DAY 52-1: CARD CAPTURE

In the meagre five minutes Leda wakes inside a cramped steel cage, stark naked and attempting to digest her current situation, she explodes with a shout to seal her frustration: “What the hell is going on?”

A crushing pain hammers incessantly inside her skull, in a pattern that leaves her more agitated than fatigued. Her mouth is dry, proving her dehydration. The worst hangover in history is upon her and yet on top of that she comes to inside some kind of cage—nude—and unnecessarily cold.

Leda grits her teeth, her mind racing from paranoia alongside a painful migraine. What exactly happened to her last night? A dream? Albeit fuzzily, she recalls a dark-skinned, rudely tall man. She also distinctly remembers placing a gun barrel to her temple and blasting her brain to bits...

She shivers.

The fact that she killed herself had to have been a part of the dream. She’s alive now, right? Her brain is conjuring these thoughts the same time it feels as if they’ll explode in her skull.

Not to mention how ill she feels; so sick, for that matter, she can upchuck at any given second. She had to have gotten as drunk as she did in order to sustain a hangover this bad. If so, her stupid intoxicated self definitely agreed to a gamble so absurd she was willing to shoot herself in the head in response to a stranger’s request.

How is she alive now, then? Moreover, why is she naked in this otherwise glamorously grand room?

Eyebrows pinched tight, Leda taps her fingernail impatiently against her bare forearm, peering downwards at her ashy brown skin.

Maybe she did hallucinate blasting hers brains out. Maybe somebody—the man—took advantage of her and brought her into this cage where he...

Her look hardens.

No, she would’ve at least summoned some kind of recollection about that. And she would’ve definitely felt violated now too. Besides, someone would have to be really messed up to try to come onto her inside a cage of all places.

Then again, if she fell unconscious before she could play a game like Russian roulette—where the wager was to give him her dead body—then who’s to say that man had the decency to refrain from getting it on in a cage?

The more she ponders it, the more the spiralling notions drive her sanity further and further from the bill.

She knew her drinking problems would one day get her into a terrible situation but this is next level. She has to get out of here.

Right as the notion comes to mind, she moves her stiff limbs. She falls onto her palms and knees, careful not to bump her head against the low-hung bars.

Once she tries to jiggle the cage open, the door to the room slams open.

The one who steps inside is not the lust-filled man she expects.

Instead, it’s a girl. Short-statured and donned in a plain grey overall dress and apron that wraps around her hips. She grips a fancy tray in hand, bright orange hair cascading in curls over her shoulder as she kicks the door shut with the heel of her flats. Her facial features are still, dark red lips tight against her pale skin.

At least, they are, until her bright blue eyes meet a gaping Leda’s and lighten.

She stumbles, practically bolting toward the cage. Leda flinches as the girl falls to her knees, casting the tray and squishing her face against the metal.

“Miss, you’re finally awake! You passed out last night and haven’t woken since. I was beginning to worry.”

She... passed out? Last night? As Leda’s sanity attempts to process her words, her eyes bulge. Was she so intoxicated she couldn’t tell man from woman? She does have the same coloured hair, but...

“You—you’re a girl? A girl wanted my dead body?”

The one in question merely cranes her head to the side, tufts of her orange curls falling over her cheeks. “Hmm?”

No cynicalness or sadistic demeanour. Rather, she radiates as much innocence as her soft-spoken voice.

Leda swallows, which is hard due to how scratchy and dry her throat is. Calm down, she hisses to herself. Why is she having second thoughts now? This isn’t the time nor situation.

She should be taking this as her chance to figure out what’s going on.

“Bimbo,” she says once assured of the notion. She folds her arms across her exposed chest, shielding whatever’s left of her dignity. “Did you violate my body or did I kill myself—tell me what’s going on.”

Although her words are blunt as can be, the girl stares at her, occasionally fluttering her orange lashes. Her head tilts in the other direction, as if in an attempt to process her statement.

Leda’s lips meet in a line. Does she not understand her? But she was speaking English a few seconds ago.

Brows tapering together, Leda’s fingers furl into fists. Another shiver runs up her spine.

She shifts her question: “Where are my clothes?”

Her previous yells must have been more incoherent than she thought because this time, the girl brightens.

“Considering they were soiled in your blood, I took it upon myself to clean them for you,” she enlightens her. “Here, I brought you a spare so wear them instead.”

She ascends and hastens across the linoleum floors toward a nightstand where a pair of clothes sits. All the while Leda sets her jaw. Did she say her blood? Then, she really shot herself after all...

And yet she’s here now—alive?

Disliking the exasperation welling within her, she scowls in the distance at the girl humming as if this situation isn’t far from the norm.

“Who are you?”

She returns to her side, a miniscule smile in play. “I go by Nia. I work in the Deck Tower as Master Rhett’s assistant.”

Master? Judging their earlier interaction, this ‘Nia’ isn’t the one who shepherded her into that alleyway and gave her the gun. Then is this ‘Master’ that rude man?

In that case, it’s for certain what happened wasn’t an illusion. She really did meet that man and play that risky game.

Leda’s stomach clamps as the realization dawns upon her. Wincing, she clasps her abdomen. It’s a piercing kind of pain.

“I apologize on behalf of Master Rhett,” Nia says. She slips out an assortment of keys from the front pocket of her apron and extends one to unlock the large cage. As it clicks open, her lips twist up sheepishly. “Though he may have decided this without adequate explanation, I’m sure he did it with the best of intentions.”

She lowers the garment she’s prepared as well as slides Leda the tray from earlier.

“But I guess you wouldn’t know who that is, would you?”

Removing her hands from her stomach—although not wanting to due to the soaring ache—Leda grasps the fabric between her fingers. The tautness of her nerves have settled considerably, but that doesn’t erase her aggravation. “Is this a dream?”

“If thinking so will help you cope, then a dream is fine.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“I deeply apologize, Miss. I am in no position to efficiently answer why you are here and what it means for you. Words from Master Rhett would be more beneficial than a wench like myself.”

Without allowing Leda the opportunity to escape to safety, Nia shuts the cage. She fastens on the lock without a second to waste.

“I’ll leave your food here. Your stomach is hurting, is it not? It’s best to satiate your appetite and wait for me to bring further word.”

Leda’s eyes trail the tray and its cover adorning the dish. There’s not even painkillers and water to go along with it. Then again, her expecting a way to rid her headache in such a surreal situation really is pushing it.

Nia is up on her feet and gracefully turns to go.

“Nia.”

As if expecting the call of her name, she rounds on the balls of her polished shoes, dress waning after her. Unlike the previous times, Leda can clearly spot a humoured glint in her otherwise stunning eyes. “Yes, Miss?”

“Am I dead?”

Her blunt question does little to stun her. With a meek smile, Nia takes her leave at that; closing the door and allowing an uncomfortable silence to sift through.

Leda heaves a loud breath. What did that mean? Is she actually dead? Is this the afterlife?

She slips on the attire. Outdated undergarments aside, it’s a dress far more colourful than Nia’s, but a lot more modest than she’s used to.

Though ambiguous, Nia’s words are definitely enlightening. At least with them, Leda knows who to direct her questions to—and upon her departure—where to go as well.

This ‘Master’ fellow has a lot of explaining to do.