BEHIND CLOSED DOORS | D.M

044 | back to you

Darkness surrounds Kallista like heavy, ominous clouds, their shadows impossible to lure away even with the brightest ray of sunshine. Shrouded and corrupted by agonising tenebrosity, she feels like she can't escape the obscurity no matter how hard she tries.

She can feel her pulse drumming furiously against her temple, its beat painful and loud. She doesn't know where she is. What time or day it is. Why she is in so much pain.

Forcing herself to open her eyes, she finds her surroundings hazy, blurred into vague and unrecognisable shapes. She blinks once. Twice. Multiple times until her mind isn't clouded any longer, and until she realises she is sitting on a chair, an uncomfortable one at that. There is a painful tension skittering the back of her neck, sliding upwards to her head and downwards her spine.

Still, as she has managed to awaken and emerge from that heavy darkness, her mind is spiralling and misty with utter turmoil. How did she end up here?

She wants to lift a hand up to brush a curl away from her brow which is slightly blocking her periphery, but she then understands why she can't: her hands are tied at her back. And when she tries to move her feet, they are also chained to the chair.

Panic threatens to arise, to take over her being. But she refuses to let the fear overpower her mind and so, she inhales deeply and exhales longly.

There is no room for fear. Not here, not now.

She looks around, and nothing. There is nothing in this small, confined room. Except for a window and a small table with a chair pushed against a wall. There is a door, obviously, that seems locked.

She breathes in, then out. Stay calm, cool and collected.

Rapidly glancing down at herself, she notices she is still wearing the black dress she wore to the Summer Solstice Gala, the skin of her arms ever so slowly pebbling at the realisation.

And by the glow of the sunlight piercing through the window, she understands it is mid-afternoon.

How long has she been out for? Where is she? Who is trying to hurt her—again?

A lump forms inside her throat, but she refuses to be consumed by profound and shattering emotions. She inhales again. Exhales once more.

Draco—

Oh, Gods. Draco's face flashes inside her mind—she sees that utter look of solace and adoration as he meets her gaze from across the room. That glimmer of devotion yet mixed with uncertainty whenever he looks at her. He had been waiting for her when she went into the bathroom during the Gala. And oh, Gods, where is he? Has he been taken away, too? Or is he home and safe and looking for her?

In this moment, she asks herself what would Draco do in this situation. He'd burn the world down, she thinks. And if he is safe and sound, he is, without a single shadow of doubt, putting the universe on fire to find her.

Wriggling her hands, she tries to set herself free, but it feels impossible. Bound with magic, she can only wait and hope for Draco to come rescue her—even if she resents the thought of being saved like a damsel in distress.

And when the sound of voices echoing in the corridor reverberates, she can feel her heartbeat deliberately slow down.

She almost opens her mouth to scream. Almost makes a fool out of herself. But she knows better than not to act out of impulsiveness in a moment of dismay like this one.

With a small frown etched on her face, she steadies her breathing and focuses on the voices behind the door.

"She's still in there?" a male's voice exclaims, evidently outraged.