TW: injuries, torture, kidnapping, alcohol
Paityn woke up in a room unfamiliar to her, which instantly sparked panic. For six months her environment was the same near empty room she couldn’t escape. Bruises began to heal over the past few days, though her rib still throbs like something’s broken. Though, most of her suffering was from her own guilt, for spewing family secrets under pressure. Of course she would break. She was the weakest soldier in her father’s army. The Sinclairs were probably better without the daughter who claimed the name to be cursed.
Her wrists weren’t bound and as she took in her new surroundings, Paityn came to realize she was in some sort of study. A private sitting room, lavishly decorated. A world different than the one she became accustomed to.
On the back of the door hung a gown with a note attached.
“Put this on, and go downstairs.
Have a drink first. You’ll need it.
-x.”
Paityn learned a long time ago that asking questions was futile. She did as she was told; her days would be spent better that way. Less pain. More guilt. She had more than one drink; whoever left her in that room provided a collection of makeup and a bottle of wine. By the time her face was on, the bottle was empty.
Truthfully, Paityn wasn’t sure what waited for her on the floor below. Her heart raced as the familiar sound of music, fake laughter and drunken conversation slowly trickled to her ears. A party to celebrate her imminent death? Sure, Paityn could get behind that.
Though, crossing through the threshold to the next chapter of her life, Paityn couldn’t speak. It felt surreal, as if she were in some sort of dream.
A fundraiser in Chicago...it was as if time jumped backwards and Paityn was back where she was before her wedding.