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Chapter []: The Minimum-Wage Job
How could she go from a heroic and romantic rescue to… this?
The building was dirty. Sticky. All-around greasy. But perhaps most strange and concerning of all the building's qualities was that it was speaking to her.
"And so I find another Princess here. What business do you have among the fray? Such innocence I see within your mind… Perhaps the other two should stay away."
Damsel blinked. It took her a moment to process the words.
"Sorry? I— I can leave…? If that would make you happier?"
"You're freed from all the treachery you knew… yet still, it's others' happiness you seek. I wish I didn't have to break the news… I've found it's quite impossible to leave."
Damsel shifted from one foot to the other, fidgeting with her hands.
Impossible to leave. Wasn't that so familiar? Was this her fate? To be freed from one dungeon only to be thrust into another? How far would it go? How many heroic rescues would she require?
I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!
The memory burned through her mind as vivid as the moment it had happened. She shivered, hands clenching into fists. Would ever she be required to again skewer the body of an attempted rescuer? Would she need to kill anyone else to get herself to freedom again? No. Surely not. Even so, would it bring her to freedom at all? If from her past dungeon she was only brought to another place, would she only be pushed forward into a third if she killed again?
If she was doomed to be trapped somewhere, did that mean that the knife she had driven into the heart of her rescuer had been altogether for no purpose at all?
"You rather seem a little overwhelmed. Is everything alright within your mind? You… outwardly, appear as though a shell. I sense a budding conflict on the rise…"
The echoing voice of the building snapped Damsel out of her thoughts. She shook off the memories, plastering a smile on her face.
"Yes! Yes, everything is alright? You, um… you said before that there are two others…?"
Somehow, the building heaved a sigh.
"If everything's in order, there are two — the one with chains, and one with whirling knives. You hadn't met them, either, I assume. The 'Prisoner' and 'Razor' should be right."
Somehow, the names sent an unfamiliar recognition through her. The Prisoner and The Razor… she knew them almost instinctually. But how much did she know them, really? She couldn't even visualize them in her head.
But she didn't need to. The Prisoner, she assumed, was visible behind the register, her neck and wrists encased by thick iron shackles—
If I could just get out of these chains I know we could force our way out of here together.
Damsel froze again, the memory punching into her with the force of a rabid wolf tearing through its own flesh. Her teeth remembered the feeling of the muscle beneath her skin. Her arm remembered the feeling of being ripped apart. Her wrist remembered the weight of heavy iron.
The soft voice echoed again through the walls of the building, but she didn't hear a word beyond her thoughts. Her memories encased her brain in full.
I heard the door slam… they locked you down here too, didn't they?
Her gaze darted to the doors. Closed. Locked?
Breath forced its way into her lungs, evacuating almost as soon as it was inhaled.
"Ms. Damsel? Are you okay?"
The memories were gone when she woke up again.
"Hi! What can I do for you?"