The hand that pressed against her face was unfamiliar, rough skin pressing her lips shut. She smelled the thick scent of leather and metal - he was armed. Panic gripped her, her breath catching in her throat. Even still, she managed to keep herself from lashing out. His gruff voice was in her ear, and she cringed away slightly. Son of a bitch. Her arms shook, her mind raced. Brelan was likely too far off to hear her, even if she did scream out. She would be surprised if there were guards left in the vicinity to help. She didn't even have her own knives on her, the items left stashed in the drawer of her dresser. Her stomach dropped as she suddenly felt [i]terrifyingly[/i] alone. But now was not the time to freeze and cry. She had to act.

What felt like minutes must have been seconds before she reacted. Acting on instinct, one arm struck out behind her with her elbow, using her full force to jab towards his rib cage. In the same motion her opposite hand reached for the hand that held her, grabbing the wrist and twisting at the same moment her elbow made contact. Both actions did little harm past the gear he'd adorned, but it still gave her the distraction she needed for just the smallest amount of room to slip from his hand. Without hesitation, or even the curiosity to look back at her attacker, she began to sprint down the hallway.

"Brelan!" she shrieked as she ran, regardless of its usefulness, hoping for anyone to even know her whereabouts. It didn't help that she'd been wearing the Gods-forsaken dress her father had insisted upon. She had few precious seconds to think. Her eyes searched wildly for anything of use. If she could just get a weapon in her hand...