scars.

handcuffed in freedom.

A screeching sound pulled me straight out of my drunken slumber. I shot upright but lied back down immediately as something cut harshly into the skin of my wrists. Cold metal. Handcuffs.

"Autumn."

The voice was soft, almost apologetic. I looked up, seeing Quen standing idly in the doorway of a grey... cell.

I was in a cell.

"What the fuck?" My throat was tight and my limbs felt like they were swollen. "Where... is this a cell? What did I do?" Fear shot through me, nestling in the bottom of my stomach like an anchor, pulling me deep into the ocean, and I couldn't breathe... I couldn't breathe...

Quen sighed, stepping forward, arms crossed. "You attacked one of the four leaders. Not quite the best first impression, as one can imagine..."

"And you decide to throw me in a prison?" I huffed, laughing even though it wasn't funny at all. I tried to shake this feeling... this feeling of being so huge and important to everyone in this building, yet feeling so weak and small.

"You attacked Ms Dustan, one of the four leaders and founders of this entire organisation." Quen's voice was rougher now, sterner. "You should be grateful for the fact you are in this cell. If it hadn't been for Ms Cerys..."

"Ah... I see... My auntie saved me. Great." I scoffed, clenching my jaw. I crossed my arms across my chest to hide the fact my hands were quivering slightly.

She narrowed her eyes, truly disgusted by my tone. "You should treat people with more respect, Autumn. Ms Cerys is the only reason you are still here. You could've been serving a sentence for treason. She defended you! You owe her your freedom."

I bit back my snide remarks, knowing I should not tempt her any further. She was sweet and all, but something told me I should not mess with her.

The entire cell was grey, like this was just a brilliantly filmed retro movie, like maybe I wasn't really here. This cell wasn't grey like that basement, which was like the colour of the messed up lungs of a breakfast-lunch-dinner kind of smoker, or like the ashen roads running along hills and cities. This cell was a lighter shade, like the soft colour of a maths notebook filled with doodles made by an unsharpened pencil.

Yet it felt like I was still trapped in his dark basement, the smell of cigarettes permanently stuck in the air, clawing at my lungs from inside. I focused on Quen, on her gingerbread hair and rosy cheeks as I tried to block out the overdose of grey.

Quen moved on to her next point. "Ms Cerys wants to speak with you in person, after you had your dinner." At that moment, the door opened again, revealing a young man with awkwardly long and skinny limbs that looked like someone taped them to his body last-minute. He was holding a plate filled with so much food that I knew I could never eat all of it.

The plate was placed on my lap and for a few long moments, I simply stared at it. There was pasta, and kale, and vegetables and fruits, all cut into small pieces.

"Eat."

I looked up at Quen, a sudden pain in my chest. "I... I can't..."

She sighed and sat down on the edge of my bed. "You have to. You are dangerously underweight. It's a miracle you haven't passed out yet."

I bit my lip, looking at the food again. "I haven't had this much... in a long, long time."

She smiled softly. "Well, get used to it. You're on a strict diet from now on." When I shot her an angry glance, she laughed. "Don't look at me! Orders from Ms Cerys."