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[h1][color=D4F0FF] Bodil Bera [/color][/h1]
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Two feet. Two hands. Two eyes. She still had all her pieces and bits. Short dark hair cropped to curl at her jaw, her faded green eyes flashed in anger. Full pouting lips in down turned frown, the sparrow-like girl would really like to kick and thrash and scream her demands to be released. She wasn’t alone in this. But she’d like to wager that she was the angriest. Her wish had been maliciously twisted. She shouldn’t be here! Her booted feet scuffled on the ground. Already having tried to make a break for it, she had been shackled up, her bindings anchored to one of the posts supporting the decaying canopy once called a roof. Layered in warm clothes, she was a wintery looking thing, though a bit thin and small for proper durability in harsh cold climates. Not that it had ever stopped her before.

She was stubborn and a bit spiteful, glaring as each horrible monstrous mask in the crowd, like a chained wolfling mutt ready to bite at anything that dared get too close. Collection! Ha! This was an auction! The decrepit corpse of the building was molding over with greenery and anything metallic gasped under layers of smothering rust. The grand jewel-colored windows were cracked and bleeding light, vines and brambles festering in their wounds. In the balcony teeth above, masks of faces smile down at her. Some were so horrific and other too painfully beautiful, so they must be masks. 

Gold and glittering silver and other kinds of finery she could not name glimmered like stars in the skeleton teeth of the balcony. Gilded to hide their horrifying natures, no doubt. The Collector paired well with his dying palace, for he too was rotting and decaying, fraying at the edges, his wheezing voice cracking like the windows but holding no beauty. As if made of ancient wood, stone and dust, he projected his discontentment of some Unseelie King. Bodil didn’t know what an ‘unseelie’ was but it sounded like ‘unseen’ to her. She growled lowly.

Then there was the ‘seelie’ king-queen. Whatever. Didn’t matter. All Bodil knew was that this was temporary. She’d gotten out of a binding servitude once. She could do it again. The jeering made her snap to, tugging at her shackles and glowering like a starved wolf that hadn’t lost its fight quite yet. Decide? Decide what?! Where and who they would be slaves to? That was no choice! Bodil made a noise of frustration, squirming at her tightening bonds.

A beast man appeared and she shuddered. Round doe-like eyes went wide. Beast-men of were often the tormentors of her childhood nightmares. It grinned and she repealed in disgust and horror. So the revolting beasts of her nightmares were real and not just child’s dreams! Every wave of the creatures tail made her face twist a bit tighter in terrified abhorrence. The thing grew claws and she shiver, paling though she could not look away. This talk of ‘forcings’, whatever that was, sent shivers like cold ice water down her spine. Screwing her eyes shut, she pushed her face into her shoulder.

She wanted to go home. She wanted to be away from this awful place that housed nightmares. But all this ‘wanting’ is what got her in this mess to begin with. Why couldn’t she be satisfied with life as a Mennonite? Why couldn’t she simply suffer through the hounding that her father and brother had dragged he through, trying to get her to go home when clearly she was never going back? She had made it years through all that. Then one night, in weary weakness, she confessed her wish to what she had thought had been an angel. 

And now Bodil was here. Betrayed. Oh, but she had gotten her wish. She’d never be bothered by her family ever again. A young man spoke, a human, same as her. Her eyes snapped to him. He was [i]talking[/i] to them? Bodil shuddered. Why did he seem so calm? Didn’t he know? 

They were never going to get away from this place. Not without connections and a plan.

Good thing she had experience with being held captive.
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