#and based on my track record that will either happen tmrw or in like a few months :D

[siren-of-agony]

Welcome Home

Masterpost This is a continuation of Mitra's story that I started in Whumpcember. You can read what happens before this here and here

CW: lady whump, claustrophobic imagery, short vomit-mention, knife-mention

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She woke up in total darkness, disoriented and unable to move. Even when she had regained her bearings enough to feel the rough wood pressing in around her, Mitra still couldn’t remember how she had ended up locked in a box too small to be comfortable. Through aching limbs and still hazy thoughts she tried to recall the last memories that led her here.

There was a smile that made her heart beat harder in her chest. Then, calmness. She remembered questions being asked, sounding as if they were coming through a thick fog. Her name, how old she was, where she came from, who’d miss her if she didn’t return soon. What she was good at. What she was doing here. Mitra had answered them all without hesitation. Then nothing, until this.

The wooden box pressed in around her, and she was sure there wasn’t enough air to sustain her. She could neither stretch out her legs completely nor pull them in, and she couldn’t move her arms up to try to push up the top, if not to open it, then at least to give her ribcage more room to move. Her breaths came quickly, short and with no depth to them. There was no oxygen coming to her lungs, she knew it. Her heart raced. Tears rolled down her face and trickled into her ears, dampening her hearing, and she couldn’t even wipe them away. She was vaguely aware she was shaking, but even so, the box shook around her to a different rhythm. She felt sick, and this sent up new panic up her spine. If she’d threw up, here, without being able to move-

Her thoughts were interrupted. Only now, as they seemed to have stopped did she realize what the rattling and rumbling around her had been. She must be on some kind of cart, they were driving, and now, they had stopped.

She heard hinges creaking, steps, then things around her lifted, carried out. Wood scraping over wood, right above her. There had been boxes over her. She was truly trapped.

Then, she felt herself move. What felt like her coffin got lifted, not quite gracefully. She tried to braze herself against the walls, unsuccessfully. Her head got hit against the hard wood more than once. 

She felt herself set down, and then the top started to lift. The light flooding in burned in her eyes, but she only allowed herself to keep them closed for a few seconds. She needed to know where she was, what was going on.

It was easier, looking up the second time, but that was also thanks to someone now leaning over her, blocking out the sun. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but then she recognized him.

The circus director was looking at her, the bored disinterest on his face not less terrifying than the smile she had remembered not long ago.

“Ah, good, she’s awake already,” he said to no one in particular. Then, he focused on someone Mitra couldn’t see. “Alba, help her up.”

Another figure came into view then, but her eyes had more problems adjusting this time. A dark shadow leaned over her and gripped her arms. She felt herself being pulled up. The strong hands almost hurt, but she was still glad for the stability they gave. Her legs prickled. They had fallen asleep and were in no condition to hold her up. Only when she was face to face with the woman did she recognize her, did her memory truly come back.

Mitra had been worried about a rude stranger, and somehow, that seemed to have landed her in big trouble.

She searched the face opposite her for answers, for help, for anything, but all she found was yet another disinterested expression. This one seemed less natural, though. The lips were pressed together in a straight line and the eyes were staring right through her. This mask of neutrality seemed hard fought for. 

Before Mitra could say anything, she felt herself being spun around. The other’s hands still gripped strongly around her biceps, and she wasn’t sure if they were supposed to help or just ensured she didn’t run away. She looked around for the first time, and realized there were other people. None of them looked in their direction. It seemed intentional, the way no one even acknowledged her existence. They seemed to be busy erecting the big circus tent, as well as a barrier around the camp. Through the gaps left, she looked out and saw a small town she didn’t recognize. She had no idea where she was. Even without the hands keeping her here, she wouldn’t even know where to run to.

Movement right in front of her brought her focus back. The circus director had stepped closer, and he was holding a small knife. He was smiling again, like a hunter who had just one of his traps had worked. Mitra took a step away from him, but felt her back hit the woman still holding her, who didn’t move at all. She couldn’t escape. 

The knife came towards her face, and she closed her eyes. At least she wouldn’t need to see. The cold metal touched her cheek, grazed over her tense jaw muscles. But it didn’t cut her skin. 

One quick move, next to her ear, a fast sound, and she felt his presence step away. She opened her eyes, just in time to see him put a lock of her hair into a small vial and store it away into his suit jacket. 

She was caught somewhere between fear and confusion. She could feel herself trying to ask what was going on, but the breath she had held escaped her lips as soon as she opened them to form words.

The man now looked behind her again. “I’ll have to make sure camp is set up correctly. You bring her to the free wagon. I’ll give her the tour tomorrow.”

With a last hungry look into Mitra’s direction, he turned around and walked away in the direction of the tent. Behind her, she felt the woman tense up, then relax slightly. Then, one hand dropped from her arm, and she was pulled by the other.

“Come on,” the woman - Alba, Mitra reminded herself - said, her tone still cold, hiding all emotion. 

Mitra finally found her own voice again, but all of her questions about what was going on, where they were, what was going to happen to her, went unanswered.

They ended up in front of a small wagon. Alba led her in, took the few steps up behind her, as if making sure Mitra wouldn’t run. She should have still tried, maybe.

Instead, she stepped into a cramped room, mostly taken up by storage. a thin cot in one corner was the only thing identifying this as living quarters.

She turned around. Alba was standing in the door frame, her dark silhouette blocking almost all the light. “Please-” Mitra stopped herself, unsure what she even wanted to ask for.

Alba said something in return, it was barely a whisper, but Mitra was still sure she had heard “I’m sorry.” Alba shook her head, and this time, her voice was louder, harder, cold. “I told you to leave. This is your own damn fault.”

Then, she turned around and closed the door. After a few seconds of quiet, she heard a lock click. Now, she was truly trapped.

She still ran to the door, trying to get it open, begging Alba not to go, to explain to her what was happening. But all she got as an answer were what sounded like two pairs of footsteps, walking away.

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