Misfortune

She had spent what felt like countless days exploring every corner of the bunker. The structure was a labyrinth of cold, damp corridors and small, cluttered rooms. Every step was taken with care, as she mapped the twists and turns in her mind, hoping to discover an exit. But each passage led only to more darkness, more dead ends.

Her memory remained a frustrating blank, offering nothing but the handkerchief, which she clung to as her only link to her identity. The bunker was devoid of any personal items, no belongings that might offer a clue to her past. The isolation was suffocating, and with each passing day, the weight of her amnesia pressed down harder, making her feel more lost than ever.

It was during one of these explorations that she stumbled upon a small, dust-covered library. The room was cramped, the shelves lined with old, forgotten books, their pages yellowed with age. The ceiling above had a small crack through which a sliver of light seeped in—a weak, but precious source of illumination. It was here, under that faint light, that she began to read.

To her surprise, she could read fluently, the words flowing easily in her mind. It was a revelation that suggested she had been well-educated before, but where or how remained a mystery. The books she found were not just any books; they were histories, detailing the Five Kingdoms of Azalia—Drachenwelt, Mermaia, Ambrosia, Wolfstadt, and Arcana.

Each kingdom was described in detail, from the fiery landscapes of Drachenwelt, home to dragonkind, to the enchanted waters of Mermaia, ruled by the elusive merfolk. Ambrosia was depicted as a land of plenty, a kingdom bathed in eternal twilight, ruled by vampires. Wolfstadt was wild and rugged, its people fierce and loyal, while Arcana was the mysterious realm of healer elves, shrouded in secrecy and magic.

Intriguing, she thought to herself. So she lives in a world full of magic and mythical beings. But that also made her wonder—was she one of them too? If she hadn't lost her memory, which kingdom would she have belonged to? Every kingdom was captivating, and the thought of seeing them all made her eager to leave the bunker. She could hardly wait to get out of there.

She absorbed every detail, the names and places sparking a faint sense of familiarity within her. But no matter how much she read, nothing triggered any memory. The kingdoms remained as distant as her own past, tantalising yet unreachable. Still, the knowledge gave her comfort, a small piece of the world outside her prison that she could hold onto. She continued reading until she fell asleep from exhaustion.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ 🎕 ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

It's been three days…

She'd never thought she would encounter such a dilemma, three days had passed, and the dumbwaiter remained silent. Each day, she waited with growing anxiety, her eyes fixed on the spot where the food had always arrived. At first, she tried to reassure herself, thinking that perhaps her captor had simply forgotten their specific schedule. After all, the routine had been so precise, almost mechanical. Surely, they wouldn't just stop without reason. Who is she trying to fool? She doesn't know these people. They definitely have a reason why they stopped giving her food.

As the hours and days dragged on and the dumbwaiter stayed still, her hope began to wither. She counted the moments, her nerves fraying as her remaining food supply dwindled. Each meal she took from the carefully rationed leftovers felt like a step closer to an abyss. The bread, once warm and fragrant, had become stale; the meat, once juicy and savoury, was now dry and unappealing. She had already eaten the last of the fruit, the sweetness now a distant memory.

The silence of the bunker pressed in on her, heavier than ever. What if something had happened? Or worse, what if they had decided to leave her here to die? The thought chilled her, more than the cold, unyielding walls ever could.

Her mind raced with possibilities. Had she been forgotten, left to starve in this forsaken place? The uncertainty gnawed at her, as relentless as her growing hunger. She knew she couldn't last much longer like this. The food she had left wouldn't sustain her for more than another day or two.

And so, she waited still, every passing second a cruel reminder of her helplessness, the silence only broken by the echo of her own despair…

Two more days had passed, and the situation had grown dire. Her last morsel of food was long gone, and with it, her strength had begun to wane. Every movement was a struggle now, her limbs heavy with fatigue, her body drained of the energy it desperately needed. She could no longer afford to move much, forced to conserve what little strength she had left. The ache in her head had dulled to a persistent throb, no longer sharp but still a constant reminder of her fragile state.

Desperation clawed at her as she lay in the darkness, her thoughts racing despite her exhaustion. She knew she couldn't stay here much longer—not if she wanted to survive. The idea of simply waiting for death was unbearable. She needed to act, to find a way out before hunger claimed her completely.

The door had been her first hope, but no matter how hard she had pushed or pulled, it remained immovable, as if mocking her efforts. The only other option left was the dumbwaiter, the small, rickety device that had once been her lifeline. It was never intended for a person, but right now, it was the only possibility she could see.

Her plan began to take shape, hazy but determined. If she could fit inside the dumbwaiter, perhaps she could pull herself up—or lower herself down—wherever it led. It was a terrifying prospect, the unknown of what lay beyond, but it was better than the certainty of dying here, alone and forgotten.

The weight of her crimson coat, once a comfort, now felt like a burden she could no longer afford to carry. With trembling hands, she stripped it off, letting it fall to the cold floor. The thin camisole she wore offered little protection from the chill, but it made her feel lighter, more agile—if only slightly.

She turned her gaze upward, squinting into the darkness. There, far above, she spotted a faint glimmer of light, barely visible but unmistakable. It was a beacon, a sign that there was something beyond this suffocating tomb. She had to reach it.

Taking a deep breath, she gripped the edges of the dumbwaiter and began to pull herself upward. Her muscles screamed in protest, the little strength she had left quickly draining away. But she couldn't stop—not now. Each pull brought her closer to the light, closer to freedom, but the effort was gruelling. Sweat beaded on her brow, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

Halfway up, her hand slipped. For a terrifying moment, she felt herself sliding back down, her heart pounding in her chest as panic threatened to overwhelm her. But she dug her fingers into the rough wood, forcing herself to hold on. With a grunt of effort, she found her footing again, pushing through the pain and exhaustion.

The light grew brighter as she ascended, the darkness receding inch by agonising inch. It felt like an eternity, but at last, she reached the top. With one final push, she hoisted herself up and out of the dumbwaiter, collapsing onto the floor above.

She lay there for a moment, panting, her body trembling from the effort. The air here was different—less stale, less suffocating. The light, though dim, was a welcome change from the pitch-black void she had left behind. She had done it. She was out.

As she took in her surroundings, she found herself in what appeared to be a kitchen, though it was unlike any kitchen she had ever seen. Dust clung to every surface, thick and undisturbed, as if the room had been sealed off for years. The air was heavy with the musty scent of decay, mingled with the faint, acrid odour of something long forgotten.

The kitchen was large, with old, tarnished pots and pans hanging from a rack above a long, scarred wooden table, and the wood countertops were withered. Cobwebs draped over the cupboards and corners, their delicate threads glittering faintly in the weak light filtering through the grimy windows. The stove, an ancient thing made of iron, looked like it hadn't been used in decades. Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust, untouched by human hands for what seemed like an eternity.

She stood still for a moment, her heart pounding as she tried to make sense of where she was. The eerie silence of the kitchen was oppressive, and she could hear nothing but the sound of her own breathing. Slowly, she began to move, her footsteps echoing softly in the desolate space.

She ventured out of the kitchen, pushing open a heavy door that groaned in protest. Beyond it, the rest of the building stretched out before her, a labyrinth of dark, abandoned rooms and corridors. She walked through what seemed to be a dining room, the long table still set with dusty plates and goblets, as if the inhabitants had left in the middle of a meal and never returned. The chairs were pushed back, some tipped over, and the chandeliers above were dimmed with age, their crystals dulled and covered in grime.

Every room she explored was the same—frozen in time, but ravaged by neglect. The wallpaper was peeling, the furniture rotting, and the floors creaked under her weight. She found herself in a grand hall with a sweeping staircase that led to the upper floors, its bannister caked with dust. The air was thick with abandonment, and the entire place felt like a tomb, a relic of a past long forgotten.

Her mind raced as she wandered through the mansion, her sense of unease growing with each step. The question that haunted her was why—why had this place been abandoned, and who had brought her here? The silence pressed in on her, thick and suffocating, amplifying every creak of the floorboards beneath her feet.

But before she could dwell further on her thoughts, a noise broke the stillness—a low creak, faint but unmistakable. She froze, her heart leaping into her throat. The sound of a door being opened, heavy and deliberate, echoed through the hall. She quickly ducked behind a crumbling pillar, her breath catching as she listened, straining to hear what came next.

Footsteps.

Two pairs of them, slow and cautious, moving through the dust-laden hallways. As the sound grew closer, she dared to peek from her hiding spot, her blue eyes narrowing as she caught sight of two figures entering the grand hall. They were men, rough-looking and unkempt, their clothes worn and dirty. From their dishevelled appearance, it was clear they were no ordinary travellers. These men looked like rogues—bandits, perhaps—judging by the grimy leathers they wore and the makeshift weapons strapped to their belts.

They moved with purpose, their voices low as they muttered to each other, glancing around the decaying mansion as if searching for something—or someone. Her heart pounded as she realised they were too close for comfort. She needed to stay hidden, to figure out who they were and why they were here.

One of the men, tall and broad-shouldered, scanned the room with a suspicious glare. His companion, shorter but wiry, was already rummaging through an old chest by the wall, cursing under his breath when he found nothing but dust.

"This place has been picked clean," the tall one muttered, his voice rough and gravelly. "No use here."

"Keep looking," the smaller one replied, his tone irritated. "Whoever was here before left in a hurry. There might still be something worth taking."

She held her breath, her mind racing. Were they scavengers, looters? Or worse—were they after her? The thought chilled her to the bone, and she knew she had to stay out of sight. The slightest sound could give her away.

As the men continued their search, their careless movements stirred up clouds of dust, the ancient mansion creaking under the weight of their intrusion. She pressed herself tighter against the cold stone pillar, praying that the shadows would be enough to conceal her.

But her luck ran out.

"Oh, what do we have here?" a voice sneered from behind her, low and mocking.

Her heart skipped a beat as she spun around, her eyes wide with terror. Standing just a few feet away was a third man, one she hadn't noticed before. He was lean and sharp-featured, his eyes glittering with a predatory gleam as they locked onto her. His clothes were as tattered and worn as the others', but there was something more dangerous in his posture—a cruel intelligence that sent a jolt of fear through her.

He had found her.

Her mind raced, desperately searching for a way out, but there was none. She was trapped, caught between the pillar and this man, with the other two not far away. The man's smirk widened as he stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers.

"Well, boys!" he called out, his voice dripping with amusement. "Looks like we've got ourselves a little lost lamb."

The other two men immediately turned at his words, their expressions shifting from frustration to predatory interest. Her breath quickened as they approached, the realisation of her situation crashing down on her like a wave. She was cornered, outnumbered, and at the mercy of these men.

"What should we do with her?" the shorter one asked, a nasty grin spreading across his face.

The tall man, who seemed to be the leader, looked her up and down, his eyes narrowing. "Depends," he said slowly, his voice filled with dark intent. "What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Her mind spun, fear tightening its grip around her throat. She had no idea what to say, no lie ready to explain her presence here. All she could think of was escape, but the chances of that were slipping away with each passing second.