[ Just a note, I'm changing to past tense bc present tense isn't really my style and it messes me up, so just so you know]

Zenna shot up with incredible speed, her head hitting the ceiling as her back straightened. She swore aloud and flopped back onto the strange bed. How on earth had she gotten there? Her brows furrowed as she took in the small room, not finding anything significant to help indicate where she found herself. It was a small room, no bigger than a large closet with only a bed and a mirror inside. The walls were painted pitch black.

She brought a hand to her head, suddenly feeling very dizzy again and stepped up to the mirror. Her dark hair was out of its knot and carefully brushed back as if someone had washed and groomed her while she was unconscious. Her face was spotless, almost shining in the light which nearly blinded her considering she'd never seen anything so clean. They couldn't even afford a proper sink to wash their hands, let alone a shower. Her gaze moved down to the pink checkered dress that was tight around her waist and chest then flowed out more towards her knees.

She scowled at the piece of clothing, completely loathing the colour pink, not to mention how God-awful it looked on her. In her opinion, anyway. She was sure that any foolish man would appreciate the way it gracefully cupped her breasts and fitted her form. That is, before they discover how easily she could snap their necks.

She stepped away from the mirror, feeling overwhelmed all of a sudden. There wasn't a closet in the room and her clothes from the day before were gone. She tried the door. Locked.

Zenna sighed, sliding down the door until she was sitting on the cold floor. Was she dreaming? She had to be dreaming.

"You're awake!" cried an unfamiliar voice. Zenna winced as the loud voice cut through her headache like a razor-sharp blade. She cast her gaze around the room again, but it was still as empty as before.

"Hello?" she demanded, not bothering to get to her feet. "Who are you? What am I doing here?" Questions flooded out of her and she found herself unable to stop.

"You can't see me," said the childlike voice, making Zenna think of the girl out in the forest and how her warm hand felt like ice against Zenna's cheek. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Who are you?" she asked again, quieter this time.

There was a moment of silence, then some whispering before the little girl answered. "I am Weylyn Harlow," she informed, "I was sent to retrieve you."

Zenna scoffed at that, finding it hard to believe that someone would send a child to fetch her. "Did you cause the fire?"

"No, I did not. The fire was caused by a much stronger force than you would imagine," her voice wavered, probably debating how much she should reveal. Zenna waited. She thought of her sister caught in the flames, who would rather die at her own hand, a fast and painless death, rather than be choked by deoxygenation. And then there was her brother who begged Zenna to leave, to never return and she couldn't contemplate why.

"What do you need with me, then?"

There was no answer, only the sound of the door unlocking and the knob turning. Zenna moved away from the door before it opened and avoider the embarrassment of falling through an open doorway or getting hit in the face. She scrambled to her feet, crossing her arms stubbornly over her chest.

"Grandmother will see you now," the little girl—Weylyn—blinked and curled her fingers through her wavy brown hair.

"All right," Zenna blinked back and followed her through the corridors.

It looked like a normal house, though much larger than any she had ever been in before. A hotel, maybe? It looked ancient.

There was a long staircase spiralling down to the first floor and there were old paintings framed and hanging on every grey and black wall. Weylyn lead her down the stairs, the house getting creepier with every step she took.

They reached the kitchen at last, the smell of wet wood filling Zenna's senses. As strange as that was, Zenna decided to no longer question the weirdness of the place. Grandma was standing by the stove.

"Smells good!" beamed Weylyn, going to give her grandmother a hug. Zenna stayed unmoving.

"It's your favourite," she replied, her wrinkled lips curling into a smile that chilled Zenna to her core.

She cleared her throat, still staying outside the room and keeping her distance. They turned to her at once. "Why am I here?" demanded Zenna, determined to get answers so she could get the hell out of there.

"Child, shouldn't you be grateful we rescued you from the flames?" Grandma let out a huff, sizing her up. "Kids these days. So unappreciative."

Zenna stood still, scared that any movement might set her off. She opened her mouth to protest but Grandma cut her off again.

"If you truly must know," she went on, turning back to her stew, "we've been observing you for quite some time and find you quite competent."

At that, Zenna laughed out loud, not able to restrain herself. "Way to state the obvious. That doesn't explain why you dragged me to this crazy-house and dressed me like a child's dress-up doll."

Though she had her back to Zenna, she could tell Grandma pursed her lips, trying to contain her frustration, much to Zenna's satisfaction. "The dress was Weylyn's idea. She has grown bored and weary and always enjoys getting company. And yes, Zenna Martets, you are as competent as you are arrogant. That's why it's better we have you on our side. It's better for you, as well."

She quirked a perfect eyebrow (plucked by Weylyn, most likely), "No offence, but I have a hard time believing that."

"They're blaming you for the fire," blurted out Weylyn, who received a warning glance from her grandmother. "Sorry," she mumbled, sinking back into the shadows.

It didn't matter, Zenna was rendered speechless. Immediately, she thought of her brother who so flippantly accused her and sent her away.

"Worry not, we know it wasn't you, child. We can help each other, yeah?" It wasn't a question, it was a threat. Grandma gave her a toothy grin, even though she only had a couple left.

"Who are you?" Zenna gaped at them, holding onto the doorknob to steady herself.

"You will find out in time," she said nonchalantly, finishing her stew and separating it on several plates. "Hungry?"

"Not at all," Zenna lied, not wanting to take her chances with the food.

"Rest, then. We have much to discuss in the morning."

"There is no rest for the wicked," she muttered under her breath and fled.