A/N: See, I told you that I would put out more chapters at a reasonable pace.

Somewhere in the world, there was a nice, peaceful forest where everything was okay. There were trees in plenty, supplying both food and shelter for those that needed it; a stream wove lazily through the landscape, turning the land both fertile and habitable for the Pokemon that needed a large source of water. The clouds drifted calmly overhead as flocks of Chatot gathered, producing soothing melodies and soft whispers of song. Stantler graze stagnantly, herds of them covering the soft grass as schools of Goldeen swim about, swirling patterns of orange and white that were almost mesmerizing to watch.

It was there that time seemed to stand still; one could wander through these woodlands for hours and hours on end, enjoying the scents of pine and the sweetest tasting air that one could breathe. It was here that one could truly forget about what they were feeling, forget about everything, really, and let go of everything. Here there were no more frustrations, no more fears, and no more responsibilities. This forest was a magical place, free of the everyday bustle that seemed to keep so many people on the edge of mental breakdown. It was truly the closest thing that one could find to heaven on this tiny, spinning rock that everyone called home.

Unfortunately for Molly Hardt, that forest was too far away to be of any use now. Instead, she sat alone in a cold, damp room, no lighting save for the moonlight that traipsed in through the small square window that served as her only connection to the outside world - and coming in at about a square foot of two inch, reinforced bullet proof glass, it was a hell of a portal to the nature that she was so used to being surrounded with.

The first night of her stay in this hellhole was spent crying in disbelief. Even now, the scene of her awakening still replayed in her head - from the dream that had awoken her, the panic that she felt as that hood nearly suffocated her, and the look on that man's face when he snatched said hood off of her head, finally allowing her to see and breathe normally.

She could still recall that stupid smirk that he wore as he announced her welcome to "The Seviper's Nest," which was really just an absolutely terrible name, being both boring and cliché as all hell. The memories were still so fresh on her mind; she could still remember the way that she shook as those rough hands held her arms, restraining her even more than the handcuffs that bound her arms behind her.

Everything about the situation seemed surreal; it was the kind of thing that happened in books and movies, not in the real life - most certainly not in her life. There was still a small part of Molly that clung to the idea that everything happening around her was a dream; that she would wake up soon and return to her daily life of a boring mother and annoying younger brother.

A small whimper hitched itself in Molly's throat, tears welling up in her eyes at the thought of her family. The last thing she could recall before passing out in exhaustion was the sight of her house aflame, the last known location of her mother. Before that, she'd left her poisoned brother alone, sick, possibly worse than that. If no one found him to treat his wounds…

Molly didn't even want to think about that, let alone deal with the mental images that such a sick thought was conjuring. Her baby brother, lying alone in the grass, body splayed unnaturally as his chest drew in slowly, lungs rasping out their final hoorahs as his heartbeat finally went from weak to nonexistent…

The tears were no longer welling; they were now overflowing. Molly balled her hands up in her shirt, threatening to tear the weak fabric in her clutches. Her chest heaved heavily underneath the stress of her sobs, tears falling freely from her cheeks to her lap, splattering against the fabric there and leaving stains of darkness that were almost invisible in the dim lighting that her housing provided.

The young girl looked up to that damned window again, right hand instinctively cradling to her chest, the bruises from her first escape attempt still very much around; it was a miracle that she didn't completely break the appendage by punching at what she had thought was a normal window. There was an expectation of pain, but nothing like what she had received. Once, when she was younger, the young Miss Hardt had actually punched through a window on accident during a fight with her father.

Her father…

Molly ground her teeth together sharply, pushing the tip of her tongue against them as her hands clenched together even harder, knuckles going white with stress. Why had she thought of him, now, when she had so much else on her mind? Why did tonight have to be the first night in almost three months that she had thought of him, thought of how she missed him, thought of how she would miss him teaching her about life, dancing together at her wedding someday, and the look on his face when he would one day hold his very own grandchild.

Tonight was going to be the night, then, that she remembered the taste of her own father's blood as it ran down her face and into her open, sobbing mouth. Tonight was the night that she would remember the last words his father ever spoke to her, his daughter, at the ripe age of thirteen.

Burying herself against her knees, Molly closed her eyes, desperate for sleep. Crying always made the girl feel incredibly drained, as if every tear had just a bit of her life force inside of it. Glancing over at the small, prison style bed that sat in the corner of her room, Molly sighed loudly. She was so tired of sleeping on that uncomfortable mattress. After the first night, someone had given her a pillow to sleep on; the third night brought a thin, ragged blanket to cover her shaking body with. It wasn't much, but it was the only real compassion that she had received since she was taken to this place, and it was better than the first night of lying there with nothing to help alleviate the discomfort and bitter cold as her neck became stiff and her muscles ached from shaking for so long.

Molly crawled slowly to the edge of the wall mounted bed, too weak to stand at this point. The food that they occasionally threw her was doing nothing to keep her nourished; it was merely enough to keep her alive. Even now her stomach ached and her bladder burned, full. She would not get a bathroom break until sunrise, however, so there was no point in even thinking about that right now.

The girl hoisted herself up onto the mattress slowly, rolling onto her side carefully. Molly positioned the flat, lifeless pillow beneath her head as well as she could, sliding one arm beneath it to help prop her head up a bit further, sure that her hand would be asleep come morning. The other hand reached down to the thin, scratchy blanket that lay curled up in a pile beside her. It was tugged slowly over her body; Molly was glad that it was at least large enough to cover her completely. Shrugging slightly to get the material over her shoulders, she closed her eyes tiredly.

"Night seven," she muttered, her voice weak from lack of use over the past week. She missed her home; she missed her family. Tonight, though, thinking about that would only lead to more tears, and her eyes already ached from the abundance of crying that she had done all week.

Still, though, she could still hear her father's voice echoing in her ears as she tried to sleep.

"I love you too," she whispered back sadly.

I miss you…

A/N: As always, if there's anything you'd like to relay to me - criticism, ideas, questions - please leave a review. Nothing makes me smile more than seeing that someone took even a miniscule amount of time to leave a piece of their thoughts behind for me to read and enjoy.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it, and I apologize for the lack of action in this chapter.