𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕼𝖚𝖊𝖊𝖓'𝖘 𝕷𝖎𝖔𝖓: 𝕮𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖙

The Basement

Y/N had no idea what time it was. She had no idea what day it was. Or even if it was daytime. It very well could have been night outside of her basement prison, but there was not a single window or crack in the stone walls for light to come in. The only light in that dank basement came from the one flickering torch that was attached to the wall beside the door. And that door was the only way in or out. Y/N had no idea if it was locked, or maybe barred shut, or if there was a barricade on the other side to keep it closed. But Y/N knew she had to get out.

She didn't care if it was midnight or exactly noon, she was getting out. She had spent three days in a drug-induced haze, the last of the effects finally having finally worn off. Then she had spent what she assumed was almost a whole day being berated by the Undertaker. When he finally gave up trying to beg her to somehow abandon her body, he left her bleeding, crying and starving in the basement. She hadn't eaten or drank in so long that steam was coming up from her stomach and her throat felt like sandpaper.

She had hoped that the Undertaker might return with some water for her out of the goodness of his heart, but she had no such luck. He had disappeared through that basement door hours ago and she had heard not so much as a peep from the outside. When Y/N finally accepted he was not coming back with water for her, she tried to think through her delirious pain about how to escape. If she was a demon like Sebastian she could have easily broken free of her shackles and simply walked out of this damned place. But she was not a demon, even if Bizarre Dolls were just as unholy.

Even as her vision cleared from the last of the Undertaker's drug cocktail leaving her system, Y/N couldn't see much of the basement. Through her now stained and dirty petticoat, Y/N could tell that the floor was covered in grime. It hadn't been thoroughly cleaned in a very long time. But if she moved a bit to the side, she could feel clean stone through the fabric. As far as she could tell, the clean part of the floor was circular. If Y/N squinted, in the dim candle light she could see more circular spots scattered around the edge of the room. Judging on the size of the circles, Y/N found it safe to assume they were left by barrels.

It was upon her inspection on the floor that Y/N then noticed there were strange holes carved into the walls in columns of three. She moved as far back as her chains would allow her, unable to turn around completely but able enough to stick most of her arm into one of the holes. There wasn't a single cobweb as far as she could reach, and her hand never touched the back of the wall. Y/N drug one of her fingers along the wall of the hole as she pulled her arm out. There was very little dust and dirt inside the hole, only a fine layer of something with a more wooded smell. Y/N smelled the residue that she had scraped off the wall with her fingernail and her stomach did an all too familiar flip. "Wine," she thought. "I'm in a wine cellar. And these rings on the floor must have come from wine barrels. Someone must've moved them recently, there's no dust or dirt in the circles."

The barrels must have been old for this much grime to be collected around them, but regularly cleaned and moved around if they didn't leave cobwebs and stains behind, only a faint lingering smell. Which meant that the Undertaker likely didn't stay here. Wherever they were, the Undertaker had broken his way in recently. He could've been the one who moved the wine barrels, but it had to have been done right before or after he kidnapped her. This basement and the house it led up to were not the Undertaker's main residence. It was likely this was a place he had acquired just for the purpose of hiding Y/N. And if that was the case, and judging by the grime on the floor, this place was not given up freely. Had this place been up for sale, the floors would most likely have been cleaned before it was put on the market. There was also the possibility that this was a vacation home of sorts. Whoever owned this place might not have the slightest idea that it was being used in their absence. "But whoever owns this place isn't wealthy beyond their means," Y/N thought. If the owner was drowning in money, it would be likely that they would not only have a much larger wine cellar, but also a team of servants to keep it clean. Sebastian would've recoiled in disgust if he saw the floor, and so Y/N thought, would any butler of a high-class.