Ruled by Fire

Home...

Don't throw up. 

Don't throw up. 

I'm gonna throw up.

Just breathe, you got this," Lucy's voice echoed in my ears. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. Then I threw up. "What did you do?!" a voice shrieked from somewhere behind me. I felt too nauseous to even care who it was or what they were yelling about. My stomach churned, and my head felt like it was on a carousel spinning out of control. Desperate to ground myself, I focused on my breathing. One, two, I chanted silently in my head. With each "one," I breathed in; with each "two," I breathed out. Normally, this little trick calmed me down, but it wasn't working this time—mostly because every other "two" was interrupted by me throwing up again. Before long, I felt someone pulling me away. My head spun so wildly I couldn't tell who it was, and soon it didn't matter. My vision blurred, my body grew heavier, and before I could even try to fight it, the darkness pulled me under. 

I want ice cream. Or maybe a popsicle. Something cool. Why is everything dark? 

When I opened my eyes, I panicked. Where am I? The room was painfully white, so clean it practically glowed. The scent of disinfectant stung my nose, making my stomach twist again. I sat in a bed with a plain metal frame, covered with crisp white sheets and a matching duvet. To one side, a small metal table stood with a clear pitcher and a cup sitting neatly on top of it. My throat felt like sandpaper, and my lips were dry enough to crack. I moved my tongue to lick them, but even that felt like a failed attempt at relief. The water on the table looked tempting, but I wasn't stupid. For all I knew, it could be poisoned. I wasn't about to take that risk. Instead, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood up—or tried to. My knees buckled the second I put weight on them, and I crumpled to the floor. The world spun wildly around me again as I groaned, my cheek pressing against the cold, sterile floor.

"Hello, Leah. I'm Ms. Saintclaire, the head doctor here. What d'you say we get your legs working again?" She spoke to me like I was a child, but I didn't mind—I'd take anything if it meant my legs would work again. I nodded, and she slipped her arm around my chest and under my armpit, lifting me with surprising strength and pulling me over to the bed. Then she walked to the side table, opened a drawer, and pulled out a syringe, filling it up. As she did, I decided now was as good a time as any to ask a question.

"Um, Ms. Saintclaire, where am I?" I asked.

She gave a soft smile, her lips curling slightly. "Darlin', you're in our medical area."

"Oh, and why is that?" I asked, watching as she neared me with the syringe.

"Well, first things first," she said, her tone mockingly sweet, "your health was all off, love. Obviously, you haven't been taking your proper medications, have you? No wonder Lucy said you seemed a bit tense. And that fainting spell—honestly, I'm surprised you're still standing." With that, she jabbed the syringe straight into my hip. I gasped, but she didn't even blink. She kept on talking, like it was just another part of the routine. "Luckily for you, the League has me. I've put you back on track with your health. They go on and on about Ben Martin and his serum—well, if it weren't for me, you'd all just be poor sickly creatures. Yes, I do say, I'm far more important than him! Sure, he made you powerful, but who keeps you that way, eh? But do they thank me? No! Not a word of it!" She sighed, clearly exasperated. "Alright, now give your legs a try, my love."

Despite every instinct telling me not to trust her, I had little choice. I pushed myself up, and my legs—surprisingly—held me steady.

"Why did they stop working in the first place?" I asked. I had a million questions, but that one slipped out first.

"Well, I had to make sure you didn't go runnin' off now, didn't I?" she said, her smirk widening. "No more questions now, darling. Let me show you to your new room, and I'll get you into something more respectable. Then you can ask Cherry, Dan, and Lucy all the questions you want."

With that, she led me out of the room and down a long, empty hallway. The place had a cold, industrial feel, the cement walls stretching endlessly, broken up only by the occasional metal door. The hallway was bright, but it had a cavernous, underground feeling.  We walked for a few minutes before Ms. Saintclaire stopped in front of a door, engraved in gold with my name—"Leah."

She explained that to enter, I simply had to place my hand on the handle, and the door would recognise my fingerprints. I did as she said, and the door opened with a click into a room that immediately made me feel at ease. The floor was warm, smooth wood in a golden tan, and the walls were lined with beautiful paintings of fire in shades of red and orange, the flames almost seeming to flicker to life. In the centre of the room, a plush couch and armchair were arranged around a low table, and a TV stood against one wall. A rich red carpet stretched across the floor, tying the whole room together in a cosy, inviting embrace.

"It's all been decorated just for you, love," Ms. Saintclaire said with a smile. She gently pulled me toward another door in the room. As she opened it, I found myself in a space that radiated warmth and elegance. The floor was polished white marble, the gleaming surface in stark contrast to the deep red rug that swirled with gold accents. The bed was the room's focal point—a large four-poster with a rich red bedspread, its velvety fabric draping gracefully over the mattress. Soft cream-coloured pillows provided a calm balance to the fiery hues of the bed, and overhead, the ceiling was painted with delicate murals of flames, swirling in reds and oranges, making the whole room seem alive with heat.

Against one wall, a vintage desk made of dark wood stood, adorned with a few decorative items—a red lamp, a small crystal vase with a white flower, and a stack of books with gold-edged pages. A matching dresser stood nearby, its drawers with sleek silver handles. The walls were lined with more paintings, each depicting the intense beauty of fire—flames in every shade of red, gold, and orange, their glow casting a warm, almost magical light across the room. 

It was a place of passion, beautifully crafted, and, oddly, it felt like home—though it was a strange thought, considering I had never really felt at home anywhere. In the room was another door, and Ms. Saintclaire opened it, revealing a huge closet—big enough for Barbie! It was filled with all sorts of clothes and shoes, from dresses to jeans, heels to sneakers, and almost every item seemed to have a bit of red on it. Ms. Saintclaire stepped into the closet, picking out black leather pants and a beautiful red blouse. Handing them to me, she said,

"Right, I'll leave you to change and rest. There's food in the lounge room—the first room we came through. You'll find it fine. I'll be back in two hours. Oh, and if you want a shower, there's a bathroom in the bedroom."

And with that, she left, leaving me alone in this strange yet beautiful room, with nothing but my thoughts.