When The Clock Strikes Twelve

Chapter 3

When Zaria woke up, she was in a small, dingy room, tied to an uncomfortable wooden chair. But she didn't notice any of this, because she was too focused on the headache. It felt like someone was hitting her over the head with a stick repeatedly. She tried to take in her surroundings, but she could barely see past the haze of pain shrouding everything.

Groaning, she fell back asleep.

This time when she woke up, the headache was slightly better, but the ropes cutting into her wrists were beginning to chafe and the wooden chair was less than comfortable against her back. She looked around, registering the empty, dark room. It was completely bare except for a broom leaning up against the wall, and of course her, in the middle of the room.

Tied to a chair.

She sighed.

Closing her eyes, she tried to think back. She had been running. A lot. Running, she thought Running from who? The question remained on her mind as sleep took over once again.

The third time she woke, the pain was bearable.. Her mouth was dry, which made sense, seeing as she hadn't drunk any water in forever. Her stomach, too, felt unbearably empty. Her back arched angrily from the hard wooden chair, and her wrists were raw.

Also, it was cold.

Taking a deep breath, Zaria tried to figure out the situation. Who had kidnapped her? Why? And, where were they? It couldn't be the police. If it were them, she would be in one of their buildings, not this closet. So then who else? Could it be the rebellion? Or... outsiders?

Her breath caught. Don't be silly. she reassured herself. Outsiders aren't real. She repeated it in her head until she almost believed it. While it was common belief that their ancestors had been the only ones to escape the natural disasters wrecking the Earth, some people still thought...

She shook her head, dismissing the thought. She had been kidnapped by the rebellion. It was the only possibility.

Almost as if her thoughts had summoned him, a man walked through the door. He was tall, with sandy hair and stormy gray eyes. He walked up to her silently. Zaria tracked his movements until he was standing right in front of her. A moment of silence passed. Then another. Finally, the man talked.

"Hello." he greeted.

"Hello." she said back

Some more silence passed.

"My name is Zander."

"Okay."

She thought she saw the hint of a smile, but it was gone as soon as it had come. Zaria swallowed. Zaria couldn't tell where all of this rudeness was coming from. Usually, she couldn't even complete a sentence when speaking with strangers.

"Are you with the rebellion?" she blurted. Zander raised an eyebrow. "Are you with the Queen?" he shot back.

"No." said Zaria. "I'm running from the Queen."

"And to the rebellion." he finished, more of a statement than a question. Zaria nodded once. "How do I know you're not a spy, sent here by the Queen?" he questioned.

"I'm not." she said simply. In reality, he had no way of knowing who she was and who she worked for. Hopefully, he would believe her. Hopefully.

Zander opened his mouth to respond, but he was cut off by another person walking into the small room. This time, it was a woman. She was almost as tall as the man, with hair so white it had to be artificial. Zaria's eyes latched immediately on the blinding hair. She whispered something into his ear, and he turned to her. "We just got word from our own spies in the palace. It seems you were not sent by the Queen." He pulled a knife from his belt and walked so that he was behind her. Zaria stiffened a little, but relaxed again when he started cutting the rope off. A few seconds later, her wrists were freed from the rope. Zaria started to massage them, trying to make the dark lines in her skin disappear. She stopped when she realized that the man was offering her something. Water.