The Golden Cage

[Omi]

Sleep had come far too easily, but waking up was always the hard part. Charlotte stirred to life slowly, bleary eyes blinking the haze of sleep away. The sheets were warm and soft, and for the longest time she was loath to move much at all. There was nothing good waking up could give her, nothing to make the effort worth it. All she wanted to do was sleep forever.

Eventually, though, she could lie there no longer. The air raised goosebumps on her skin as she propped herself up on one elbow, the sight of the room around her bringing some of last night's events rushing back. The place was strewn with plates of half-eaten food, emptied bottles of wine, and the rest of the detritus their night in had left in its wake. Even looking at it brought some of the memories flooding back, and she buried her head in her hands. So much for self-control. She had no idea when Enma had left, but the Maltese administrator was nowhere to be seen now. That was good, because Charlotte had no idea what she would have said now. It was all very complicated, although her confinement here was infinitely more preferable than the many alternatives she could think of.

Reaching across the sheets, she pulled on the lilac dressing gown she found there, sitting up properly and levering herself out of the bed entirely. Her bare feet practically sank into the heavy fur carpet as she set off across the room, heading for the dresser to make herself look somewhat presentable. Her hair was a total mess, a dark-brown, straggly expanse with only the barest semblance of styling left in it. Even if it was to be a lonely day for her - and somehow, she suspected that it might well be - there was no point not looking the part. It would help take her mind off things, too.

Halfway there, the laptop screen caught her eye, a soft glow from her peripheral vision pulling her over like a magnet. She hadn't even noticed the computer being there before - it certainly wasn't hers, and she hadn't seen Enma use it or bring it in either. One finger swept lightly across the touchpad to wake up the screen, and she began to read in silence.

As she read, leaning over the table, her bearing changed. No, no - this wasn't right at all. She felt sick, her shoulders slumping as the words emblazoned on the screen burned into her vision. They had medicated her with their Cardamine - their poison, their Maltese venom. Her heart felt like it was trying to burst out of her chest, the incessant pumping spreading the taint further through her blood. It had been a trap - it had always been a fucking trap. They had dug the hooks in while they still could, even without her having to lay a single glance on their twisted world. The anger rose in her again, bitter hatred and bile spilling over further than ever before. With a howl of frustration, she hurled the laptop across the room, her voice cracking as it crashed into the far wall and fell to the floor. The bowl of fruit came next, though it was heavier - she could only throw it halfway before it plopped to the floor with a sad thud, shedding a trail of bananas and oranges in its wake. She couldn't think, couldn't even breathe - her chest felt tight, like it was being constricted. Just as the chains had been slackening, Enma had jerked the collar tight again. It hurt, an almost physical pain in her chest as she wailed again, staggering across the room to find something else to rampage against.

It took her minutes to calm down - at least minutes, Charlotte thought. The red mist had descended only after she wore herself out again, the catharsis of smashing, breaking, and screaming her way through a room full of expensive possessions doing what little it could to soothe her. Now that she had had time to collect her thoughts, things seemed better - not much better, but just a little. They had drugged her, slaved her to their poison, but she would fight it until her dying breath. Her mind was already drawing parallels to Marseille's infamous narcotic, the purplish hallucinogen Nox. Addiction was debilitating and sunk its claws in quickly, but while recoveries were rare they were indeed possible. The drug had plagued the Kingdom for decades - it was still a problem in some areas, but advancements in therapeutic programs and newly invented treatments had improved the likelihood of breaking out of its influence considerably. This Cardamine, she decided, would be much the same. Yes - Gallic medical technology was the finest in the known universe, years and decades ahead of that which any Sirian could hope to know of. They had had her for barely a few days, a week at most - they could not have worked up a total dependency yet. All she had to do was hold out, to steel herself against the coming pangs. Part of her wanted to believe that Enma's note was lying to her, but it was useless to even think that. If her own limited knowledge of the drug was to be believed, when the withdrawal began to kick in she would find out one way or another.

With that, Charlotte was able to convince herself that she would be fine. It helped - of course it helped - but it did nothing to ease her sense of betrayal and wounded pride. Again, she had thought the Maltese were letting her make headway, letting her push and rattle at her cage bars without bothering to slap her down. Now, again, she could see that she had been wrong all along. The axe had not just been hovering above - it had fallen before she had even woken up the previous morning. She just hadn't realised it yet. It stung without any hope of being soothed, and soon enough it wiped away the tenuous hope she had been clinging onto in a wave of pessimism and desperation. The Outcasts were outmanoeuvering her at every turn, and each passing day made her situation worse. It was hopeless.

Wiping away the hot tears of frustration with one sleeve, Charlotte just went back to bed, burying herself under the covers as if they were a shield, sweeping the outside world away behind a few centimetres of duvet.

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