The Desired Victim

Chapter 1: Yours for the Taking

I have never woken up to the sound of screams before. How could I? I have lived the most safe, wealthy, priveledged, and comfortable life anyone could ever imagine. That's the problem. That's why I'm here. Wherever "here" is, I mean. I was taken from my own bedroom in the middle of the night, stuffed in a bag, and drugged for who knows how long.

Another scream. I jumped, realizing it was my own. Opening my eyes, I could still feel the drugs working their power on me. My vision was cloudy, and dark. It looked like the whole room was spinning, as if I had spun in a thousand circles while looking up at the sky. There was a pounding headache forming at the base of my neck, my throat was dry and tasted of vomit. It must all be a dream. This doesn't happen to princesses like me. This can't happen to princesses like me.

Frustrated, I tried to move. I soon discovered that my wrists and ankles were shackled to the wall behind me, and the scabs began to sting. Never having to deal with pain, I started to cry. Then everything hit me at once. I would never see my beloved family again. My castle could be hundreds of thousands of miles away, and no one will ever know where I am. What's going to happen to me? I've never even left the castle before, how am I supposed to deal with being trapped inside a cell?

I began to cry louder. I honestly couldn't help it, but at the moment I didn't care. I wanted to rot and die. Soon enough, my sobs and screams began to echo off the walls, making quite a racket. After a few moments, the door that I didn't even know was there, opened. It was too dark to see, but a very tall figure bent down and snatched my hair, lifting me in the air like a doll.

"Shut your mouth," he growled in an angry voice. "or I'll have to drug you again."

My scalp was starting to numb.

"P-P-Please, stop . . ." I croaked. "That hurts . . ."

"You have no idea what's coming for you." He released me. I fell over, and cried silently, wishing I was dead.

"Emory will be back for you in a few hours."

"W-who?" I half squeaked, half coughed.

Ignoring my question, he said "Then we'll see who's the lucky bastard."

"W-wait . . . w-w-what?" I tried to say, but the man had already left.

I threw up all over myself, cried, threw up some more, wishing more than anything that I wasn't living at all.

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