THESE EYES WERE just as grey and steely as I remember. Grey and steely as the storm she brought with her within them. Under them, under layers and film and contempt under contempt under contempt; fear.
Abby was scared.
Broad fingers pressed up against the glass in distinct discomfort, her gaze bored into me as she glared through the glass in the small gap I had managed to find.
Part of me wanted to turn around and leave her in whatever this was. And perhaps I should've. But my curiosity reigned over my emotions.
I eyed what I could see of the room, which wasn't much, but I thought I would risk it. I needed to know why she was there, and why she was, seemingly, incarcerated. Not that it was really a bad thing. I could name one hundred and one reasons why it would be beneficial for Abby to be locked up somewhere for good. But I opened the door anyway.
Her eyes never left me.
I struggled to remember a time where those eyes felt like home to me.
I wish I could have kept my watch on Abby; prove to her that I wouldn't break, I wouldn't back down, I wasn't afraid.
But I couldn't help but look at what was around me.
Past Abby's glass prison were at least a dozen like her, but...not like her. Something was off. Something in the trace of their faces, the glaze in their gaze, their pupils that darted around erratically like predatory birds scanning a field of mice. Twitching, tweaking, tap, tap, tapping on the glass with curiosity enveloped in a skittish energy. Muscles jolting, huddled and shaking but unraveling in a way that was past a human sanity. I passed my enemy like a ghost as I approached one of these prisoners. People? Could I say people? I looked to see if my estimation was correct.
As I approached the glass of the first one next to her, I examined more and more what I was seeing. Past exhaustion, eyes ringed with fatigue but strung with energy like a drape of string lights. The person spotted me, the colour in their iris pooling with black from an ever-enlarging pupil. Swelling like a balloon, it took only a few moments for them to snap, throwing themselves at the glass with vigour, slamming the weight against it over and over, unsuccessfully, no matter how hard they swing at it. Blood starts smearing on the glass as they continually fling their body at the glass with all their might, determined to get though. Their eyes on me, I could only assume they were after me, that this poignant aggression was directed at me.
I scanned the little paper note stuck to the glass at the front of the cage.
