The light from the spotlight glared in Margaret's eyes as she peered out at the village from the hiding spot she had so carefully picked. Everyone was awake now, stumbling around sleepily in an attempt to find her. She was their precious captive swan, who had been planning this escape for nearly five years. Her captors had become too comfortable with her being there, and only placed a young, unarmed guard at her door in the evenings these days. The young ones were the easiest to trick. Flash a smile, bat your lashes, touch their waist ever so gently and steal their set of keys. They had probably expected her to run long ago, but here she was, waiting for the right moment to dash from behind the bushes and jump into whatever car she had stolen the keys from. Hopefully Margaret would be free for good. Maybe she'd be able to go far away where she'd be able to comfortably let her guard down and relax, without the fear of men in black coats coming to take her away and lock her up once again.

Margaret was first taken by these men five years ago when she was eighteen, working as a clerk at a bookstore in Maastricht. Their reason for taking her was because she had an "unbelievable talent that would go to waste". She was well aware of this talent, to bring books to life, but there were over one hundred reasons why she didn't use this talent. Number fifty-eight was that weirdos like these crows would discover this ability and use it for questionable reasons.

A search party had finally been sent out. Margaret could hear the men shouting, ordering the group to go search in the trash pile that lay west of the village. It was where she'd usually hide if she managed to run away from one of the guards escorting her, but she had always been too afraid to go any further. Tonight was her big escape. She could see flashlights shining and reflecting off of trash bags and broken glass in the distance. The spotlight was focused on the largest mound of trash, pointed far away from where Margaret was hiding. This was her chance to make a run for the cars. Standing up, she palmed the keys in one hand and drew out a knife in the other, just in case. This was the first time she had managed to steal car keys. It would make her escape so much easier.

Just as she was about to open the car door, a man jumped in front of her, stretching his arms out so she couldn't get past him. "Shit!" Margaret hissed, her eyes glaring daggers at the man in front of her, "I need to get out of here, what do you want from me, Dustfinger?" This man was always in and out of the villages. Though these people were his enemies, they were the closest connection he had to his home. Margaret was never sure what to think about him. He was never really friend or foe. In fact, they hardly ever spoke with each other, though they did share an occasional meaningful glance if they happened to cross paths. They both understood each others' predicament. She was literally a prisoner held against her will and he had no other choice but to continue returning to the Lion's Den.

"Take me with you!" Dustfinger exclaimed, grabbing her shoulders. "I can't stand to be here any longer. Capricorn isn't doing what he promised and I need to find another way home." He had a pained look in his eyes. Margaret felt a small ping of sympathy for him. She sighed and lowered her head.

"Alright. You can come with me." She broke free of his grasp and opened the car door, sitting in the driver's seat. "This doesn't mean that we're friends. I've learned to not trust every person who comes to me with puppy-dog eyes." Margaret's tone was cold as she glanced at Dustfinger who was looking nervously about the car.

With the lights off, she backed up and quietly made her way to the rusty gate just outside of the village. She'd turn her car lights on when she knew she was a safe distance from the village. Being spotted would ruin her whole escape plan.

Fifteen minutes had passed when Margaret finally turned on her headlights and pushed the gas pedal as hard as she could. The road was twisted, but she knew how to drive well enough where she wouldn't have to sacrifice speed for safety. Every minute or so, she'd glance nervously behind her, hoping that the black jackets weren't following her. After two hours had passed and she was on a main road, Margaret, now relaxed, switched on the radio (some swing station was on) and let her mind wander.

Margaret was eighteen again, tied up in the back of a van. Her clothes were soaked wet with rain, making the whole moment rather uncomfortable. She wasn't a small girl, by any means. She had just the right amount of pudge to be considered a curvy woman, but not enough to be overweight. Her hair was a tangled, strawberry blonde mess that reached to her shoulders. Most people would agree that she was rather attractive, but Margaret would deny this. She was a bashful girl and wasn't a very big fan of compliments. She thought most people were just blowing smoke up her ass. However, she could feel these strange mens' eyes on her, admiring the way her wet dress clung to her body.

She sat up on the metal floor, her eyes wide and full of fear. She imagined that she looked like a young child, Margaret felt defenseless. There was not a single ounce of bravery in her soul at this moment. Fear had devoured everything. Tears began running down her cheeks as one of the men, with olive skin and slicked back hair crept closer to her. Oh! How she felt so foolish for crying. The olive skinned man wiped a tear off her face and glanced at her dress. "How 'bout we get you out of those wet rags?" He smirked. Margaret jerked away from him, an icy glare in her eyes, but it just made the man burst out laughing,"looks like she's trying to fight back". He began tugging at the shoulder of her cardigan, slowly peeling it off. Margaret made every effort to fight back against him. The last thing she wanted was to be violated by these men.

"Hey, Cockerell," he said over his shoulder, "come help me with her. She's being awfully difficult." Margaret's eyes followed another man who got out of his seat and kneeled down just above her head, holding her shoulders firm. Cockerell, the man who was holding her fast was a wiry man with sandy hair and what appeared to be a bad leg. It was a surprise he was even able to hold her as strongly as he was. He was much stronger than Margaret had hoped. He cooed quietly into her ear, as if it would calm her.

"Don't worry pretty bird," He called, stroking her wet locks with his hand, "our master told us to not wreck you. Basta and I just want to have a little bit of fun, that's all." The olive skinned man, which she presumed to be Basta, untied her hands and slowly slid her cardigan off her shoulders, obviously savoring the moment. Margaret was shivering in fear. She had always been told what to do in situations like this in self defense classes, but she couldn't move a muscle.

Margaret shivered as she felt the zipper of her dress slide down her back. This was it. They'd violate her in this disgusting van. They had no intention of ever letting her go, either. Was it her destiny to forever be a toy to these men? Margaret let out a sob as her dress fell off her shoulders. She tried her hardest to gather what fabric she could to cover herself, but it was torn away from her. The two inspected her carefully, as if she was about to be slaughtered by a butcher.

"Look at this, Basta," Cockerell muttered as he turned over Margaret's left arm. His fingers traced over a trio of red roses that had been pounded into her skin with needle and ink. "Our little bird has adorned herself with ink since the last time we've seen her. I wonder how Capricorn will react to that?" Margaret was too weak to even process that they had seen her presumably many times before. She just wanted to be in bed at home, curled up with her cat.

Tears started flowing again, and Margaret let out a loud sob. At this point, she didn't even care if these men thought she was weak. She just wanted them to stop gazing at her half-naked body and let her go home. She was so weak, both physically and mentally, she didn't even feel the rough hands wiping her tears, giving her patronizing coos. Margaret was powerless...

"Margaret?" A voice called out to her.

"Margaret, you're crying."

Margaret blinked and glanced over at Dustfinger, who was staring expectantly at her. He was right, her cheeks were wet with tears. Sniffing, she wiped her face dry with the sleeve of her dress and focused back on the road.

"Were you daydreaming?"

All she could do was nod and sniff once more until finally, she found the words she was looking for. "I was remembering the day I was kidnapped by Basta." Dustfinger had a sympathetic look on his face, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Margaret blinked, trying to hide her tears, but it was obvious she was torn up. "I'm going to stop at the next gas station so we can get our bearings. I need to have some sort of tentative destination."

It took Dustfinger a minute to think, but he chimed in nonetheless, "if we find a map, I can show you how to get to a safe place up north. It's just a simple bookbinder's home, but I'm sure he'd be willing to help us out."

hello again! It's been awhile since I've done any fanfiction things. I took my other stories off the site because I was growing tired of seeing them burn into my brain. I'm back with a new story and a new character named Margaret. If you look closely, there's a lot of Decemberists (Specifically the Hazards of Love, which is where Margaret got her name) references tastefully thrown around. As always, my personal characters are never involved romantically with any canon characters. Margaret is probably so traumatized that she'd find it difficult to fall i love at this point. I hope you enjoy reading, and I will come up with a second chapter as soon as possible!

- xoxo Minke