A/N: Some things you should know before starting this chapter:

1) It is entirely Sabrina's POV.

2) Admittedly, it is not very long. It's actually the shortest chapter I've posted onto this story so far (which isn't saying much, since chapters 1 and 2 were, like, at least 3000 words each).

3) It is significantly darker than my previous chapters. This story was rated T for a reason. Honestly, though? It's not that bad. Only one scene could be considered relatively gruesome. This is only a warning because I'm being, like, super careful. For instance, I wouldn't recommend a 9 or 10 year old read this, for sure. Even if I may just be overly cautious.

4) NO, THIS STORY IS NOT BASED OFF OF TRAGEDY. YES, THE CHARACTERS WILL FIND HAPPINESS AND SUCH, YADDA YADDA YADDA. JUST NOT AT THIS POINT IN TIME... I honestly have a lot of cool (NOT necessarily dark) things planned for the future. I've already planned 4 years ahead, remember? However, it needs to be made clear the gravity of the situation by then. This plot *snorts-plot...* involves a WHOLE lot of character development, and this place-the whole being kidnapped, the tragedy she sees, the deaths she witnesses-will change her life forever. Whether she shows it or not, Sabrina will be deeply impacted by all of this. NO, THIS DOES NOT MEAN SHE WILL BE SOME DEPRESSED TEENAGER FOR THE REST OF HER LIFE. Faaaaaaaaaar from it, people. I am itching to elaborate, but I'm afraid that would spoil literally the BEST part of this story. *sniffs* Which we won't get to for several more chapters...

Please, just bear with me. I hate myself for putting this kind of stuff out there and risking making you guys think that the future chapters will look all dark and tragic, which may deter you from reading the part that I actually created this story for (I have a LOT of plans to put into action by the time Sabrina is sixteen), but I swear on my fanfic account and all of the chocolate I own that this story will get soooooooooooooooooooooooooo much better, assuming I am successful in transferring my vision to actual wording.


Sabrina opened her mouth to find that she still couldn't speak. No one else was either, the only sounds filling the silent halls being the sobs of some of the children. Strangely, even the sobs were muffled–you'd have thought they were giggling softly to one another, rather than...well...sobbing–as if they weren't allowed to. Or couldn't...

A fresh surge of terror pushed Sabrina to try harder, only to be rewarded with searing pain in her throat. She swallowed as her eyes watered with the pain. This wasn't natural. She couldn't even let out a strangled sob. What had they done to her?!

Every move left an ache in her already weary limbs, or intensified the pain in her throat (which Sabrina was sure was not physically possible). She was almost certain it had something to do with the knife. After a few dazed moments, exhaustion won over suspense, and the urgency of reality was shoved to the background, as Sabrina's world slowly faded to blackness. Into a realm blissfully empty, a place where pain and fear and anxiety and loss didn't exist. An inkiness laced with the whispers of reality, the nightmare looming over her temporarily tucked away–obscured by her dazed numbness–unrecognizable for the time being. She could have stayed there forever.

Oh, if only.

...

3 weeks later

...

"Please! No, please, I'll give you anything! PLEASE!"

Sabrina heard the unmistakeable crack of a whip. The screaming intensified. Did they never learn? Pleading only annoyed the wardens here.

There was a strange gurgling. Whispered pleas had replaced the screaming. Sabrina knew better than to hope they were done with the poor woman (she assumed it was a woman; she was practically blind in this cell, where the only opening was a tiny window–smaller than her face–nearly 5 feet above her head). Or that they'd at least moved her away where the screaming would be fainter. No. Those vile creatures wanted her to hear the tortured souls that accompanied them in this underground heck hole.

Sure enough, the sector filled with her desperate wails. By the sounds of it? Probably her last.

You're next. The screams seemed to say.

You're next. The cracking of whips and slashing of blades and who-knows-what else seemed to whisper with each strike.

She was going insane here.

Something told Sabrina that the night was over, and she sat up slowly, taking everything in carefully, so as to avoid an information overload. She'd learned that lesson the hard way, several times. Every time she woke, each and every individual detail of her surroundings slammed at her like a pickup truck. No matter how many days passed. Every awakening was the same. It was all she could do to try to avoid the insistent throbbing in her head.

Quietly as possible, to avoid attracting the attention of any of the wardens and guards prowling up and down the corridors, Sabrina slowly raised herself from her fetal position on the cold, damp floor. She couldn't tell what exactly the floors and walls of her cell were made of–but it seemed to be a clay of sorts. It was damp, like soil or packed sand, and definitely dirty, but the surface seemed naturally smooth–like stone–though not quite as hard.

Meaning it didn't take a blade to engrave something any of the walls looming before her (one of which was covered in long scratches and splattered with what looked suspiciously to be the blood of this cell's former inhabitant; she didn't touch that wall).

In the far left corner, hidden at first glance as it had the least lighting in the tiny room, Sabrina had scratched a mark onto the wall for every day she woke in this wretched place. Of course, since she was underground and had no perception of the time of day, there was no telling how accurate she'd been. Sabrina just went with her gut feeling, and her body's habits.

Fumbling in the dark, relying on her sense of touch even more so than her own eyesight, Sabrina found the patch of wall covered in tiny slash-like marks and added another to her growing collection.


For the past few...well, eternities, really, Sabrina had tried to refrain from checking to see how many times she'd marked that wall.

They're coming for me, she would reassure herself. Freaking out and depressing yourself isn't going to help that. They love you. They'll find you.

Despite the fact that Sabrina was well aware it had taken over two years to really save her parents and they were now as good as new, and it had taken weeks upon weeks upon weeks to help Mr. Clay when he'd been arrested, and that the Grimms weren't the sort that gave up so easily, she found it harder to cling to her belief as the endless hours rolled by.

In the dead of the night, when there was no barrier to muffle her deepest worries and fears, when her worst thoughts managed to crawl to the surface of her mind and there were no stubborn defenses to block them out, Sabrina had found herself unable to keep from wondering: What if they never showed up? What if, even if they were desperate enough to search for days on end with no sleep, they were too late? What if she wouldn't be around to see them again, if she'd be broken and long gone by the time her corpse was found?


So that morning, Sabrina checked the wall. Her fingertips grazed the tiny indentations, each ever-so-slightly increasing the weight of the heaviness in her chest.

There were twenty marks.

Including her most recent awakening, that was exactly three weeks.

She had been rotting in this cell for three whole weeks.

Three.

Whole.

Weeks.

As in, over twenty days.

Over half a month.

And that was only in this cell. What about all the time she'd spent unconscious? All the time she'd spent bound to the floor and jostled around, hardly even capable of thinking?

If the vertigo and fatigue she'd received upon her abrupt awakening in this cell, three weeks ago to the day, was any indication...she must have been here for at least a month if not longer.

Over five hundred four hours.

It was getting harder to breathe. Was it just her, or were the walls closing in?

The cell had definitely grown dimmer, that's for sure.

Ouch. She didn't remember falling, but the ground was now hardly two inches from her face. She would have gotten up, but her legs hurt so much...and, honestly, she was still very exhausted.

She didn't want to get up. Why didn't she want to get up?

Oh, look at that. Why was she facing the ground again? Ew. It was pretty dirty. Had she forgotten to clean her room? Maybe it was an art project or a school assignment.

A hysterical giggle escaped her lips. Suddenly, the fact that Sally had no idea what was going on was very amusing to her. Wait. Sally? No. Her name was Sarah, right? Or...Daphne? Wait! No, it was Relda. Or was it Veronica? Honestly, how did people manage to remember these pesky little details all the time? It seemed quite draining and tedious, if you asked her. Him? Her. Or was it him? Oh, that was a beautiful pair of green eyes. Were they hers? His? Which was it anyway?

Whatever. She'd (or he'd?) just ask Granny later. Stupid grammar.

This time, Sarah happily leaped into the darkness, relished in it's presence. But before she completely succumbed to the new surroundings, she heard a faint, desperate cry. Oddly enough, she was the one who'd sent it.

Help.


A/N: I probably would have ended this chapter differently (the whole counting-down-days thing was only supposed to last for two to three paragraphs in the beginning), but FanFiction had already been down for two days in which I did not get to make ANY progress (which was very depressing as free time is not as easy for me to come by nowadays), and I felt the need to just get rid of this and start fresh with the next one.

If you liked this chapter, LET. ME. KNOW. Word's cannot describe how much I appreciate it.

GUEST REVIEW REPLIES:

Guest (08/14/18): Lol, no worries, I made sure to keep that in mind. Thank you! I appreciate the support and am glad you liked the chapter. I am so sorry if this chapter has changed your opinion, but keep in mind that the story WILL get better, regardless of whether you enjoyed this latest installment or not. Please remember that I cherish every one of your reviews and hope you find it worth your time to stick around.

Rose: From the bottom of my heart, thank you! I'm glad that my work came off as "really well written" to you, even if it was a jumbled mess of thoughts to me. I honestly don't know if I'll ever be able to completely satisfy myself, but I am ecstatic you find it worth your time! And I mean ecstatic. That was a very nice review, and I'll remember it in case writers block ever chooses to come knocking on my door. I have my heart set on continuing this story to at least present day (4 years later), where Sabrina will be 16. I'll probably end the story somewhere around there, and YES, I will try to complete it.

Oh, and, guys? I have noticed something crucial. CRUCIAL.

For my first chapter, I awoke the next day and the first thing I did was go onto Fanfiction. Half an hour later, I got my first review. It was one of the kindest comments anyone has ever given me on my work. I finished nearly half of Chapter two over the next two days. The day I reached the halfway point in that chapter, I had received my second review, also very well-thought out, kind, and helpful. Life got in the way after that. But a week later, the same day I received another review, I had found inspiration for how to finish the chapter, and got about 70% done. The next day, I awoke to find another review, and that was the same day I finished the chapter.

See the pattern?

Meanwhile, with chapter two, I received three very kind comments that I appreciate wholeheartedly. And, yeah, I made a good chunk of progress on the next chapter, as those reviews pushed me forward. Every time I opened FanFiction to write, the first thing I did was reread the reviews. Every time. But it still took me over a week to make any real progress.

I realize now that it must have something to do with my subconscious. When I get that kind of feedback and support on my writing, even if it's just a ,"HURRY UP AND UPDATE ALREADY!", my gears start whirring, and I find more inspiration. Those comments burn a hole right through the writers block.

If it were up to me, I would spit out five chapters a day, seven days a week. But life simply doesn't work like that. So, even if I never wanted to be one of those authors, PLEASE review. If you care about this story in the slightest, review. Because it's usually after the first review that inspiration strikes, and it's the others that drive me forward. If you don't see the next chapter up after a week, review and let me know you want more. Chances are, I'll get much more done that day than I would have.

Dude...I think my A/N as a whole was bigger than the chapter itself. Whoops. In any case, keep in mind that I usually really get going after the first review, though whether its intentional or not I don't know.