Book One

BE ADDYLAIDE VINDALE

You are now Addylaide, and you are dying.

You can barely feel the tips of your fingers as you scroll through the most recent Pesterlog that had been sent to you. Damn idiots couldn't be trusted to be sure of anything. You sloppily manage to type one word into the log: "YES."

Without waiting for a response, you captchalogue your computer and flop onto your back. Were this the first time you had been stabbed in the back, either metaphorically or literally, you most likely would have been completely flipping your shit or trying to find the nearest first aid kit to patch up the wound.

As if you'd actually survived.

The last twenty-four hours had more of an impact on you than you had first thought. You no longer worry about the inevitability of death. In fact, you more or less welcome it. Death in this game was not always the end after all.

You can feel your body start to spasm as your next breath spreads the gash in your side to your lungs, tearing the soft flesh just enough to let your fuzzy mind find the reason behind why copper was in your mouth and a spattering of hot liquid dripping down your cheek. Your eyes shut tightly and you really hate dying. It's always so painful and necessary and... and something else you were thinking of, but couldn't quite grasp in time to think it properly. You've lost too much blood. Must be a miracle you can even think without bringing fairies and unicorns into the mix. Wait... you just did. Shit. At least the darkness was more inviting this time around than before. Maybe you could actually catch some much needed shut eye.

. . . . . . .

Your eyes slowly flutter open. The first thing you notice is that you are lying down on something cold. Cement? Metal? You can't be certain. It's not a bed, though. That much is certain. And there are whispers all around you. So many whispers. They're getting louder. More plentiful. You groggily tilt your head to look to your right.

You promptly let out the most undignified scream you could ever hope to make and bolt upright. You are almost completely certain that you hate clowns more than anything else in the history of ever. Though you aren't all too sure as to why you hate them. You can't really remember much of anything regarding clowns. Or, well, anything else for that matter. How did you get here? Where is here? Why do these people have horns?

A sudden bright pain in your forehead prompts you to bring your hand to face, but you stop half way there. Your hand... crimson... WHY IS THERE BLOOD ALL OVER YOUR HANDS!?

You quickly look down at yourself, ignoring the few questions aimed toward you. You're a literal bloody mess. With all the fresh crimson stains covering your stomach and the rips and splotches of mud scattered across the rest of you, it's a surprise you're alive in the first place.

Wait a minute.

You pull your shirt up, checking for any sort of incision. But there's absolutely nothing at all. Not a single scratch. But... How is that possible? There was so much blood...

"H-How...?" Your voice sounds raspy and uncharacteristically shaky. "What happened? Where am I?"

One of the grey-skinned people kneels by your side. "Try and stay calm. You're in a safe place."

You stutter. You have an aching feeling that this place isn't a safe. At all.

"Can you remember anything?" she continues.

For a moment you stop saying anything, simply staring at her. Then you look away and shake your head. You stop doing that as soon as lights start dancing in front of your eyes.

"I don't know anything about what happened or – or where I came from or how I got here," you confess. "I feel like I should be dead."

"With all that blood on you," another says unsympathetically, "I'm surprised you're even talking."

You nod slightly, trying to stand. Your surroundings go dark for a moment and the next thing you know, you're struggling to get your feet back under you and your face away from the dark shirt it's plastered against. Whoever it is holding you pushes you away as soon as they can and you sway, only to be steadied by someone else.

You manage to catch a few clips of the conversation they're having with each other. Something about sleeping arrangements. And a car full of cats? You're going crazy. You're certain of it.

Just like you're certain the ground is listing sideways and you're not at fault for falling over yet again.

A/N:

So... I'm back in the land of fanfiction. net! It's only been, what? More than a year? Sorry about the hiatus. I should be up and running on constant for now, though. So unless my computer crashes again, or something major happens in my life, there should be updates at least every month.