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MARIA

                 I was rarely allowed to spend an entire day how I wanted to by myself. I remembered coming back home really happy when I was given a day off. I was swinging the daffodils by my side that I had picked with Leonardo that afternoon as I skipped back home. A smile was still hanging on my face as I thought about him. We had spent the entire afternoon at the allotments. I was a better gardener than I thought.

It was really a warm day; the air was humid, but the cool wind was beginning to ease the heat that had surrounded us all day. I was wearing a simple dress, but it still felt too hot to wear. All I wanted to do was shower and sleep.

I pushed the heavy door open and entered, taking off my shoes and placing them in the correct place and correct position. My mother was strict about the house being neat and tidy. I forced myself to stop mirroring that regime as I grew older and lived on my own. My socks were warm as I moved into the house, an increasing sound of harsh words being exchanged filling my ears.

My feet halted as I heard a body hit the floor in the lounge. My smile disappeared the moment I remembered where I was. Home. My home was unlike anyone else's. My home was a place where I would return to constant bad news, a place where I could never fully be at rest, where my heart was always tense and my mind was never at ease. I saw and heard things no child should ever experience. I had to grow up at a very tender age. It was utterly wrong.

I didn't have to see to know what was going on in there. My father stormed out, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a red, furious look on his face. My face was still, but my eyes were filled with frustration. My whole body was stiff, but my hand curled into a fist by my side. His raging eyes met mine as I walked, and I dared to speak, "I told you not to hit her." It was a low but strong comment. He stopped in his tracks and gave me the most degrading stare in disbelief.

"And I told you to keep your fucking nose out of adults' business—" He tried to argue until I shot him a dirty look and interrupted, "That's pretty hard to do as you've involved me since I was a child. You started this." His hand raised soon after that, and I was ready. I learnt to stop fearing my father as I grew older. It wouldn't be the first time he had hit me.

Her voice was what stopped him. "Lower your hand." She didn't even have to shout. My head turned in her direction. She didn't look as bad as I thought she would. A busted lip, a bruise on her cheek. Her hand gripped onto the door frame, supporting her entire weak body. She always looked ill when she was at home, an icon once she stepped out of the house. My mother was a skinny woman, despite her hourglass figure, who only ate one small meal a day. Her dark eyes were on him as he lowered his hand, scoffing. It was strange. She would never let him touch me. Only my mother would usually hit me.

His hard eyes went back to mine. "Your mother is a fucking whore. You keep staying with her, and you'll turn just like her, spreading her legs for whatever walks through the door with money!" I didn't like staying with either of them. My father always questioned my legitimacy to him, and my mother was mentally unstable. He left soon after saying that, probably to go and cheat on her too.

I turned to my mother, who didn't seem too fazed by him. She simply started to go back into the lounge, and I followed her with a question. "Don't you get tired of this?" She sat on the sofa despite the mess around her. The alcohol on the table, the broken pieces of glass on the floor, the items of the shelves scattered. My mother took out her lighter and lit the cigarette between her lips. I refrained from commenting on her bad habit again.

After releasing a puff of air, she casually asked, "You were out with that Romano child again?"

I folded my arms and leaned against the wall, looking at the mess of a mother before me. "You were out with another man?" I asked a risky question. I didn't usually question what she did outside the house simply because I didn't know what to believe, and I didn't want to know. I also didn't know how she'd respond.

She winced, hissing at the cut on her lip. Dabbing it with her small finger that was manicured like the rest, her cold eyes met mine again. She rolled her eyes and softly chuckled, "You think I was with someone else?"

Did I? I had no idea if my father was truthful. He always said it, and sometimes it matched. The questionable nights she'd come back late with marks on her skin, or the days when she never returned. And sometimes when she did come back, she had an awkward walk. It could be true, but I also knew my mother had a lot of dignity and pride in herself that she wouldn't. Would she? I didn't let my puzzling thoughts show, reciprocating her cold look.

She seemed amused, which made me think that it could be true. She sighed as she leaned back, staring intently at me. "My own daughter also thinks that I voluntarily sleep with different men." My mother lightly chuckled, her face entertained. She looked young; my mother always did, and she always dressed well. She wore a long evening dress as if she was going out to a party, the jewellery, the lipstick, the elegance of her posture. Her cleavage was on display, and her bun, that would've once been neat, was high on her head.

It always made me question what her life would be like if she hadn't met him and she had lived a normal life. I didn't know what to think of her response. She always had confusing answers that never fully answered the question.

"Is it true?" I finally asked her, my voice giving away my disappointment. She continued to stare at me with an intensity in her grey eyes. It was a look that I couldn't decipher. It felt like she was staring deep into my soul. She had that kind of effect on people. As she released another puff, her hand slowly moved away from her face, focusing on me and not the cigarette. She pointed at me with the same hand and avoided my question. "I always tell you, don't I? You have to be better than me."

Her voice was hard and serious. "You think running around with that boy will get you there?"

I automatically went to defend myself, "Leo—"

She raised her hand as a harsh sign of silence. I immediately closed my mouth. My mother had that kind of natural authority that no one could question. "I give you a day for yourself, and you choose to be with a boy the whole time," she slowly said, turning her head slightly to the side as she gazed strongly at me. A light chuckle left her again as she took another drag from her cigarette.

"Have you ever heard this?" My mother started, her jaw tight. "Men only treat women like princesses when they want to use them like prostitutes." My eyebrows narrowed at her unkind words.

"Don't waste your time on him when you have a legacy waiting for you," she brutally advised, putting out her cigarette roughly. Her stern eyes met mine again, and it sent shivers down my spine.

"You're lucky you're not getting it the way I had to."


"You're lucky you're not getting it the way I had to."



That was the first thing on my mind when I woke up.

I shot up with a headache that slowed my movement. My hand immediately went to my head as I winced, the intense throbbing paining me. Exhaling, I closed my eyes as I couldn't get that memory out of my mind.

The way she had to?

Something about that sentence didn't sit right with me. I didn't know why my dream was a forgotten memory of her.

"You're awake!"

A sudden, familiar voice brought me to open my eyes. My head turned, and Rosa's face was in shock, staring at me.

"Rosa?" I gasped, blinking rapidly in shock.

"Ria!" She pulled me to her, a tight and needed hug shared between us. I closed my eyes as the tears began running down my cheeks.

"Rosa, you're okay!" I cried, burying my head in her shoulder as we hugged. Her warm body pressed against mine. I missed her; I knew how badly I missed her, but it felt more intense being with her again. My heart ached for my best friend.

My eyes slowly opened and met a pair of blue ones. I moved back quickly from Rosa as I realised the amount of faces around me. My jaw slowly dropped as I took in all the women around me. It felt like the world had stopped the minute I registered what had happened.

I took in my surroundings. I was in some kind of cage, like an adult bird's' cage. White bars surrounded us with its door open with more girls standing on the outside. The inside was strangely modern; I was sitting on a small, single bed with a bedside table not too far away. The floor was porcelain marble. My eyes rose and looked beyond where I was. The whole, vast room was filled with the same cages, each identical and forming a semicircle with a large pair of double doors at the far end.

The whole place looked weirdly furnished and organised. It didn't look like a prison. I realised where I was; I could remember every single thing from the last time I was awake. Jorge, Giovanni. I frowned, my eyebrows furrowed as I recognised each and every single face around me.

The missing ballerinas.

They were all wearing the same outfit. I looked down and realised that I too was wearing some kind of childish, snowy costume dress with a white tutu as if we were dressed for a child performance of Swan Lake. They looked so empty, like they had lost themselves being trapped in what looked like a basement full of cells for all of them. I didn't want to imagine the horrors they had seen or been through.

The Amelia Walsh herself was leaning against the bars, her azure eyes looking down at me in sympathy. She was another company's star prima donna. We had met before, and she was a kind person. Her hands were clasped together, and she had a small smile on her angelic face. "You finally ended up in here too," her quiet voice spoke.

I shakily let out a breath and looked down at my hands as I tried to take in everything my eyes were showing me. I managed to ask in a low voice, "I've been abducted?"

Rosa nodded slowly, her brown eyes filled with tears as she sadly gazed at me. "By Giovanni?" I questioned, remembering he was the last person I had encountered. Her nodding continued, and I covered my face with my hand, closing my eyes.

It was him. Out of people, it was Giovanni who had been stalking me. I didn't want to believe it but faced with all those women and the situation I was in, there was no way I could not believe it. I began to question everything, all I had spoken about with him, my trust in him. A stray tear slipped out of my eyes as I thought about Leonardo. He was right; his intuition was right the entire time.

Leonardo was stuck on my mind. I suddenly had a deep and overwhelming desire to see him. I missed him; I needed him. I could feel the tears begin to prick in my eyes as I thought about him. It wasn't the time for tears; I tightly squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself to remain composed.

I met Rosa's eyes again as I let my anger boil within me. "Tell me everything I need to know about what's been happening here."

I knew Charlotte Smith. She was relatively new to Dream. The girl moved closer to me from the outside of the cage, her hand grabbing mine as she sat before me with tears building in her desperate eyes. "Wait—before that," she tearfully began, the tears spilling out. "What's it like out there? Do our families know? Do they miss us? What about the police? Have they been investigating?" My heart sank as I remembered how long most of the girls had been gone for. Months after months without seeing the outside, their family, their homes.

"How did you end up here as well?" Charlotte sobbed, her head burying into my lap as her body went weak and slumped against my legs. The girls must've had hope. The hope that I, out of all people, wouldn't have been able to be taken too. That they would be saved.

"You are the final number," Rosa woefully informed me, wiping the tears running down her bronze skin. My eyes cheerlessly gazed into hers. "The final number?" I slowly repeated, my heart increasingly starting to race.

"He's made us into a collection," Rosa started to explain as my hand patted Charlotte's head gently as she continued to weep. My eyebrows narrowed in confusion as I looked at Rosa. Rosa sniffed, unable to contain her tears. "We're his 'little dolls.'" He plans to make a performance out of us," Rosa's voice was cracking as she spoke. My body tensed up. "For all his buyers to watch and choose."

"His own 'Grand Performance.'" I noticed the dark bruise on Rosa's wrist, my breathing becoming less regular. "To choose?" I repeated, unable to fully understand what she meant.

"He plans to sell us." My head shot up, and my eyes met Diamond Evergreen, who sat on the end of my bed; her voice was cold and bitter. "Each one of us to different buyers from across the world. We're being trafficked." My eyes went down to Charlotte as she began sobbing at the sound of Diamond's harsh voice. "Like human slaves!" Her arms folded across her chest as she clenched her jaw, staring down at the ground.

I blinked slowly, taking all of their words in and forming an explanation in my mind. My lips parted in silent surprise as I became unnaturally still, struggling to grasp Giovanni's motivation behind all of this. "You—we were all stalked and kidnapped for this reason?" I questioned, my voice filled with astonishment at the preposterous situation we were stuck in.

Diamond let out a resentful laugh, her eyes filled with antipathy as they flicked over to me. "Are you shocked, 'little red'? How obsessed can a man be with ballerinas? That he'd stalk them for so long and capture them to be like china dolls in a box?"

"How do you know about that?" I suddenly questioned her, my eyebrows narrowed at her words.

Diamond chuckled again, "You're his favourite, princess!" I got an obvious sense that she didn't like me. It was the first time we had met. "He's been dreaming and dreaming about the day he'd finally have you. We're just minor characters in the play. You're the main one he wants. He started all of this for you! You just had to fucking drag us down with you!"

"Diamond—" Rosa began, her voice wavering as she spoke. Her eyes were stern on Diamond, who stood, scoffing in fury as she glared down at me. "I was doing fine before all of this! I had a normal fucking life, and I was fighting my way every single day to work—to make a name for myself! Now the first fucking thing people know me for is being kidnapped by a ballerina-obsessed lunatic!"

I swallowed, an unsettled and uncomfortable feeling in me as I looked around. I felt responsible for something I had complete no control over. My heart was pounding against my rib cage in my chest, and my whole body was heating up. She pushed past the other girls and went into what seemed to be her cage, slamming the door shut, and it echoed across the entire room. Diamond was crying by herself there.

I looked down and closed my eyes again, biting my bottom lip hard as I tried not to cry. It was an overwhelmingly intense atmosphere. The other girls had started crying too, and Charlotte was still wailing by my legs.

"He's not going to sell me, is he?" I asked, although I knew the answer, my eyes meeting Rosa's again. Rosa slowly shook her head, licking her lips as she tried to stop crying.

"No, Ria...he wants you. The rest of us will be sold."

I let in a sharp intake of breath and blinked back the tears, my eyelashes growing wet. The fear was already starting to pour into me; I couldn't let myself be intimidated or blinded by fright. I needed to stay calm.

My eyes looked around, and my eyes widened slightly, noticing a decrease in numbers.

"There's supposed to be fifteen of us now," I deciphered, my eyes beginning to fill with alarm. "Where's the other girl?" Rosa shakily let out a breath; her hand placed itself on top of mine.

"She's Daisy Maidson," Rosa practically whispered, her eyes giving away her fear. "And she's with him right now."

"Doing...what?" I probed, my own voice shaking. My stomach was churning inside, my chest heavy with the weight of anxiety. I had never met her before but heard she was an upcoming dancer.

Rosa looked down, her whole face covered with alarm. She was rigid in fear. "You don't want to know, Ria," her quiet voice told me, her eyes struck with distress that left worry inside me. My breath caught in my throat; I was starting to feel the dread radiating off her.

"You really don't want to know."

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~ Author's Note ~

The period of Maria's confinement is one of the editing points I have for NEPENTHE.

Updates will be a lot more frequent for this period in order to kind of 'move on' from this section of the story as it is a little slow. But I promise it picks up straight after!

What comes after is a lot better to read.

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