I spent three days with that bag on my head. Well, three cycles of staying awake and falling asleep. I couldn’t time it based on meals because that would have required me to have been fed. I didn’t really sleep either. My captors did, their raucous laughter and snores drowning out the sounds of the forested night.

  I had been ferried out of the Inn that the Emir had commandeered and ushered into a wagon. I knew I was outside because I could feel the sun on my arms and shoulders.

  The bag was of an unknown material. It was light and breathable, way preferable to others I had worn, but it let in absolutely zero light. I was kind of envious of the bag. There was something about being able to see a hazy figure, though, that would start the process of breaking a mind, or so I had been told at one point. Pointless knowledge for me now.

  The days were a solid cycle of riding for hours, taking a break, riding for more hours, and another break. After that second break, I could feel the temperature start to dip, so it was getting to nightfall or possibly already proper dark. All my captors were beastkin, and I was pretty sure they could see in the dark.

  I could hear plenty of other voices. I recognized a few of them from around the inn as humans. If I had to guess, we were on our way back to the Emir’s actual residence. Where I'm guessing the redhead would continue her attempts at torture.

  Near the end of the third day, I heard a different commotion: horns. It sounded like trumpets in the distance announcing the arrival of a king. I thought I also heard a clanking of chains like a drawbridge lowering or a portcullis rising.

  It was at moments like this that I started to wonder why all of this felt so familiar. It felt like this place was a mish-mash of fantasy tropes; everything that should have been novel to a resident of Earth’s twenty-first century was like it came from a book.

  I felt something stirring in my core. It was like I could still focus on my aspects, but without the accompanying visuals. The collar they had on me was top-notch. I was betting on it not coming off until they ‘broke’ me. That meant I would have to be content with wearing this for a very long time then.

  Still, I tried to focus on the feeling I got trying to reconcile this world with the stories in my old one. I just got the tingle of something ‘clicking’ into place when the wagon came to a halt.

  “Get down!” After three days on the wagon, I was not going to deny that command.

  The beastkin growled impatiently as they 'gently' prodded me with their weapon. The slight poking came nowhere near breaking the skin. Still, the intent was clear. Lacking other choices and not wanting to stay in the wagon any longer, I took a leap of faith and landed on solid ground. It was then that the bag was roughly yanked off my head.

  The bright sun blinded me for a few moments. Once my eyes adjusted, I was stunned by the sights of the Emir's palace.

  I had assumed the portly beastkin was rich, but this went far beyond that. It ran into, through, and out the back door of opulence, straight to ostentatious.

  His domain was a dazzling display of wealth and excess, towering spires that seemed to reach the sky, and intricate architectural details adorning every surface. The exterior of every wall was adorned with shimmering gold accents and sparkling jewels.

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  I hated it.

  "Wow, this place is amazing!" I hoped that my voice seethed enough sarcasm to fill the courtyard.

  "I'm glad you like it!" The Emir's voice boomed from off to my right.

  I turned to look at him and caught the smirking grin of the redhead. The glint in her eye suggested that she alone caught my sarcasm and was about to capitalize on her catch.

  "I believe he is lying, your eminence."

  Bitch.

  "What is that, Mercy? Lying, you say? hrmmm."

  He gave his chin an almost evil villain beard stroke, like he was thinking of his subordinate's interjection. He brought his gaze over to where I was standing.

  "Does she speak the truth, slave? Do you not find the palace a sight to behold?"

  I felt an old hatred click into place. An old sense of purpose that was long since locked away and hidden.

  "It is indeed your eminence."

  "See, he is impressed. I detect no falsehood in his statement. Perhaps you are losing your touch, Mercy."

  "I seriously doubt that."

  My dad once told me, ‘Son, never leave a lady waiting.’ So I went for it. This was about to be a powerful lesson in the investment of social capital.

  "Indeed, it is. Tell me, Emir, is your dick so small that it actually folds up and recedes into your body? That is the only thing I can think of that justifies such levels of obvious overcompensation." I used my bound hands to gesture to the impressive skyline of the Palace.

  You could hear a pin drop. It was as if the entire world, or at least this corner of it, went silent, awaiting the storm to come.

  The Emir's laughter boomed, a contemptuous sound that echoed through the courtyard. "You dare insult me and my palace, slave?" he nodded to a guard.

  It's noteworthy that while I received my fair share of beatings in Mord's Dungeon, I never received a gut punch that compared to the one that the guard delivered. Also of note, it’s entirely possible to pass out from being punched in the stomach hard enough.

  When I came to, I was in a dark, dank cell. I was alone, and I could smell the stench of human waste in the air. I tried to sit up, but the pain in my side was too much.

  "Worth it." I muttered to the empty room.

  While pain rendered me unable to stand, I was still able to see what I saw fed my growing suspicion of tropes. Even in my prone state, I could look around enough to see most of the room.

  First, I was in a small prison cell.

  The cell was exactly what you would expect. Iron bars make a floor-to-ceiling cage with a stone wall at the back and a skeleton key-locked door at the front. The patina of rust on the bars gave the cells a small sense of age, yet did not diminish their sense of strength. Even at full strength, I didn't know if I could break the bars themselves with strength alone.

  I was in one of the middle cells in a block of four with two to my left and one to my right. I was the only occupant, though. The other cells were completely devoid of any evidence of occupancy.

  The rest of the room was very dim, but I could make out the general features from the sparse light coming from the two doorways. The doors were to the right and left and looked like hallways added to an otherwise square room.

  In the area between the flanking hallways was a single wooden table built way stronger than a simple table should be.

  "Torture Chamber, check."

  That's about where the trope ended, though. It looked like a torture chamber from a bad video game, but it had the same feel as if you were playing it. The atmosphere lacked its full effect. There was no damp and dark—no drip of water. Nor was there the smell of despair or even waste. The place smelled a little musty, but more like a suburban basement than an archaic place of horror. It was even reasonably warm. However, I hadn't been uncomfortable, temperature-wise, in quite a while.

  As I thought about it, I realized that ever since my awakening at the hands of Vex, I haven't had an issue with comfort. In the old world, true comfort was kinda rare. The best I had had was in bed, but even then, I had to have a leg outside the covers. And I had endured much worse.

  I took the thoughts of my old bed and held on to them. If this new body could find comfort, why would I not take advantage of it? It was nap time.

  And nap, I did.