Standard Disclaimer: These lovely characters ain't mine, I just play with them gently. Please don't sue me. The mistakes are mine, though.
Chapter 13 – The Burning Room
"I won't give up until I'm dead or you're awake. I swear it on my love for you..."
Red awakens with a hoarse gasp.
As awareness returns, she dimly notices that she is completely engulfed in flames so high that they lick at the charred ceiling above. Everything is burning, including her lower extremities, yet she remains miraculously unharmed. No blisters form upon her pristine skin, her eyes remain free of debris, and her lungs function perfectly in spite of the searing smoke flooding them with each breath. It's so odd and horrifying and fascinating that she stares blankly at the flickering orange and yellow lights painting the ceiling until sensation abruptly returns.
A scream tears loose from her throat as she tries to move, desperate for liberation from the searing torment engulfing the lower half of her body. Only her limbs are unresponsive as if she's been paralyzed from the neck down. A prisoner in her own body, she is trapped in a terrifying hell she can't even begin to describe. Even the pain of being mauled by two packs of rabid wolves cannot compare to the unrelenting agony of being burned alive.
Is this how Regina's victims felt? The disturbing thought only sends her spiraling further into the grips of a panic that has seized her muscles and clogged her pores and dulled her ability to soundly reason.
Meanwhile the roaring inferno drowns out nearly all sound save the words she'd heard that jolted her from slumber. They echo around the chamber until the garbled voice starts to become more and more distinct. Recognition dawns, and with it renewed a surge of hysteria.
"Regina! Regina!"
A burst of white hot flames lick up her legs as she shouts for her wife who is begging her to hold on, to not give up, to keep fighting. No matter how hard she tries, Red can't quite remember what she's supposed to be fighting against. All she can feel is a blistering torment she imagines might resemble how it would feel to be tossed headlong into a swelling volcano about to empty its molten rage upon some poor, unsuspecting village. It is so intense that her heart is hammering against her ribs with a force that could crush a stone and she can hear the hot blood rushing through her veins.
Screaming in spite of the fiery ash saturating her throat and lungs, she makes a second, more concerted effort to move. Still nothing happens. Again and again she struggles to force her limbs to obey until she's openly weeping and begging for their compliance. They stubbornly refuse every increasingly desperate command. Hopelessness settles into her chest, taking up residence alongside the unending pain consuming her from the waist down.
She is nearly on the verge of passing out when she feels the ghost of a kiss against her lips, so achingly familiar, so tender and loving, that it cannot be mistaken. Regina. And just like that her limbs are loosed from whatever was holding them captive. At last free to move, she wastes no time scrambling away from the ring of fire hemming in her in. Miraculously, once she's made it to safety, the flames licking up her legs evaporate into harmless puffs of cloudy white mist. The pain recedes and she can breathe again without a raging inferno invading her lungs.
Slowly, her senses realign and with their return comes clarity. They had been so askew from the bone piercing agony that she's not quite sure how she managed to scurry the ten feet she covered before collapsing breathless onto her back. Relief so palpable she can almost taste it washes over her as the scorching agony coating her legs subsides to a sharp discomfort and then eventually dulls into a muted ache. Her chest heaves to draw in air, huge gulping mouthfuls that have her soon coughing roughly as her body tries to expel the red hot debris congesting her airway. Before long, she's curled up on her side hacking uncontrollably.
Once the fit ends and some measure of awareness returns, she shuffles onto her left hip into a half-seated, half-reclined position. Left arm propping her torso up, she surveys her surroundings. The ring of fire circling her is hedged in by an even larger flaming wall that divides what seems to be a spacious room. Vaulted cathedral ceilings cap the space, of artistry that she imagines would be unparalleled were it not obscured by roiling clouds of smoke and thick layers of soot. Currently, she's occupying the center of one side with around another ten feet of space all around between her and the three walls she has access to. Well, would have access to if there wasn't an impassable inferno barricading her from reaching them. Strange as it is, she finds herself longing to have something to lean against now that she knows she can't have it.
Regina also remains frustratingly out of reach. As the pain subsided, so too did her wife's voice, which has faded to the point Red can no longer make out what is being said. It's as if the more conscious she is in this place, the further away Regina gets. Panic gnaws at her throat as several questions flood her brain all at once.
Where is this place? What, exactly, is this place? For that matter, when is this place? And most importantly, how the hell did I get here?
No answers are kind enough to present themselves, not that Red expected anything different. She's always had to do things the hard way, and now she's landed herself in a pickle yet again. Sort of like that time some years back she'd taken on that humongous, unruly grizzly that was getting a little too presumptuous around the local village.
The residents call the place Longmeer after its gruff founder. It's a cozy little place she likes to frequent on her occasional roving excursions during Wolf's Time. It reminds her of her youth spent in Perrault and helps to keep her grounded in her roots. Most of the townsfolk know her by name now, and for more than how she successfully lobbied Regina for some infrastructure upgrades to be made in her hometown. Before relocating further west, Granny was the last of countless generations stretching at least five hundred years to be born there. Naturally, the granddaughter she'd raised all by herself who became their new Queen is somewhat of a celebrity.
Red likes the attention, honestly, if only because she knows these people, especially the most poor among them, are working an angle she can actually appreciate. The nobles back at court all want to curry favor with her to get on Regina's good side, but the residents of Longmeer fawn over her because they see her as a symbol of hope. She is living breathing representation that upward mobility in a society designed to maintain the status quo is actually possible. In her they see a chance, however faint, that they won't have to remain confined to their assigned social strata or mired in poverty for the rest of their lives.
Since marrying Regina, Red has tried her best to fight for the plight of her folk at every opportunity. She likes to think she's made a difference, however marginal, though at first she was convinced she was beating her head against an unforgiving wall. Regina was sympathetic to her cause although by and large the nobles were not. Resources, Regina explained as patiently and kindly as she could, are finite and often scarce, which is why those who keep the wheels of industry and power greased get the lion's share. That is the harsh reality of how kingdoms operate to stay afloat in a world where unremitting chaos is always one natural disaster or famine or disease or war away. The peasantry props up the merchant class which fuels the nobility that supports the monarchy. The monarchy, in turn, exists for the expressed purpose to secure the stability of a realm both internally and externally against forces that would seek to tear it apart. That truth was a bitter pill for Red to swallow that went down with a large heap of bile. She still struggles at times reconciling herself to the fact that her greater duty as a monarch is often directly at odds with or has to come at the expense of the hard working, salt of the earth peoples from whence she emerged.
The villagers in Longmeer do not seem to begrudge her this frustrating conflict of interest. They often take time out of their busy days when she visits just to tell her that her efforts are not as futile as they seem. She is actually doing some good for them. In the five years since she was crowned, taxes have been cut by a third and the percentage of their products allocated to the crown has been slashed in half. Municipal services have been improved across the board and many of the rough and tumble roads in the region – if they could be called that, most of them are hardly more than poorly carved footpaths – have been significantly upgraded.
Progress is being made. It's just not enough for her. Were it possible, she would give those people the riches of the whole world. To that end, she occasionally laments to them over the slogging forward momentum, and that she wishes she could do so much more than her annoyingly persistent lobbying that achieves relatively small gains. There are, of course, those malcontents who see her as a derelict disappointment who is squandering a golden opportunity to bust up the traditions that keep peasants poor and nobles rich. But most never hold those perceived failures against her. On the contrary, they seem truly grateful that even a fraction of their burdens have been alleviated. That gratitude, more than anything, is why Red keeps going back. She needs a reminder every now and again that there are people out there for whom a little means a lot.
The nobles at the palace are in every way the opposite. They engorge themselves on every available consumable resource from clothing to precious metals to food while everyone else lives hand to mouth. It sickens her to the point she attends functions out of spite for the sole purpose of teaching them a lesson she is well aware won't take. When the Queen only partakes of measly portions, many of the nobles will follow suit merely to save face, not wanting to show up their monarch in front of their peers. So that's what she does. And as satisfying as it is to watch the overly privileged, overly rotund pricks nibble on broccoli and asparagus, it's difficult to deny herself when she eats like a horse on a good day. At least in Longmeer she doesn't have to feel bad about her healthy appetite since she pays for her enormous meals with gold from her own pocket. And at least Regina doesn't try to shame or chastise her over such infantile behavior.
To her credit, over the course of their marriage Regina has shown increasing receptiveness to the plight of the commoners.
"It's the curse of being married to one," she'll say whenever someone points it out, often Red herself. "And I'm happy to bear it."
Anyway, to get back on topic, Red was a right mess after driving that ravenous grizzly away from Longmeer. Her snout was dripping blood from a well-placed swipe of a fat paw sporting claws the size of human fingers, her hind leg was missing a hunk of meat at the hip, and her neck sported several puncture wounds the size of massive canines. Honestly, if her wolf form hadn't been growing since she fell in love with Regina, she probably would've been killed in the encounter. As it was, she passed out before she could reach the safety of the village, where she could then return to two legs for emergency triage. The villagers also knew what she was and would have been more than glad to nurse her back to an ambulatory state so she could get back home before Regina lost her shit.
Unfortunately, she didn't make it that far. When she woke up, hurting all over and groggy like she'd downed an entire keg of ale, she was still in the woods and had been missing for an entire day. Thankfully, her crazy fast healing kept her from exsanguinating on the cold forest floor dozens of miles away from home. As it was, she limped into town and hitched a ride with a friend she'd made, a rascal with a heart of gold named Flynn Rider.
Gods, Regina was unhappy about that incident. For so, so long. She ranted and raved until that bulging vein in her forehead looked like it was about to burst. Since this wasn't the first time something like this happened, she sequestered Red to the castle for three interminable weeks. The only reason Red didn't fight the dictate was because she felt she'd earned the extreme punishment. Regina is a strong woman, the strongest Red has ever known, but she couldn't hide how terrified she'd been. For three days after Red limped home, she refused herself the release of sleep in favor of making sure Red kept breathing through the night. And for at least a week more she refused to let Red out of her sight longer than five minutes.
But this current predicament? This is far, far worse. Not only does Red have no earthly idea where she is, but she knows instinctively that she is trapped someplace that is unnatural and from which she likely will never be rescued by conventional means. Magic has her clamped within it's greedy iron vice, and it will never let her go of its own volition. She can feel the corrosive power in her bones and smell the tempestuous energies in the sulfuric air.
Sulfuric air. Something about that particular phrase has the back of her mind tingling with familiarity, as if she's encountered the scent before. And then it hits her. The witch. The garrison's destruction. Robin's death. Regina's palpable anxiety over the month that followed. Her own fear over the threats that had been so spectacularly leveled against her wife. Who will protect Regina without her there?
Suddenly the gravity of the situation slams into her like a runaway carriage. She has to get out of here. Right now! She has to! It's a matter of life and death. Not for her but for Regina, and that makes the situation all the more dire and her panic all the more acute.
Heedless of the danger, Red springs toward the circle of flame, only to reel back when it flares upward twice as hot as before. So hot that she can feel her eyebrows singe as she approaches. Her skin starts burning before she can get close enough to touch it.
With a cry of pain, she flails back, falling hard on her ass. She lays there, motionless, unable to move, as if all of her energy has suddenly been drained out of her in one fell swoop. She laughs bitterly as a lonely tear carves a winding path down her soot-matted cheek. A crazy woman is trying to kill her wife, slaughter their people and destroy their kingdom, and she's stuck here in hell with no discernible avenue to freedom. Regina is going to die and there's nothing she can do about it. The realization sucks what little strength remains in her right out.
Fear begins crawling up the length of her body in the absence of her vitality. It slowly clambers up an inch at a time until settling menacingly over her chest. She can almost see it, as if the magic of this place gives her vision into the nether where invisible monsters reside. Monsters with dripping fangs and beady eyes and talons that can pierce flesh without leaving a mark. Dread, it's faithful companion, follows behind, equally as gruesome, and Hopelessness the most terrible manifestation of them all joins the fray not long after. Beasts of no name they are that exist solely to torment their victims, and Red is their latest quarry.
Helpless to fight again their vicious, unremitting assault, she surrenders to despair. She cries and cries and cries, drawing little consolation that there is no one to hear the miserable sounds that wrench free from her lips with every breath. Her sole companion is the seemingly infinite inferno imprisoning her. The harsh licking of the flames provide a sinister accent to her suffering, as if they are feeding upon the anguish pouring out of her in great heaving torrential waves.
How long she remains mired in a dejection that clings to her like a second skin, she can't begin to fathom. Time in this place has no meaning that she can ascertain. There are no windows through which to judge the position of the sun, nor is there a nifty mechanical time piece handy like Geppetto makes for her to consult. The magic here has all of her senses out of whack, so that even her normally reliable internal clock has been rendered useless.
What she does know is that her throat, already ravaged by the smoke she's inhaled, is a track of burning raw flesh. Her eyes are so dry that it hurts to blink. Lips parched and cracked are lanced by jolts of pain with every minute movement. The incessant crackling of the flame wall irritates her sensitive ears and exacerbates the dull, pervasive ache that has taken up residence inside her head. Her hair is greasy and unkempt and disgusting, and she feels in general as if she hasn't bathed in months.
And then for the first time she recognizes a knot curling deep in her stomach, which is craving water and food that does not exist here, nor does she imagine there to be any available outside this hellish place. Unquenchable thirst and insatiable hunger only deepens her misery. With no relief in sight, she dreads the coming hours. At least she might not be crying again any time in the near future – a macabre fringe benefit to her state of dehydration if there ever was one.
Idly, she wonders if there is any outside of which to speak. One thing is certain, with magic at play, anything is possible. It's just as likely that the chamber is located in the middle of one of the lush rainforests she's read about in Regina's books as it is that it's suspended in some sort of phantom dimension between the physical and spiritual. The latter possibility is one she could never have imagined to be real had she not personally witnessed Regina hide things in such an invisible pocket. Only small items could be stored with that particular spell, as the energy requirements to form more than a tiny breach into the plane between life and death are more than any single magician can muster. If that is where this place is, whoever constructed it had to have been either powerful beyond imagining or part of a much larger group of magic users. A coven, or two or three, of witches perhaps. Whatever the case, she isn't keen on meeting the person or persons responsible. Werewolf or not, she'd be mincemeat in the face of such a formidable foe.
Exhausted from her fit of self-indulgent sorrow, Red curls up into a fetal position on the floor, squeezes her eyes shut, and begs for unconsciousness to claim her. Sadly, it refuses to oblige. Yet another torturous aspect to her confinement, it seems, is an inability to sleep. Will she be forced to stay awake forever here with no reprieve from the suffering? If so, her initial assessment of her unenviable predicament seems woefully optimistic. Still, stubborn as she is, she continues to try, if for no other reason than she has nothing better to do. Passing the time within the familiar confines of her own mind seems a viable alternative at the moment to staring blankly into the dancing flames.
Hours pass. Maybe. Maybe it's minutes. She cannot be certain here. All she knows is that she has run through a dozen scenarios involving Regina unsuccessfully confronting the warped witch who has it in for her, each of them more grotesquely detailed than the last. If she does ever make it out of here, will Regina still be alive to greet her?
Abject terror grips her heart. Unbeknownst to her, that paralyzing fear for Regina's safety will join the unending conflagration that surrounds her as a second, ever-faithful companion. In a place from which there is no escape, it seems to her a fate worse than death.