It was a sad day for the petite ballerina. The frail blonde was moved by one large, scary looking man. She had known this man as her captor. She had been forced to dance for him and his friends as of late. She was terrified of the repercussions, had she not acted. It was better then being locked inside a dim room all day.No windows. No human contact. She was a performer, even though she hated her audience, she needed to move, to keep the show moving. The show must go on. It was a phrase she learned long ago. It was practically a universal law for all those who had ever been upon the stage. Whether there was a replacement for a particular act, or scene, the show would always go on. This man, who had one hand on her shoulder, guided her towards a busy looking stall. Many other stalls lingered around, but it appeared as though the man who was guiding her had previously spoken to the owner of this stall. The owner, a spectacled man, nodded vigorously with a nasty sort of smile.
The exchange was quick. Her captor had passed her over to the man wearing the spectacles, who ushered her into the hold of two smaller, but still very well built men. They held each of her arms firmly, while the man in the spectacles brought a strap up towards her neck. The petite blonde moved gently backwards, even though she had no place to go. She gave out a frightened squeak, but the fan fastened the strap around her neck. She realized then exactly what it was. A collar. Her blue eyes were forced to stare at the spectacled man, as he forced her chin upwards. He seemed to smile simply. 'Effrayé, un peu? Je prendrai soin de vous pendant que vous êtes avec moi.' With that, the man gave a laugh, and ushered the boys away, taking the blonde with them.
A shackle was placed around her ankle. She was attached to a cage, but not locked within. Her eyes were heavy with fear. Silvery tears slid down her cheeks as the two boys finally let her go. One glanced at the collar gently, as
if to read it. "Ainsi, votre nom est Claire? Dance puis, peu danseuse étoile. Dance sorte que vous pourriez être pris loin d'ici." The man laughed then walked away with his companion. They knew she could not escape, and the little blonde stood, shaking in bits of fear. They spoke French to her. Surprisingly well mannered French, but it was not as if she did not speak English. Perhaps they just spoke to her in French because they thought it was all she could understand. She did not speak to her captors, or to these strange men. She had not shown interest in what her captors told her, until she heard one speak French. Only then had she stopped to listen. The rest of her time with her captors, all the rest of them had spoken terrible French, save for the first.
Now, she was in a strange place, shackled to a cage, by a chain she could not escape. Her name was Claire. That much, the strange captors and men in the stall had gotten correct. She saw one of the younger men come back with a menacing looking expressing and something in his hand. They had told her to dance. She focused her blue eyes elsewhere, her fear threatening to over take her. She began to spin, completing small pirouettes. There wasn't much she could do, bound to the cage as she was. She was helpless to it's mercy as she danced in dizzying circles. After all, the man had said it would be the only way she would get away form this place, right? She had to continue.
1: Scared, little one? I shall take care of you while you are with me.
2: So your name is claire? Dance then, little Prima ballerina. Dance so you might be taken away from here.
The exchange was quick. Her captor had passed her over to the man wearing the spectacles, who ushered her into the hold of two smaller, but still very well built men. They held each of her arms firmly, while the man in the spectacles brought a strap up towards her neck. The petite blonde moved gently backwards, even though she had no place to go. She gave out a frightened squeak, but the fan fastened the strap around her neck. She realized then exactly what it was. A collar. Her blue eyes were forced to stare at the spectacled man, as he forced her chin upwards. He seemed to smile simply. 'Effrayé, un peu? Je prendrai soin de vous pendant que vous êtes avec moi.' With that, the man gave a laugh, and ushered the boys away, taking the blonde with them.
A shackle was placed around her ankle. She was attached to a cage, but not locked within. Her eyes were heavy with fear. Silvery tears slid down her cheeks as the two boys finally let her go. One glanced at the collar gently, as
if to read it. "Ainsi, votre nom est Claire? Dance puis, peu danseuse étoile. Dance sorte que vous pourriez être pris loin d'ici." The man laughed then walked away with his companion. They knew she could not escape, and the little blonde stood, shaking in bits of fear. They spoke French to her. Surprisingly well mannered French, but it was not as if she did not speak English. Perhaps they just spoke to her in French because they thought it was all she could understand. She did not speak to her captors, or to these strange men. She had not shown interest in what her captors told her, until she heard one speak French. Only then had she stopped to listen. The rest of her time with her captors, all the rest of them had spoken terrible French, save for the first.
Now, she was in a strange place, shackled to a cage, by a chain she could not escape. Her name was Claire. That much, the strange captors and men in the stall had gotten correct. She saw one of the younger men come back with a menacing looking expressing and something in his hand. They had told her to dance. She focused her blue eyes elsewhere, her fear threatening to over take her. She began to spin, completing small pirouettes. There wasn't much she could do, bound to the cage as she was. She was helpless to it's mercy as she danced in dizzying circles. After all, the man had said it would be the only way she would get away form this place, right? She had to continue.
1: Scared, little one? I shall take care of you while you are with me.
2: So your name is claire? Dance then, little Prima ballerina. Dance so you might be taken away from here.
