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[h1][color=D4F0FF] Bodil Bera [/color][/h1]
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Bodil shuddered, her round eyes narrowing at The Collector. She was not a thing to be sold or bartered! How dare these, these, these nightmare creatures treat them like cattle! 'Herd them into separate groups...' Eyes slipping to steal glances at her shackled wrists, their anchoring chain connected to the beams above, she wished she had great strength. If she had, she could just pull the ceiling down on all of them and scramble away. The dark haired human female glowered at her offending skinny and lean arms.

If she had been faster, she wouldn't be shackled at all. Lady Queen, Collector or masked nobel freak, Bodil refused. She would find her way out of this. They might think her weak, being mortal and thin, but she had something none of them had. The desperate desire for freedom. And it would crush them all under her heel. All she had to do was wait for the right time...

The Collector was like living dust. But he wasn’t her focus. ‘Herd them’ he said. Like she was just another cow among cattle. Hideous as all the beings before her were, the beast-man made her stomach roll. Nightmares from her childhood, out in the house they lay in the corpse-dead eyes of a wooded landscape. Everything decays under the surface in the woods. In the house a crumbling family under the pressure of a corrupted religion enforced by the men of her family distorted her days. At night, terrors of men who were part beast and all parts demon stalked inside her mind. 

The Collector frightened her, but it was the fox man that sent her face twisting in revulsion and making her pale skin look waxen, even under the fae-sunlight. His furry tails twitched like tentacles of a slimy sea creature. He got closer. Night terrors resurfaced like burned memories on a revolving door in her mind. Her breathing hitched and she shuddered. He spoke towards her. Bodil gagged. 

“If you are unsettled, then go away,” her voice was as chilled as a thin winter wind, her eyes looking up at him with ice and malice and pure [i]revulsion[/i]. His tail stroked her face as he started to walk away and her anger boiled over. “You are already a nightmare,” she hissed, spiting at the ground, full of venom and malice, “You have no potential for anything other that what you are, vile [i]thing[/i].” That was what she said in her paper thin voice.[i]‘Thing.’[/i] Not ‘creature’ nor anything noting of a living and breathing being. But [i]’thing’[/i]. He was less than decay and fungus to her. 

The land around her began to darken. Masked creatures fled and mortal squealed. Icy bitting air burned at her cheeks. Frost grew along the windows, the sky darkening. Bodil had come from a cold place and was still in her own clothes, so the wind only bit at the soft paleness of her cheeks, the slender curve of her nose, the reddening bow of her mouth, and her imprisoned hands. And she welcomed it, the familiar cold. It built up in her as an odd comfort in the familiar feel of the air that the place she had grown up in had. Everything was always crushed under frost and snow. And in the winter she was safe.

In winter, her night terrors were buried as her father and older brother went on long hunts for meat. Bodil relaxed as the cold air wrapped around her, tussling her dark hair. Her shackles heavy, she tugged towards the cold. She needed it. The winter was all she needed.
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