There were hands on her body.

Unacceptable.

She shifted in her drowsy rage, feeling something wicked and boiling in her chest swell with the fury she held toward this person’s audacity.

She pried her eyes open with difficulty, flinching back when the first thing she managed to notice was a solid blur of yellow with two blindingly blue holes poked into it.

She shifted back as the figure drifted away, leaving her looking up into a dark hanging curtain as the world around her sharpened back into focus.

The bed she was in was huge, and she had to stop for a moment because huh, she was naked.

...She was naked.

First discovery noted, she reached out a hand and cracked that blonde-haired twit across the face, sending him flying over the side of the bed with a yelp of pain as he tumbled to the floor out of sight.

Ripping the thin black sheet up her body to her chest, covering her strapless bra and lower, she glared murder at the people hovering around her.

The person who had been touching her had more than one companion in his entourage, and he was dressed in a fucking priest’s outfit of some kind in various shades of deep purples, an open book in one hand and the other combing through long, black hair that looked stupidly soft.

He had sharp, angular features and an unamused expression on his face. 

There was a short elderly-looking man with sweat on his face and a nervous expression hovering behind him, wringing a small cloth in his hands. He was dressed strangely, too, wearing a grey suit and robes with a long, white silk sash across his chest with a silver pin holding it up to his shoulder.

There was an elderly woman of similar age to him standing at the foot of the behemoth bed, dressed in a long, black gown with puffed sleeves at her upper arms with the rest smoothly encasing her skin to her wrists. Her hands were encased with slim white gloves. The dress was very old-looking in style, with a corseted bodice, and a gently flared skirt that was the cousin between an A-line skirt and a ballgown. She had a high collar done up with small black buttons. She had a pair of small spectacles on the bridge of her nose, and her silver hair was done up in a pristine, professional bob.

The blonde lifted himself to the floor with a series of pained tongue clicks, clutching his cheek that now had a bright red handprint upon the previously unmarked peach skin. He was dressed the strangest. On his chest was a polished grey chest plate with a matching set of grey tassets on his hips, with a thick, black leather belt around his hips holding not one, not two, but three large pouches, as well as a loop that had a sword sheath attached.

On the man’s left shoulder was a single pauldron, while his right was left covered with a deep blue cloak trimmed in white. 

He had on a pure white tailcoat with very elegant stitching and a pure white ascot at his throat. He also had on a pair of tight, dark grey pants that were tucked into black boots, and white gloves.

His hair was as yellow as sunflowers as his eyes as blue as a freezie you’d get in a gas station. He had long golden eyelashes, pink lips, and a look of hopeless terror on his face.

The man standing behind him looked stiff but otherwise blank-faced, despite his face exactly matching the priest-looking one.

He was also wearing a matching outfit to the blonde, but he had black gloves instead of white ones and sported the same shaggy, shoulder-length haircut of wavy, lush locks.

Suddenly, the priest-looking one gave her a bright, unassuming smile, snapping the book in his hand closed without so much as a twitch of his wrist. “Welcome back to the land of the living, your highness.” As one, as if rehearsed, they all knelt down to one knee in the men’s cases and curtsied low enough to scrape the floor, in the case of the older woman.

The bedridden woman’s mind stalled for a second, and she dragged her eyes from the costumes to the bed, and finally to the visibly older generation before letting out a long, awkward laugh.

“Ah, I see.. I’ve been kidnapped.”

The priest’s expression was all but physically slapped off of his face, while the knight that had a matching set of features let out a startled, uncharacteristic snort before covering it with a shallow cough, keeping his head bowed.

“Not quite, your highness,” the priest continued after a long, awkward pause when no one showed any initiative to begin introductions. He put his hand over his heart and bowed his head further, doing his best to remain calm in the face of his brother’s idiotic pursuit and consequences. “My name is Izar Lockridge. I am the Onyx Castle’s High Priest of the Temple of Holy Stone… It is an honor to make your acquaintance. May I know your name?”

The woman stared at him with a blank expression, before letting out a long, slow sigh and contemplating her options. Those around her seemed tense at the silence, but she ignored it for now.

‘Okay, so I’ve been kidnapped by fanatics for, possibly, ruining their lives with my torturous writing... If I play along, I might just live through this and not end up on an unsolvable crime podcast in the next ten years.’

“Pipperly,” she offered after a long few seconds. She had always used a pen name in her writings, so unless they wanted her to use that- “My name is Pipperly.”

“Lady Pipperly,” Izar, so named the priest, hah, ducked his head even lower in his reverential kneeling bow. “May you be blessed by the Goddess of the Stone.”

“Uh-huh,” Pipperly murmured, lifting the sheet slowly higher over her chest, sliding back until her back hit the intricately carved headboard and the scrunched pillows she’d been using. “Hey, quick question, why am I naked?”

“The court physician has performed a medical examination to determine if you were well,” the priest continued, still unmoving from his bow. Pipperly wondered why they were still all very much staying low to the ground, but would address it after she got her answers. The priest, unaware of the conflicted expression on her face, continued. “Your.. garments were sent to be cleaned and will be returned promptly. For now, I am told that there are clothes available for you to wear until a suitable wardrobe can be acquired.”

“Mhm.. and can I get a bit of information on when I can eat, or..?”

She trailed off her question with obvious hesitation, and the priest took a chance to glance up at her through the fluff of his bangs. The woman in the bed didn’t look very menacing, but appearances, he was very much aware, were often deceiving.

‘Take the Shequotine fruit. Pretty, undoubtedly, but vicious.’

“You may have food at your request,” the priest continued, keeping his voice carefully level and relaxed. “If you have any particular preferences, the cooks will be certain to provide results to your expectations.”

“Uh-huh..” she murmured, furrowing her eyebrows and shifting the blanket into more of a burrito-wrap to feel better surrounded. “Could you all, maybe... Get up? The kneeling thing is a little off-putting, no offense.”

There was a sudden chill in the air, no small amount of shock passing through each of their kneeling frames.

“Yes, My Lady,” the priest was the first to get to his feet, and the rest followed after sharing furtive glances.

The older woman stepped forward then and offered a more formal curtsy. “Your Highness, my name is Odilia Bryton. I am the Head Maid of the Onyx Castle, and I am at your service. Please call for me should you ever need anything.”

“Thank you, Miss Bryton,” Pipperly offered after a strained pause. The address made the old woman twitch but she didn’t comment, merely nodding in response as the rest of the room fell into their introductions.

“My Lady,” it was the blonde she had slapped who stepped forward then, and the raven-haired young man in matching uniform was quick to join at his side so they could kneel again as one. “My name is Taelison Rowley.”

“And I am Zorion Lockridge,” the raven-haired knight offered.

“Please rise,” Pipperly was getting sick of the kneeling thing.

They got to their feet with ease, if a bit hesitant.

“M... My name is S-Serid Shawcross,” the physician grit through his teeth with a trembling, quick bow. Her only response was a nod before she turned to the older woman again.

“I’d like to get dressed, please.”

“Of course, my Lady,” she nodded, striding past the semi-hovering men with an almost lethal glare ordering them to back away.

Taelison wordlessly booked it for the audience chamber while Zorion hesitated before following. The physician looked grateful to be breathing and bolted after them while the priest offered her a final, placid smile before following after his twin with a flutter of his long robes.

Pipperly was helped to her feet, and while she was a bit unsteady, it was far better than being bedridden.

She had been stripped down to her bra, panties, and Spanx, and the cool air made her shiver until a rush of warm air seemed to curl from the walls themselves to wrap around them both.

Stepping onto the dark marble floor without slippers should have caused a chill, but it was lukewarm beneath her feet. The older woman, Odilia, as she said her name was, guided her to a low circular platform at the corner of the room that sat in front of a set of three elegant mirrors that stood at least ten feet tall each. 

Awkwardly stepping onto the obvious prop, Pipperly did her best to keep herself calm, holding her arms up as the older woman pulled a tape measure from her dress pocket and began taking her measurements. When she was finished, she put a black silk robe around the young woman’s shoulders and tied it neatly into a bow. Pipperly had to swallow back the urge to cringe as she was delicately handled like fine china.

The brunette was maneuvered into a sinfully comfy armchair as the older woman quietly dismissed herself to fetch a gown.

“I’ll have some refreshments sent in, as well,” the older woman offered before she left.

Pipperly wound up sitting in silence for several long minutes, clutching her fingers into the soft black silk of her robe and peering out at the room. It was extravagant to the highest level, rich fabrics, and designs that so very closely mirrored the image she tried to convey within the description of her book.

‘These are some seriously hardcore fans, which makes them potentially, incredibly, dangerous.’

‘I’ll play along, and keep my cool, but the first moment I have access to a phone, I’m calling the cops and booking it.’

She didn’t know how long she sat in a tense, unsure daze until the doors opened and a pair of young ladies, likely late teens to early twenties, hesitantly stepped inside with a gleaming silver cart. It had a small dessert stand, as well as a pitcher and some very fine teaware. 

Pipperly felt her stomach growl at the sight and smell of sugar, and the nervous ladies froze solid in place before sharing a look. Suddenly, Pipperly was taken aback by the faint pink flushes on their cheeks.

The girl driving the cart had green eyes and a head of bright orange hair held in a pair of pigtail braids, a maid’s dress in black fluttering about her ankles, simple white socks and black shoes, and a ruffled white apron completing the look. The girl beside her had matching clothes, but her hair was pin-straight to her shoulders with a swooping bang in a deep, dark mulberry color. Her eyes were like pale grey ice chips.

The redhead was quick to park the cart and give her a deep, formal curtsy, the woman at her side doing the same without hesitation.

“Your Highness,” they echoed, nearly in perfect sync.

Pipperly hummed in acknowledgment and tried not to cringe.

‘This is devotion to the extreme. How the hell did they manage to color coordinate the exact characterizations-’

“My name is Sophia,” the redhead introduced herself first.

“And I am Marie,” the mulberry-haired girl murmured.

“Would you like some tea, Your Highness?” Sophia asked quickly, her face flush turning darker as her eyes widened, her lips twitching at the corners as a smile threatened to escape. She looked ecstatic.

“We have a special blend called Lavender tea, and it gives off a very gentle, calming aroma.”

Pipperly hesitated, then gave a nod. “Yes, thank you.”

Marie, who had moved to start preparing the tea, twitched a little in surprise. Sophia simply beamed.

They said nothing else, but Pipperly was given a plate of small cookies and tarts and eventually a nice cup of tea as well. They stood politely to the side as she ate them, feeling awkward and tense, waiting to be able to put on clothes.

When Odilia returned, Pipperly was ready to try her luck busting out of the room using an iron fire poker she could see propped up next to a roaring fire on the opposite wall. 

The brunette let out a silent sigh of relief that quickly turned into a gulp of revulsion as she noticed the large bundle of dark fabric in the arms of the old woman who looked far too frail to manage it on her own.

The young maids were quick to clear away her snack and Pipperly was guided back to the round platform, where she was quickly accosted by the large mound of fabric and an old woman armed with a jewel-encrusted hair comb.

Pipperly suddenly wondered if she would survive this kidnapping.