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The cell was the same as before. They'd dumped her where she suffered most, in that cold, cold space where there was still her lines on the wall, counting years until she could one day be free. She reckoned, back then that one day she would be--- but now Gwendolyn knew that that was impossible. She was always going to be the Volturi's captive.
In the cabin, there was still the same bed with rough and weather-worn blankets, there was still that small little window up on the ceiling where rain often poured through.
She didn't even fight as she was let down into the cell and left there. She liked this better then what she'd found out about Eryn in her own head--- when she'd finally found Libby, and the memory was suddenly ripped from the goddess and given back to Gwendolyn.
Eryn was a monster.
But so was she, for what she'd done to her own daughter.
It was that belief that pushed her soul down, down down until she was a skeleton in a closet, looking out through two holes nearly too small for her to see correctly.
Gwendolyn was once again too deep in her trauma and anger and grief to come back out by her self, and she wasn't sure anyone would come to get her out.
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