Unnatural Instinct: Transform

4.

After you allow yourself to despair for a few minutes, you get back up and look around your room. After trying to shove open the door again, and failing, the first thing you do is go over to the windows and pull open the curtains. Easier said than done—they're heavy and large. Like the doors, they hang almost from the ceiling to the floor. Why does everything have to be so damn big?

You deflate a little as you reveal each of the windows. It's night. You hoped it was daytime. At least then you'd have some real light to see by. You fill with both hope and dread. Could it be the same night they took you? Or is it an evening days ahead?

You look outside and immediately regret it. There is nothing and no one in sight. Gone is your house and your little neighbourhood. Gone is the city, in fact. All you see is a thick, dark canopy of waving trees spreading into the distance towards a range of unfamiliar mountains. You must be in the same country, surely, but where?

The moon is bright and you can see the building in which you're trapped. It sits at the top of a hill and seems to go on forever. It's a castle. Where is the nearest castle that you can think of? You frown. You know of no castle like this close by. Where have they taken you? Where is home?

Your stomach twists into a knot.

Pulling away from the window, you grip onto yourself. It's cold. Amid all the 'excitement' you hadn't realised it until now. There is no glass in the windows and the wind is like ice against your skin. Does this place even have electricity?

Quickly, using the light of the moon and the candlelight above, you investigate the room. From what you can see this is a true castle with no light switches and probably no power. Your shoulders sag. The only way in or out is through those massive pair of doors. Across the room, backed up against the wall, is a writing desk and upon it are several cups and dishes, complete with closhes and cutlery. You sniff but can't smell the food against the stink of the lotion.

Other than the bed, fireplace, the desk and cabinet, there's an antique two-seater couch and a large bearskin spread across the floor. You stare at its snarling face, feeling sick. You love animals.

For such a large room it's very bare. Getting colder by the moment, you hurry over to the cabinet and open it. Your shoulders sag further—no clothes. The last thing you want to be is naked. You look to the doors, to the curtains, to the fireplace, then to the bed.

You attempt to open the doors again. Unsuccessful, you return to the windows and try to draw the curtains closed, but your hands and arms are too stiff from the cold to make them budge. Your feet are so cold they burn against the icy stone floor.

Giving up, you hurry over to the bed, rip away the covers and slide between them, curling up in a ball and throwing them over your head. It's freezing at first, but you soon warm up and your teeth stop chattering.

Finally, you settle. 

You're not sure how much time has passed when you hear a noise at the door. A long moan tells you that someone's opening it. Is it the three winged men again? You curl more tightly under the blankets. Maybe if they think you're asleep they won't disturb you.

Breathing fills the silence. The door moans again as it shuts with a boom. Heavy footsteps slap against the stone floor, then whump against the bearskin.

More breathing. Then you hear a grunt, followed by a thud. More thudding, something sharp scraping against something hard. There comes a whoosh.

Fire. Whoever it is has lit a fire in the fireplace.

Slowly, you pull down the blankets. The room is quite bright now with the moonlight and the candles and the burning fire, but it takes you several moments for your eyes to adjust enough to see the figure seated on the couch.

'I'm sorry. My servants should have lit the fire,' speaks a deep voice.

You freeze.

'Have no fear. I'm not going to harm you.'

It's a long time before you have the courage to answer him, and even then the words come out slowly, as though sticking in your throat. 'What do you want from me?'

'Not such a simple question to answer. Come to me and let me see you.'

'Let me go.'

'No.' His voice echoes around the room.

Glancing at the doors, you lick your lips.

'If you don't come to me,' he continues, 'I'll come to you.'

To the bed. A rush of heat passes through your body. Your cheeks burn. That won't happen. 'I-I have no clothes.'

He grunts but otherwise doesn't answer. You open your mouth, about to protest more, before thinking better of it. There are other ways to get around this.

Getting up from the bed, you quickly rip off the top blanket and wrap it around you. You keep an eye on him but he doesn't turn to look. Making sure you're properly covered, you walk over to the fireplace, your feet freezing against the stone floor, and stop at a distance from his chair.

Standing a little away and behind him, you can see him a bit more clearly. He's wearing a hood, similar to his 'servants' when they first kidnapped you. Does he have wings too? You don't know, and you don't want to know.

He continues to sit without acknowledging you, his head slightly bowed. Your heart is pounding hard, harder than it ever has, even harder than when you were first kidnapped. There's something about him. Something terrifying. Something bad.

Something unnatural. 

The blanket is pulling against your sticky skin but you ignore it. A dark shadow, possibly a bat, possibly one of those flying men (you shiver), passes over the moon. The quiet in the room lengthens. The air seems to thicken until it becomes hard to breathe.

The only part of him not concealed by his cloak is his hands, and they're huge and clenched tightly around the armrests of the chair.

Slowly he turns his head.

The blanket slips from your grip as you gasp.