Author's Note: Webby might be channeling Cindy Vortex a little in here. Sorry. They're a little similar, if you overlook the different species.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this and if I'll continue it. I wanted to get some feedback on it.

Webby awoke to darkness. She blinked, rubbed her eyes, and still saw nothing. Shuddering, she forced herself to her feet and leaned against what appeared to be a wall. She had no memory of where she was or how she'd gotten here. The last thing she remembered was snow falling, about to crush her, but that wouldn't explain the blindness. Her heart in her throat, she relied on what senses she did have.

Sniffing the air, she smelled mildew and decay. The wall beneath her palm was scratchy, like hardened cement, and the air was cool on her face. She stuck her tongue out to taste the air and hissed when something burned the tip of her tongue. She heard dripping, which might explain her tongue burning. Tapping her feet on the floor produced a hollow sound, indicating she was in a cavernous space, perhaps a warehouse.

The last thing she remembered was being with the boys and Uncle Scrooge. Instinct told her now was not the time to call them. Instinct also told her to be as quiet as possible, lest someone hear her. Lowering herself back to the floor, she ran her fingers over the cement flooring but encountered nothing.

Thinking back to her grandmother's training, she assessed what she knew. She appeared to be alone in an unknown location, albeit not bound or gagged in any discernible way. She couldn't see, which might be temporary or permanent, and she didn't know if help was coming. Her grandmother had taught her to always assume help wasn't en route, which meant relying on her own devices.

This particular scenario, however, had never appeared in her training. To simulate real-world environments, Mrs. Beakley had put her through rigorous tests, but she'd never denied her the use of one of her senses. She'd also used the manor's locale as a backdrop. Webby doubted she was in the manor; Duckworth and Mrs. Beakley would never have permitted anywhere to reek of decomposition the way it did in here.

Losing her eyesight ought to make her other senses stronger to compensate, but Webby felt no different than she had before. She was wary of moving too much, lest she encounter an unforeseen danger. It was odd that she'd been brought here, left untied, and then abandoned. She didn't know what to make of this.

In her pocket, her phone vibrated and she added that to the list of things she knew. Wherever she was, she had service. She guessed where the 'answer call' button was and hit it. The dial tone told her she'd picked the wrong button. Since she couldn't read the screen, she couldn't tell whether she'd thrown away potential assistance or her captor's voice.

Not that she could verify she was being held captive, either. She'd only been conscious for about ten to fifteen minutes, but she wasn't restrained the way a captive might be. She clenched and released her fists. The boys had been with her the last she remembered. Where were they? Were they in worse danger than she was? What if she was holding out for rescue and they were in dire straits too? Her heart thudded and she bit back the temptation to call for them.

Scooting backward, she rested her head against the wall and listened to the unpleasant drip. Attempting to tune it out, she likewise ignored her breathing. She discerned another person breathing nearby and this time ventured a greeting. Her voice echoed, regardless of how softly she'd spoken.

"Hello?" she whispered and winced at its echo.

"Webby!"

It was...someone. Someone who recognized her, but she couldn't recognize them. The voice sounded garbled and rough as if the person had been strangled before. It might be one of the boys or it might not be. She held still as someone inched closer to her and she reached out to them. A small smile twisted her lips. Hoodie. Louie.

"Hey, what's with the tugging on my hoodie strings?" Louie protested. "What are you...oh my god. Your eyes, Webby."

She glared at him or, rather, intended to glare at him. She wasn't sure the power of her glare considering she couldn't see the person in question. Rather, she radiated disapproval.

"I can't see my own eyes, Louie," she pointed out, testy. "And I wouldn't have been able to without a mirror before this."

"That's not what I meant," he snapped. "What happened to you?"

"What happened to you?" she countered. "You sound like your voice was thrown into a compactor."

"I don't know."

The words chilled her. Webby's hands dropped from his strings to her sides and Louie took one of her free hands in his. He was shaking.

"I don't know what happened to me and I don't know where Huey, Dewey, and Uncle Scrooge are," Louie said.

"What's the last thing you remember?" she asked, dreading the answer.

"An avalanche."

She cursed inwardly. That was the last thing she remembered too. He was huddling closer to her now, using her as a defense mechanism. She didn't know what good she'd be, considering that she couldn't see anything coming. Moreover, she felt useless without her sight.

"What's wrong with my eyes?" she whispered.

"You know that meme about the owl that can see forever?"

"No?"

"You can't see me at all, can you?"

She shook her head.

"This is bad. This is really bad. We don't know where we are, where the others are, and you're blind. And I'm-"

She cocked her head. There was something Louie wasn't telling her and she almost didn't want to know the answer. Was it something she would've been able to tell with her sight? Or would it have remained an enigma even then?

"You're what?"

Louie swallowed hard and gooseflesh rose on her arms. He sounded like he was about to cry. Then again, Louie never handled adventuring very well. He preferred to make money without the risks involved. He also ended up the one getting hurt, so she guessed it evened out.

Instead of answering, he guided her hand along his arm, down his stomach, and toward his leg. Perplexed, she allowed him to move her until her hand hit his knee, which was encased in a cast. She looked up at where she thought his face was in bewilderment.

"Wait, what?" she whispered.

"I don't remember breaking my leg, but I can't walk on it. And whatever happened to you, you don't remember either, right?"

She shook her head.

"I have a bad feeling about this," he whispered.