Oubliette

2

He was asleep. At least he thought he was, except the dream felt too realistic. The constant sound of people and screeching creations, so many different smells, tall villages. That woman, 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑊ℎ𝑖𝑡𝑒.

"Wake up bag of bones." He felt the swift kick to his ribs though it hardly did him any harm with such a size difference. He growls, but he's awake and looking toward the one who dared disturb him. "She's about to choose a door. I need you to bring her back here. You'll need hands though." It was the Emperor.

His ears flattened, head lowered when he saw the Emperor brandish an intricate dagger. One that triggered a painful reaction within that left the once large wolf standing stark naked in front of the Emperor.

A pair of clothes was tossed toward him; black slacks, white button up, black tie, black shoes and socks. "Put these on and get down to the Oubliette."

He eyes the fabrics he held haphazardly in his hands that had been launched at him, with furrowed brows. They seemed familiar to him. When his head had lifted, the Emperor of course was gone, so if he'd had any questions they weren't to be answered.

He was quick about putting on the clothes and found a book of matches inside one of the pockets, a box containing white sticks with dried crushed up leaves stuffed inside and a very worn wallet. It seemed to belong to a 𝐵.𝑊. but that was all the identification. Not even an ounce of money.

"𝐵𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑡!" Snapped a voice, but the owner was nowhere in sight. Quick about it. About leading a woman astray, wasting her precious time until she gave it all up, forgot about her quest into the Labyrinth and what she sought. That's what he wanted, that's what the old wolf could feel that the Emperor wanted. And he was just some pawn to it.

Dutifully though, he headed off into the Labyrinth, observing the box of white sticks he'd found as he went —no need to pay attention to where he was going, he'd roamed these passages too many times.

There was a bitter smell to them and taste he discovers from biting into one. These are not for eating. He regards them more carefully and pinches one between his thumb and index to observe. That felt familiar to him. Twisting it to rest scissored between index and middle he noticed an even deeper familiarity. Then the flash of smoke and fire. 𝐵𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚! He was supposed to burn them!

He felt the muscle memory of it as he placed the butt of the cigarette between his lips and reached in for the pack of matches. He hears screaming nearby and recognizes it to belong to the woman from earlier. She must have found the 𝐻𝑒𝑙𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐻𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠.

It was the most direct path down into the Oubliette, but for people like him, there was a bit of a detour. Through the door guarded by the blue twins, down just before the warning heads then a left and he was inside.

He could see perfectly in the darkness, but for someone like her, he knew her sight was lacking. Now he had a moment to light the match, and his cigarette.

"Who's there?" She calls out, and though she tried to be firm and brave in tone, he could hear —smell— the fear that rolled off her.

"Me." Came the dry reply as the match streaked across the rough strip, bringing its red bulb ablaze. He used it to first light the lone candle placed a few paces beyond the door out of the oubliette, then leaned forward into the flame to light the cigarette.

"Oh, it's you!" She seemed genuinely surprised, and yet oh so relieved that it was him, which wasn't the normal combination of reactions he got. His brows furrowed over a pair of melting caramel eyes, and after exhaling the drag of smoke he'd had, he tried brushing off the unease of how she'd recognized him when he wasn't a towering wolf.