The hallway screams like a mute. She raises one hand halfheartedly, almost lazily, and drags her claw tips across the length of the hall as she walks. Her reward is nothing but a soft susurrus of tearing polymers, and thin lines of jagged gouges rippling up and down like waves as her steps carry her unevenly, unsteadily, but ever forward. The blackened material glides like water underneath her fingertips. It defeats her even so. She draws a deep and shuddering breath, and even this is swallowed up into the blackness of the sleek, dark corridor. 

This is no place for the singing of bells. She tears her sleeves from her arms as she walks; where they fall marks the end of her attack on the wall. No pleasure, no comfort to be had in the act. Her feet fall against the floor like snowflakes on a bed of wet leaves. She is quiet when she wants to be, but here she is a shadow. Mist. Nothing. Every step presses down into the soft and giving material until it springs back up with the lifting of her knee and bounces her forwards. Her damp, bedraggled skirts cling forlornly to her legs, the unheard drip drip drip from the lace linings and her hair tips even now washing little puddles of dejection in a line behind her. 

Ahead of her, the soft and tremulous flicker of candlelight. Her eyes swallow the offering, two pale golden orbs, sweeping through the darkness. The servant who comes across her flinches, as if shrinking into a hunched up ball would save her from the merciless knives and poisons and wires that lie hidden everywhere aboard the [i]Anemoi[/i]. Stupid, worthless dog, those aren't even what you should be worrying about. Bella snaps her fingers. The scrawny young servant snaps to attention.

"Clean this. All of it. Now."

"I... um, o-oh! A-a-a-at once, Praetor!"

She dips into a deep bow that manages to be at once serene and servile even as Bella kicks off her soaking, broken boots right in front of her. It is enough to spare her any deeper punishment. A child of the Kennels knows all sorts of ways to make a Bad Girl beg forgiveness, after all. She sniffs, and walks on without further comment, the sounds of scrubbing and sniveling soon swallowed up by the walls once more. 

The door slides open with barely a touch, and even less sound. Activated by the presence of her body heat, lines of perfect crystals hum and glow until the room is filled with pale yellow light. Dim enough to be slept under. Perfect for reading, if one were so inclined. Bella shivers. Her fur is a matted mess. Her tail is bony and pathetic. There is no one here to see her. No one to hear her. Her arms bend gracefully and with the practiced hand of a servitor charged with years of tending to the attire of the most important person in the galaxy slide her bottoms down her legs for her to step out of cleanly. Her fingers lift automatically to carefully unbutton her shirts, skipping over the spaces where fate or some cruel god has stolen one or two from her. They join her other clothes with a wet slap.

Her fingers glide across the thick collar around her neck, now the only piece of clothing on her body. Her creamy, smooth skin glistens in the cool air of her room, marred by little goosebumps that nonetheless do nothing to bring her to the chest of drawers where fresh clothes lie waiting. The room bears witness to her perfection. The exacting lines at her shoulders and her thighs where her fur ends and the flawless, almost human flesh begins. The chemicals they used to burn away the rest of her warm white fur didn't even leave lasting scars. Of course not. They wouldn't have dared to make a mistake with a child of pedigree like hers. Even the deep marks where they tore out her whiskers were polished away until nothing remained but beauty. But Bella.

Her fingers softly trace each burnished metal link on her leash in turn, finding comfort in the slick smoothness of the metal and the regularity of each shape. All of it purpose built. All of it perfect. All of it...

She pricks a finger against the jagged edge where Jas'o broke her unblemished image in front of the Princess. She grinds her fingers against it harder, seeking blood. The tiniest drip draws a sigh from her lips, that forces her head over to the porthole looking out across the terrible reaches of the polychromatic hell that is Space. Where she's waiting, again. Where she slipped away to, [i]again[/i]. Where she's--

"Re... dana..." the whisper is entirely too loud inside her ears. Lush and filled with longing, for a safe life where things made sense and the girl who opened the Box still smiled at her. For home. Nothing more than that.

Bella tears herself away from the nightmare she's now swimming in, and her half-lidded eyes find her feet. She squeezes them shut, but the pictures won't go away. The smells are stuck on her. She walks slowly to her dresser and opens up the top drawer, the one where not a shred of clothing can be found. 

She takes the decanter in her hand. Such a small thing, but unique in all the world. The stopper is a glimmering red rose, each petal carved individually by the hand of some master craftsman to trap the precious treasure inside. A birthday gift, fit for a princess. One she hadn't had time to bring with her when she was scrambling to bring ruin to the only home she'd ever known. Bella pulls the stopper free with a trembling hand, and stares longingly at the clear liquid inside. 

She draws out several drops, only a precious few, and dabs them with surgical precision on her pillow, and at the corners of her bedsheets. She closes the bottle, and waits. One, two. Three. She closes her eyes, and breathes deep. 

There it is. Nothing to ruin it this time. Nothing to spoil the feeling. The smell of the garden that swims in Redana's perfume. The butterflies and giggly gossip and sunshine naps that nobody but the Princess of Tellus has ever worn. Will ever wear. Bella's breathing slows. She carefully puts the decanter away, locking the drawer when she closes it and then climbing smoothly on top of the bed.

Her eyes drift shut. She floats inside a bubble called home. She gives one final shiver, and curls herself up tightly. There, with the lights still twinkling in their softness, without even climbing under the covers, she drifts off under the watchful gaze of the Oneiroi.