leaving this cell ever again!"

"But Daddy-!"

"'But' nothing! You failed me!"

I sobbed, pulling weakly at the wrist and ankle shackles chaining me to the damp stone wall behind me. "I haven't left in three hundred years! I won't make the same mistake!"

"Bianca! I said no, and I mean no! I don't care if you haven't left this cell since the 1700's, you are never leaving, ever!"

"But the world must have changed so much since then!"

"And you won't get to see it!"

"Daddy!"

He spun on his heel and glided away silently, his free movement mocking me.

I slumped back against the wall, giving up on pleading. He came down once every day to give me food and punish me for disobeying him. It was just a slip of the mind; I forgot an important step in an assignment he had given me and I was paying for it dearly.

I traced my fingers over the runes carved into my cuffs, memorizing the straight, unforgiving grooves in the black metal. The chains leading to brackets in the wall clanked quietly as I shifted on the cold stone floor. I moved my middle finger too close and it pinched the skin between two links, making me wince and suck on the small cut.

The chains were just long enough to let me stick my arms through the bars, but father shortened them when he visited and let them go slack again when he left. I edged closer to the wall of metal bars that separated me from my father when he came and the black metal tray that was just within reach. I strained against the cuffs, rubbing my skin red again, and my fingertips alighted on the very edge of the tray. He didn't loosen the chains yet. I tugged it closer until I could grasp it with my whole hand and I scooted back against the wall with the tray in my lap to eat.

I grabbed the fork and looked between it and my turnip soup. Another small punishment for disobeying; the food tray was always where I had to stretch myself to the limit to get it and the food itself was repulsive, plus the silverware was always wrong. As often as not, I ate with my filthy hands, the centuries worth of grime under my fingernails not bothering me in the slightest. I picked up the bowl of soup -at least he gave me a bowl, and not a plate like last time- and drank from it, pushing loose strands of hair away from my face impatiently.

I picked up a potato roll, which he knew I despised and found disgusting, and looked it over. I was exceptionally hungry today, and I was beginning to get over preferences. I would take the one meal a day I got and eat all of it without complaint.

It was a hamburger bun, and when I opened it, it was filled with ketchup. I wrinkled my nose but stuffed it into my mouth whole and tried not to taste it. I almost threw up. ((Seriously, its disgusting. I use to eat it for lunch.)) I swallowed loudly and shuddered, the chains making small noises as my body shook.

I looked over the carton of milk he gave me. I was slightly lactose intolerant, so I couldn't have milk or cheese or ice cream but I could eat cookies and foods that had small amounts. I almost threw the container, but a thought occurred to me and I put it on the floor. One time he had filled a carton with water and given it to me, but I had thrown it at a wall and it burst, showering water over me. I regretted that dearly. So I opened container hopefully, but it was milk. Just plain milk. I grumbled and set it far away, near the door.

I returned my attention to the tray and searched for any other food items. There was a miniature fortune cookie that I ate eagerly, pulling out the fortune, but I saved reading it for last. I drank the rest of my soup and licked the bowl. It was going to be my only source of liquid for the next twenty four hours, and it went cold and got a gross skin on the top if I tried to save it. It was better hot.

I looked at the fortune. It was almost too small to be legible, but I made the words out.

They said "Help is on the way. Brace yourself."

It was so ridiculously optimistic I laughed out loud, an alien sound amid the dismal moans of the other prisoners here in the dungeon.

The prisoners were terrifying Fearlings, wayward Nightmares, bad spirits not allied with my father, evil shades, malicious ghosts, miserable beasts, bloodthirsty monsters, and moi. Yes, I just loved my room. Note the heavy sarcasm.

I crawled over and pushed the tray back out with my bare toes. I blended in with all of the black I wore. Over three hundred years, my cloak was worn thin, my pants torn and frayed, my shirt full of holes and falling apart at the seams. Early on, about forty years into my stay here at La Casa de Misery, my boots fell apart, rotted through, and I may have gnawed on the leather when I got especially hungry. But hey, I was only fifty, I didn't know how long I would be here.

My feet brushed the cold wet floor and I shivered, drawing them up where they couldn't touch the cold. I sat in one spot in the floor where it was dry, trying not to lean on much. Usually I wouldn't mind the cold, but it seeped into my bones, the humidity and dank smell combined with the sweating stones making it almost unbearable. I drew my cloak around myself, thinking bitterly of the stupid mistake that put me here.

I had trained a possible ally to use their powers before I got them to join us, and they got away from me before I could follow. Father was not happy. I had messed up a little on other assignments, but for some reason he really wanted that spirit in particular. I couldn't remember the name; three hundred years had finally done the trick. I forgot the person who messed up my immortal life.

Father told me I was immortal and trained me. He was the one that found me when I was born.

I thought as hard as I could, but I kept drawing a blank, only knowing it was a... hey, I forgot the gender too! Progress! I thought of their physical description. Maybe some white, like a dress or pants? I couldn't recall. I almost whooped for joy.

Other beings in the dungeon began hissing, starting with the ones near the top, where the least powerful or dangerous ones were stored. I was in the middle, higher than Fearlings but deeper than the shades, which could only chatter, but they had occasionally tricked a mortal into doing something bad, so they were only at the top. The prison was a deep pit sunken in the ground with a spiral staircase around the inside, the individual prisons found embedded in the ground beside the cylinder. It was as if a tube of dirt was removed from the ground and stairs installed along the inside along with little cells reinforced with stones and magic.

The news washed over me, and I passed it on without thinking. There had been a break-in! People were entering the dungeon! Maybe they would set us free! The message was sent from mouth to mouth in a variety of Darkling languages, even the Fearlings hearing it and the Dragon at the very bottom, the entrance to its prison in the floor of the pit and the ceiling of it's cell. The Dragon roared in excitement, sending it's joyous thoughts through my very core and making me shake. I roared back in its native tongue, replying.

When father had shown me the dungeon, he had forbidden me from seeing the Dragon. I went down there anyway, although I had never seen it with my eyes, and found its words in my head. We had communicated telepathically in the past, but we could no longer send messages back and forth with the new magical wards father had installed thirty years ago. He had never known about my special talent, but I could speak a large variety of Darkling. Living in the dungeon had helped, but I had had a natural tendency towards them anyway. I understood the shades and Fearlings and every language in between. One I recognized above all the others was the message in the Dragon's roar.

If they free me, I'll free you. If they free you, you'll free me.

It was a longstanding deal we'd had ever since I was thrown in with the lot. We were friends. He wouldn't harm me.

I roared again, the sound tearing at my throat but expressing my feelings in a way no human language could. I didn't care if father heard me now; I could be free! Free at last!

The shades were now muttering in disappointment. The intruders had passed them without freeing them. Others ahead and above me were stretching their arms out through the bars to try to touch the newcomers or attract their attention. The muttering reached a fever pitch in the cavern; every creature speaking in its own nature tongue and asking to be free. My voice joined that of theirs, moaning in a high voice, speaking English, my native tongue, "Help! Help me!" over and over. I stretched my arms out towards them. I couldn't make out their forms through the mist the agitated beings were making. The moans turned angry, and I saw why. As the creatures' hands touched the intruders, they would pass straight through them. It was obvious that they could see them, since they cringed away, but they couldn't touch them.

The immortals on either side of me grew louder and I stretched myself to the limit, now yelling, pleading. I heard a muttered comment in English, "Ignore them. They are trying to trick you by speaking our language. They are nothing but monsters that take the form of people. Do not let them out."

I stretched my arm further, tears streaming down my cheeks as my face mashed against the bars, and my fingertips just brushed the tiniest bit of skin. The person I touched froze in place, and I took the opportunity to force myself even more, and my fingers closed around a slender wrist. I drew back a little, the chains no longer paining me as much, and they had to move slightly nearer to me. "North!" the intruder yelled. The largest misty shape turned around, and I could see them clearly. He was a tall man in a red outfit, a black hat, holding a long sword in each hand. He had a long white beard and towered high above the doorway to my cell.

"Yes?" North asked. The rest of the company stopped and turned. There was a lady covered in feathers and who had wings, and oversized rabbit, and a floating yellow man. I had seen plenty of strange stuff in my time here, so nothing startled me.

"A little help here?" the boy, I assumed it was a boy, gestured to my hand clamped around my wrist.

The group drew closer to my cell and I almost burst out crying. "Help," I whispered, my voice gone from roaring. "Help me."

"Who are you?" the rabbit asked. I wasn't even fazed.

"Help," I croaked. "Help."

"Who are you?" the lady with feathers asked, laying a hand on mine on his wrist.

"Help," I repeated, my voice cracking. I still couldn't see the last figure, the one I grabbed.

"We can't help you unless we know your name." The lady was very nice. She was the only female in her group.

"Help," I whispered, falling to my knees. "Help me." The person was dragged down with me.

"Name?" the rabbit said impatiently.

The other spirits grumbled in annoyance.

"Water. Help." A gentle hand gave me a small flask of water and I drained it. "Better." I paused as the Dragon roared. They jumped in surprise, but I remained still. My voice was much smoother. "Bianca. Help me."

"We don't exactly want a ghoul following us around," the boy said nastily.

I hissed and dug my fingernails into his wrist, making him yelp and the others try to pry my fingers off, but I had a death grip on him. "Do not insult me. I am no ghoul." I sneered slightly. "Set me free."

The rabbit crossed his arms. The rest of the creatures' noise allowed us to talk. "Why on earth would we set you free? Just so some stupid banshee can follow us around? We don't want to hear your singing, thanks." He snorted.

I started chanting, random words repeating themselves, but they were clearly scared, as if I was going to cast a spell on them. "I am not a banshee either. Open the door. Break the chains. I will assist you with getting out. That is my offering."

"Witch," the tall man spat. "We make no deals with evil." He steered the boy away but I was pulled into the wall of bars, tears visible in the faint light. My hand was still around his wrist, and I saw how disgusting and jagged my long nails were.

My eyes overflowed and I felt like a little girl again. "Please." I felt like my heart was breaking. "I need to get out of here. Please."

The lady looked to North. "Can we? I feel terrible, leaving a person in here, no matter how demonic."

North's voice was gentler as he spoke to her. "Tooth, we cannot. They are just trying to trick us."

"Then how can I touch you?" My voice was louder the more desperate I became. "How come I aren't going through you like everyone else? Ghouls and banshees would go through you too. I'm a spirit." I bumped into the tray, tipping it through the bars and shattering the bowl. "I'm a spirit. Please help me. I need to get out of here."

"Food? Fearlings don't need food."

I automatically pointed down. "Fearlings are located at the lowest tier, just above the bottom cell. You are currently on the three hundred twenty first tier, cell number 689165372. Up are shades and less dangerous creatures, below is peril. I am the turning point between evil and hell." My voice was a hushed whisper. "Let me out. I can't do anything without my powers anyway."

The small yellow man made a silent sigh. He pulled out a whip made of yellow dust and it wrapped around the bars. I let go and he pulled on the rope, tearing the door off its hinges and shattering the magic on it. Then he tugged on my chains and shrugged. He couldn't undo them.

My spirits sank and my shoulders sagged. "Thanks for trying. He enchanted these about fifty years ago." I raised a wrist and let it clatter to the floor listlessly. "I just hope he'll kill me when he finds me, but with my luck, probably not." I sighed and sat, tucking my legs up and resting my chin on my knees. I traced the runes again, the lines so familiar. There was a loud clang and my wrists weren't as heavy. I looked up in amazement, and the large man was standing over me with a sword. I shrank back, but he extended a hand and pulled me to my feet by the loose bit of chain hanging. He had sliced them with his sword.

I smiled gratefully, unsteady on my feet. I wobbled out of the cell and squinted in the faint light. "Can I get my friend? He's in the bottom cell. I'll get him, then my stuff, then I'll show you out. Okay?"

Without waiting for an answer, I jumped off the side of the staircase and landed on the bars to the bottom cage several thousand feet below softly. "Smog?" I whispered. He roared, blowing my hair back from my face. I smiled. "It's good to be near you too. Listen, I'm going to get you out, get my stuff, show these people out, and then we can go out into the world and do whatever we want. Okay?"

The Dragon snorted his consent softly.

"Stay back from the door," I warned. "I haven't done this in a long time."

I held my hands out in front of me, aimed at the door under my feet. I focused on my palms, and I felt a searing power blast through them, a flash of darkness, my hands stinging from disuse and from leaking through the magical barriers, smashing the door, and I fell through the hole I created.