A witch gets trapped in an empty room with no way out and no idea of how she got in there.
(This isn't Hermione.)
Originally, this story was not magically based, but to be able to put it up on FanFiction, I changed it up a bit.
I think I've gotten much better as a writer. Review & let me know if you agree/disagree. It would mean a lot. (:
She wakes up slowly and rubs her eyes.
Her hands, she notices, turning them over again and again, are unusually pale.
She is wearing the most perfect white dress that comes down to her knees with an off-white pair of leggings.
Her feet are bare, and her face gives the impression of being somehow permanently dirtied.
These are not her clothes. This is not how she normally looks.
She knows how she appears by memory...as if she has been like this before. But she hasn't! Has she?
"You can always escape danger when you are armed with magic.
Let's see you get out of this one without a wand!"
A voice yells at her from nowhere.
The girl looks up at last. She immediately begins to panic.
She is surrounded by a completely white and empty room with a brightness that seems to come from nowhere.
This place is not familiar. But it is.…
Noticing her distance from the furthest walls, she charges at it.
Her face becomes serious and her fists form battle claws as she gathers every bit of strength to desperately bring down the barrier to the rest of her life.
Ripping, shredding, and screaming, she begins to have problems breathing.
Chest heaving rapidly, she collapses to the ground. She claws at the concrete below while her heart pounds like no other.
Is this where it ends?
No, she decides, she must fight.
The girl eases herself up, and stumbles towards the back corner. She had heard a crackling sound coming from that general direction.
There, lays a vase that had not been there moments ago.
With no patience to find this odd, she grabs it with heavy arms and chucks it at the floor before her.
The vase remains intact. She retrieves it and throws it at the wall to her right.
The vase bounces off and hits the floor. It, once again, is in one piece.
Frustrated, her shaky hands reach for it one last time.
Taking it, she holds it out in front or her. Her reflection stares back.
From it, she sees a broken girl. A girl whose eyes bare no shine, whose wild long hair hold no luster as it hangs every which way.
Closing her eyes, she begins to weep.
The girl drops the vase to cover her face.
She listens to her own crying for a few seconds, until she falls to the floor.
Removing her hands from before her eyes, she feels sharp pains all around her legs.
Looking down, she sees bloodstains surrounding her perfect clothes and realizes she in kneeling on a broken vase.
Or, rather, its remains.