The Seamstress

Escape

The woman giggles to herself as she turns away from the girl, facing the wall. Oh yes, she's caught her now, and she'll be a delicious snack...

"Not hungry yet," the woman says under her breath. "Lucky girl... lucky girl..."

But she would take her soon enough. And when she did, she would do it slowly, agonisingly, and revel in the screams of pain that would come from the girls' mouth.

*

"Are you hungry?"

I open my eyes and gaze up at Absinthe. My chest heaves as I take in a deep shuddery breath, the ropes around me tightening with each movement. The gag she tied around my mouth has slipped off after repetitive wiggling, the fabric laying against my neck.

My throat is too dry for me to speak, so instead I nod. She walks away, her bare feet leaving soft footsteps.

I didn't know staying in one place for so long would be so painful.

The moment Aunt Queenie left, Absinthe tightened the ropes, making the rough fabric scratch into my skin. Now whenever I move even the slightest bit, it goes deeper, itchier, and the hurt won't stop.

I want it to stop.

I can't take my eyes off her; my gaze travels over her slim figure as she moves around in the back of the room. If I look away for a second, she'll pounce, and I won't be able to escape her clutches.

She's going to kill me.

I know she will. Absinthe never fails. I will get you eventually, she told me the day I first saw her.

Why does she even bother to keep me? Why can't she just get it over with? Kill me now, please, let it be over, I beg in my mind, my thirsty tongue limp in my mouth as I struggle to form words. I'm done, I can't live anymore.

More tears gather in my eyes, coating my tearstained cheeks. I stick out the tip of my tongue, trying to catch the salty drops in vain, but they only make me thirstier.

Out, out, out, I want to get out.

My head is pounding mercilessly when Absinthe returns, holding a metal tray. I look to the side to see where she got it from but see nothing, only darkness.

She leans down close to put the tray on my lap. Greasy black hair brushes across my cheek and I gasp softly, too weak to let out anything louder. Panic grips at my chest, squeezing the breath out of me as her face inches closer. I try to lean away, but the ropes tighten as I try.

"Go away," I whisper with as much urgency as I can muster. "L-leave me alone."

Absinthe giggles and moves to the side. "You're fading away," she rasps. She points a pale bony finger to the tray on my lap. "This will help you."

I look down, half-expecting to see rotting meat or something else disgusting, but instead I observe a small silver needle, a spool of red thread, and a simple square of pale yellow fabric.

"If you want food," she says, reaching out and taking a lock of my short hair. "You have to earn it."

She gives my hair a sharp tug, pulling my head back. I choke slightly as she forces me to look into the glittering beady eyes behind her hair. "Your aunt is preparing your sister to be my assistant, but she's taking longer than I want."

I gulp as she releases my hair. "What do you mean?" I manage to squeak out.

Absinthe lets out a soft chuckle. "Because," she says, "if I don't have an assistant, I could die."