Chapter Text
As the score hits 3572 meters, the duck descends from its double jump and performs a perfect landing. It continues to glide along the waves, oddly unresponsive to the accelerating speed at which L.L. mashes her space bar. A mass of grey rock enters the playing field from the right. The stubborn duck crashes; it dies, sinking beneath the gaudy turquoise waves.
Before its death animation reaches its last frame, the webpage turns blank. The ostentatious colour from the mini game is replaced by a “No internet connection found” error message.
“Manty, did you see that? The internet went out, right when I was gonna get a new high score too.”
The manta ray pops out from the bathtub in which L.L. sits. It whizzes about in angry circles, answering in the affirmative.
“You go and check the powerboard, Manty. We’ll get that thirty-six hundred score once it’s back on.”
It makes a mad dash through the bathroom door, outside and away from L.L.’s view. Its trail of pixels phases through the wood, leaving a dim and lifeless room. The browser is in dark mode, so the hue from the computer is not half as flashy as it was a mere minute ago. The poor angle of the bathroom permits only a smattering of light to enter from the window. The scenery outside the window is also merely the brick wall of the adjacent building.
Idly lifting her palm, L.L. watches as the moonlight in the tub water slips through her hand. The computer falls into sleep mode; a minute has passed and Manty has not returned. She feels inexplicably odd, perhaps due to Manty’s uncharacteristic lateness.
She considers for a moment, staring at the empty screen then to the vacuum on her right shoulder where Manty usually sits. Before she comes across a thought she doesn’t think she’ll like, she refuses to think further and closes her eyes.
In this rare instance when blue light doesn’t permeate her eyelids and social networking notifications do not play like a cacophony in the background, she retreats. She allows her overdue fatigue to set.
Strangely, the room lacks its typical humid stench, instead overtaken by a calming dash of ether. A nap would be okay, she assures herself, hoping to awaken to the sight of Manty and her surfer duck avatar.
She rests for a few minutes, until an unfamiliar figure passes through the doorframe.
As she blinks away her drowsiness, she finds that the door is ajar. It’s not Manty. Her temple is still on the edge of the bathtub, paralysed. The trespasser wears a dress shaped like a bellflower, mirroring their sweet scent.
Finally, L.L. peers upwards, and her first guess is vampire. The light reflects off her pale skin and her dark lipstick accentuates the sinister curve of her lips. The parasite grins at her, taking a rag and aiming for L.L.’s mouth.
“Sleep, little fish.” The vampire’s voice is shrill. For a moment, L.L. thinks she has found herself in one of those gory slasher videos addicts on the dark web watch for cheap thrills.
When the shock factor wears off, she discerns the unfortunate reality of her situation. And all she can do is flounder.
Her panicked swats miss the woman’s arm, who successfully plants the rag on L.L.’s face. At the drop of a bottle, L.L. is forced to return to her slumber, dreamless and deep.
*\+sƨ+/*
When she awakens, it is still not to Manty.
L.L. straightens her neck with an inordinate grogginess. The room she is trapped in has two elegant floor lamps, their subdued light taking on the sole burden of providing illumination. Nonetheless, their weak light is brighter than the dark room she is used to, and her eyesight is only resistant to blinding light from an electronic device.
Something is acutely wrong, and it takes three seconds to hit her after the chloroform wears off.
One, two, three. Searing pain soars across her skin, hot and cold flashes throughout her muscles and nerves, purple dances in her vision, she feels a thousand acid-laced lashes all over her body. Only now when she tries to stand does she realise that her limbs are bound with rope.
Like a fish out of water, she flaps helplessly alone on the icy ceramic floor.
She struggles and cries out, screaming and thrashing with all her might, yet all she can hear is bubbles. It might as well have all been bubbles, miniscule capsules of air destined to remain hidden under the ocean surface.
A door opens; it is a distorted sound and her sight is almost blurred to oblivion, yet at the illusory spectre of hope, her senses spare her a drop of clarity. Footsteps, cinnamon and the hem of a glittery, navy-blue dress. Her captor.
“Please, water…” She wheezes out.
The woman merely cocks her head to the side in askance, then retrieves a glass from the table. She kneels, knees just in front of L.L.’s forehead, takes her by the chin and pours the liquid inside her lips.
With the tightening around her chest hampering her lungs, she chokes and sputters, “N-no, not that… Tub.”
“A tub…?” The woman furrows her brows.
It’s hopeless. L.L. beats the floor with her hands behind her back, her wrists grind against the rope, as if her frail bones would cleave it apart. It is all to no avail.
The parasite, still kneeling, slips her fingers under the rope and traces along the faint pink lines. “Beauty, I’m not letting you go just yet.”
L.L. just wants water, she just needs water. “… B-Bathtub. Now.”
The sides of her mouth dip into a frown, “Why?”
Cramps spring along her throat and soreness pricks at every pore. Her lack of a response is not a show of disobedience, but weakness. Resigned, L.L. stops fighting back her fate.
Shocked at the sudden limpness of her target, the captor hooks her left arm underneath her legs and the other supporting her back. L.L. barely recognises that she’s being carried through various rooms, aside from the vague swaying sensation, the changing ceilings are the only clues to movement. In any other circumstance, L.L. would have been impressed at the slender woman’s unexpected upper body strength, but at the moment, her mind is solid canvas of periwinkle and violet.
She is dropped into a bathtub that is nearly filled to the brim. Droplets cling to her hair and face from the splash. As soon as the water coats her body, it is revitalised once more. The cool liquid laps at her skin like sand on a beach being rehydrated by waves, and her core restores its beating vigour. Despite her arms and legs still restrained by the rope, her muscles sigh and her vision lightens.
In front of her, a familiar blue silhouette swishes and creates tides throughout the bathwater’s surface.
“Manty!” L.L. exclaims, unable to withhold her relief. It excitedly leaps to her, yet its failure to reach her is marked by a tight clinking of metal. Its tail is chained to the bathtub plug, and Manty’s strength is no match for the water pressure keeping it down.
That’s fortunate, L.L. thinks; otherwise, Manty would have accidentally drained the tub and she would have to wait agonising minutes for it to refill.
“You’re much better now,” the foreign voice shatters her momentary bubble of security, “You were turning blue everywhere before, but that sick odour is fading now.”
The woman sits cross-legged on the side on the tub, fingers resting on the inner edge half-submerged into her waters. That grin on her face is misplaced, a stark contrast to the undeniable depravity of her abduction. L.L. can only stare back, lips sealed. Fear seizes her, scepticism silences her.
Manty is not happy either, it sloshes around, wetting the back of her shimmering dress with jets of water.
The woman turns to the defiant manta ray, visibly upset, not granting it the same smile she gave her. Manty resumes its futile efforts to escape, but she pays it no mind.
“My name is Cassia,” Cassia tips her head towards L.L. in a manner that is too provocative to be introductory. “What is yours, pretty girl?”
L.L. instinctively shifted backwards, away from the parasite. The compliment morphs into an insidious comment once she considers her situation. The water shakes as her hands tremble. Manty senses her uneasiness and climbs to its spot on her shoulder in an attempt to allay it, with some difficulty due to its shackle.
Cassia notices the waves in the tub amplify. She reaches behind the terrified girl, and her similarly terrified pet, down to her wrists and casually unties the rope.
L.L. does not resist as her restraints are being undone, nor does she resist after. Still, she remains quiet, trying to decipher her abductor’s intentions. Cassia discards the rope by the side of the bathtub; L.L. wonders if it is because she is planning to use it again, maintaining her guard.
“There’s no need to be shy. But you’ll have to speak, or else I’ll have to keep calling you my beauty.” Even as she teases, Cassia maintains her friendly demeanour, the twinkle in her pupils punctuated by the mole by her eye.
Reluctantly, she relinquishes a response, “It’s L.L.”
“Isn’t that your online username? It’s rough and unflattering, it does nothing to adorn a beautiful face and body like yours.”
Her kidnapper has the gall to nitpick about her name right after her so kindly surrendering it. It’s true that it is her online name, albeit missing some punctuation marks, but it is really her name, the only one she’s ever been called by.
Dramatically gesticulating and rolling her eyes, Cassia acquiesces, “If you insist, no matter how impersonal that name is, I’ll use it for now,” her leer drops down to L.L. and regains its playfulness,” … My beauty.”
The irritation growing within L.L. is palpable. Manty almost slips off her shoulder.
“I came to tell you that breakfast is ready.”
It’s morning already? L.L. remembers from the low-budget dark web thrillers that the effects of ordinary chloroform only last for an hour, how has she been out for so long?
“When you’re done soaking, we can eat together in the kitchen.”
L.L. certainly cannot. “Um.” As soon as her voice leaves her lips, she detests it, its pathetic whimper, its washed out flow, she detests it deeply, so, so much, but she must tell her this. “I have congenital hydrophilia.”
Cassia makes a hum of confusion, “I’ve never heard of that.”
Somehow, despite all the times L.L. has had to explain her condition to some stranger online, it never gets any easier. She exhales. “I can’t get out of the tub. I need to be covered in water all the time, or my muscles hurt.”
Cassia’s eyes lose a twinge of their sharpness, and her gaze softens. But it doesn’t affect her. L.L. is used to it; they sympathise with her the first day, and vanish the next. It means no society would preserve a place for her, be it as a prisoner, a friend or even a daughter.
While L.L. is convinced that it is a look of faux pity, Cassia is actually overjoyed to see the beauty slowly peer through from her clam, willingly offering her information about herself, inviting her to get to know each other.
Her smile widens subtly. “What happened earlier,” she chaffs, “looked far worse than simply muscles hurting.” L.L. stops replying. “Then, I’ll bring breakfast to you.”
“I don’t eat either.” L.L. does not need to eat for sustenance. Knowing this, neither her parents nor her have ever concerned themselves with wasting food or energy on her meals.
“It’s already prepared.” Cassia’s sentence comes off like a whine. “Can you eat?”
She nods.
“Then you’ll have a taste.”
She directs her look to her left, to the hiding manta ray. She is preparing her shot, and does not bother to mask her roguish expression.
“The seafood I cook is to die for.”
Manty falls into the water. Although its wrath is still exhibited on its facial lines, this time, instead for shooting up towards the free air, it scutters behind L.L.’s waist. Cassia lets out a devilish giggle at its pitifulness.
“It’s tofu pudding.” She waves off her joke while laughing, as if her gorgeous mirth would quell Manty’s distrust. L.L. is loath to admit that it does for her, just a tiny bit.
“You don’t have to.”
The white-haired figure leans closer, precariously over the water but never at the danger of falling, then takes her by the chin. L.L. has to crane her neck and look directly into her eyes as she speaks. It’s uncomfortable. “But you’ve been so disciplined. I’ll be back.”
She gracefully lifts herself from her seat on the tub, and leaves as easily as she came, through the ensuite bathroom door, then out the bedroom.
Both L.L. and Manty are stricken by the interaction, but not for the same reasons. Manty breaks the water surface and peeks at L.L., who touches her chin. Its apprehension catches L.L. in her trance, who thinks for a moment, before soothing her marine familiar with a few caresses.
“Manty, I think you should stay put for now. There’s no getting out of this, we’re both tied up.”
She whispers, points to her ankles. Manty sees that her legs are still secured by rope.
“And you’re attached to the plug, if you move too much, you’ll loosen it and empty the tub.”
Manty quivers like it just swam in pure frost. Its mouth arches to express the most profound dejection any small animal could muster. L.L. feels lucky to have such an adorable companion during these tough times.
“It’ll be okay, we’re in this together.” For the sake of comforting Manty, she wagers a bold assumption. “Anyway, she doesn’t seem so bad.”
At that, Manty waggles its upper body violently. Its messages to L.L. through their mental connection become more jumbled and warbled, multiplying by the moment. L.L. is bewildered at its pronounced reaction. However, Manty has been awake here longer than her.
“Why, what did she do to you?”
Cassia returns, interrupting their low conversation. She sits right where she was a minute ago, while Manty dives back into obscurity.
“Tell me what you think.” She holds the spoonful of a crème-white gelatinous substance to L.L.’s mouth, even though she already freed her hands.
L.L.’s annoyance at being fed by her kidnapper is overpowered by her curiosity of the ‘tofu pudding’. She never saw any type of food again after her parents abandoned her, let alone such an interesting food with a unique texture and sheen. Something like this is undoubtedly not on any post in the dark web.
She parts her lips and Cassia dutifully elevates the spoon handle, sending the silky-smooth pudding down on her tongue. L.L. reckons she has forgotten how to eat by now. She remembers to chew at first, but shortly realises she doesn’t have to.
Apart from a hint of sugary syrup and another unidentifiable strong flavour, it’s tasteless. From what she learnt from short cooking videos, L.L. assumes the other flavour is soy. Nevertheless, the texture is addictive, like a velvety blanket after a long evening. She is fully aware that her condition prevents her from feeling full, yet with every bite, satiety blossoms in her stomach.
Cassia also feels satisfied as she observes her beauty slurp down her cooking, enthusiastically bringing the spoon from the bowl, to L.L.’s mouth, back to the bowl, then to hers, and repeating. Cassia notes to herself that the taste is richer than usual.
L.L., too preoccupied with savouring a rare meal, does not notice that Cassia is eating the tofu pudding as well, using the very same spoon.
Manty, however, is not preoccupied, does notice, and is disgusted.
The contents of the bowl are reduced to the last mouthful. L.L. studies the bowl, then the mystical woman holding it. She must think that she is such an easy mark to be placated by several bites of food.
Cassia cuts off the uneven hill of tofu and scoops it. Her hand creates a beeline for L.L.’s mouth for the nth time, but is met with L.L.’s intense stare. A breath escapes her nose, too light to be deemed laughter yet too amicable to be deemed a scoff. L.L. looks as if she is about to release some words on the tip of her tongue, so Cassia does not disturb her train of thought, redirecting the bite of soy to her own lips.
It is only then that it strikes L.L. that she has been sharing a spoon with this vampire. Unnerving. Yet, there are worse things in the world than that. Cassia revels in her subtle jolt and decides to repay her preciousness with mercy, still donning that cunning grin.
“You can ask whatever kind and whatever number of questions you’d like, L.L.” Cassia tries to be amiable but scrunches her nose at the inelegant name, internally vowing to never utter it again, “I’ll answer earnestly.”
L.L. is too clever to take the bait, even if Cassia meant it. No human is ever that generous, especially not this parasite. She chooses from her questions wisely: What am I doing here? Well, it’s obvious she was taken here for something debauched and corrupt, not that she minds the occasional immorality. Why her? Well, it’s obvious she seeks to do something to or with her ‘beautiful body’ with the way she talks and ogles her, not that she minds being used. The best question would then be…
“How did you find me?”
“Ah.” Cassia is both taken aback and intrigued by the question; it was not one the other beauties had asked her. “You’re the master of Elysiland, that eternally joyful place of indulgence. I visited once.”
A vague recollection pulsates. She lets her eyes roam all over Cassia for more flickers, then at Manty. L.L. does not remember her directly, so she must have only met Manty as her copy. She prods at Manty’s limited memory and the picture clears: an ivory-haired, prim woman, marvelling at the garden of vivid flowers that erupted upon her entrance to Elysiland.
“I was curious, so I was only passing by for a couple of minutes, but I saw your image. I was enraptured by your uninhibited spirit, your joie de vivre, that I couldn’t help but climb the data vine to your dwelling, and make you mine. Aren’t you honoured?”
Despite the circumstances, L.L. was impressed; it’s not easy to crack out router locations from dark web IP addresses. She answers so honestly one could mistake it for sarcasm, “Somewhat.”
“You’re very different from when you were in Elysiland, perhaps you need a little while to warm up to me.” Cassia does not seem completely pleased with the disyllabic answer.
Nope, L.L. says in her mind, but it was as good as said. Her pout, her eyes narrowed in suspicion, the minute downturn of her eyebrows, Cassia reads it all, and she thinks of a bratty kitten.
Cassia pokes the back of the spoon into L.L.’s cheek, she delights as it dents into the softness, relishes her passivity and acedia. “You are insipid. And your perfume is plain water. Yet your loveliness,” she inhales the atmosphere and her pupils flare, “For once, I can feel it with my eyes instead of my nose. You just need time to distil.”
After rinsing the bowl in the sink, Cassia gets up to leave her again.
“I have one request!”
L.L. yells before she realises it.
Her call was louder than Cassia thought she could muster, louder than L.L. ever thought she could muster in person. Cassia’s intrigue was piqued, indeed.
“Oh, yes?”
“Could you give me a computer?” And I won’t ask for anything else, goes unsaid.
Cassia pretends to consider it, “Mmm, no. There is no one you need to contact but me, especially now that our bedrooms are next to each other.”
L.L. wants to point out that her new ‘bedroom’ is Cassia’s ensuite bathroom, but she is no position to make retorts or demands.
Today, she woke up literally roped at her ankles and wrists in a murky foyer with no consciousness of how she was transported there. Nonetheless, she has never felt more lost than now.
She negotiates, trying not to sound like she’s begging. “I’m not trying to escape, but my friends-”
“It would be a shame if Elysiland never appeared again. But even if you don’t seem intent on running away like the other beauties, I shouldn’t take a chance on you just yet.”
L.L. despairs. Manty joins her by bowing its head sadly, grieving it is powerless without an internet connection. Cassia, who prides herself on the utmost care of her ingredients, understands that she was harsh and allows a remission.
“We can discuss this again later,” Cassia breaks eye contact as she declares this, feeling slightly bizarre with her lenience. “For now, those smelly, terminally online hedonists should head home.”
The blue-haired girl has her blank stare fixed on the ebbing bathwater, devoid of her previous indignation and anxiety blooming once more. L.L. does not want to think it.
Manty knows what thought she is avoiding: She’s not afraid of being captive, she’s afraid of being alone.
Cassia perceives it too.
“Don’t worry, I won’t let you be lonely.” Cassia offers, as she holds the edge of the door about to exit.
“Promise.” L.L. takes it.
“Cross my heart, my beautiful L. L.”
The door closes.
Instinctually, L.L. pivots her head to gaze out the window. But she is no longer at home, and Cassia’s bathroom does not have a window. She is faced with a chilly, tiled wall, and a familiar bleakness in an unfamiliar battleground.