The figure rose to their feet and glided over towards the chair opposite the Clown.
Is that hesitation I can sense in their movement?
He was not sure.
The figure sat, and eventually the clouds dispersed from her body.
He had been expecting the same woman as before. The one dressed in noble, Russian-inspired clothing, the one with confidence and that irritatingly smug expression she wore on her face, the same woman who had spoken to him without an ounce of fear in her voice.
However, the woman seated before him now almost seemed like an entirely different person.
Her blonde hair, once styled beautifully, was now simply unkempt. The makeup that had once framed her features was gone, washed clean, leaving behind a face that looked younger… and far more vulnerable.
And her clothes…
Has she been made a prisoner?
