Young Writers Society

You wake up in a room personalized to your liking. It’s not a dream bedroom - if you even have such a concept in that mind of yours - but it’s undoubtedly been carefully made for you. Objects you find comfort in or use daily fill the room. The sheets are comfortable, and you’re all tucked in. If this weren’t a new and strange place you might want to roll over and keep sleeping.

You’re dressed in comfortable sleepwear - maybe not something you own, but something you’d like to own if you care about such things.

As you come to explore the room and all the things it has to hold you find clothes, perfectly tailored to your frame - but not ones you own. Maybe ones you could only dream of owning. You find shoes that fit your feet seamlessly. You find all sorts of little belongings that you enjoy, but some are the sorts of things no one would really know you enjoy unless they paid a lot of attention.

So why are they here? Why are you here?

You check the door and find it’s locked from the outside. If you’re the nifty type, you try to pick the lock, but it seems like they prepared for that. No amount of picking, door banging, knob turning, spellcasting, or prying will make the door budge.

And despite being locked in a room by yourself, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched.

1. Put a physical description of your character in a spoiler tag in your first post. If you need the code to do that, use this:

Code: Select all

[spoiler]Character description here[/spoiler]

2. You can only bring in one character.

3. PM me a summary of your character’s life - relevant events, relationships, and life info. Don’t make it 2 sentences short, but don’t send me a novel - so basically, a nice summary with a bit of the important details like names, places, faces.

4. Don’t write for other people’s characters.

5. Feel free to have your character guess the plot, but don’t have your character make any major plot-altering decisions without running it by me first.

6. If you join please commit to sticking in it 'til the end! I have an end in mind for this RP and would like to get to it!

7. Your character can be from anything. Any story, any world, whatever! It'll just affect how they interact with things and other people.

8. Don't post so much that people's characters get left behind! Let's make sure everyone has time to catch up and interact! I want everyone to be included.

When James opened his eyes, he wondered when it would be over.

He stared at a wood-paneled ceiling. There was a single light in the center that shone a dim, warm light, mimicking the feeling of a setting sun. It was different than other light fixtures he was used to. It was calming. Or, it would’ve been, were he not in a strange bed, in a strange room, with no idea where he was and how he got there.

James knew shock should’ve set in, but he had a feeling his mind didn’t know how to respond to things like this anymore. It was, and always would be.

He closed his eyes again, focusing on the soft warmth of the blankets, and the soft but supportive mattress beneath him. For once in his life, his back actually felt relief, and despite all of his mind’s cries for answers, he didn’t want to get up. He pinched his eyes tighter as he wrestled with his gut.

Something didn’t feel right.

But when did things ever feel right?

He opened his eyes again and sat up. If there was one thing that never failed to make his skin crawl, it was waking up in clothes that were not his own and that he did not put on himself.

He was in a red silk robe, and even though it was soft and comfortable, James threw it off onto the bed. Underneath were simple, equally soft shorts and a t-shirt. He didn’t want to admit that he liked them. He didn’t know how he kept getting into situations like this - no, that made it sound like it was his fault as if he’d ever have chosen something like this.

James wanted to crawl into a corner as he took in the rest of the room.

It was... quaint. Simple. The room wasn’t very big, but it didn’t feel crowded. There was a wooden desk that looked almost exactly like one in his childhood home - one that his father would sit behind. The chair was leather, and a fur blanket was draped over the side. There was a worn, faded ornate carpet on the floor with similar colors: greens, reds, and blues.

The desk had everything he would’ve wished for in a room: a blank journal, open to the first page. Pen and ink. Pencils. Charcoal. A notebook that looked like it was just for drawing. A compass. Rulers. Tools for mapping. The list went on.

And still, there was more. The desk was on the wall, and in the corner beside it was a tall bookshelf completely filled with books. His heart always soared at the sight of books, but this was different. As he took a step closer, he actually recognized the titles. These weren’t books just from any world, they were from his world, and on subjects, he’s always longed to read about, mixed with some books he’d already read and enjoyed.

James felt goosebumps crawl up his arms. His gaze fell to the closet on the other wall. Hesitantly, he stepped towards it and opened the doors.

There weren’t a lot of clothes, but all of them looked like things he would’ve picked out for himself. He pushed the clothes around, trying to find something else. Something to explain things, but there was nothing.

He looked to the door. It was closed and had been since he’d woken up. When he dashed towards it, the handle didn’t budge. He was locked in, and the keyhole was on the other side. James cursed under his breath. He tried again, in vain, but he was trapped.

Tara was confused. She wasn't in her bedroom. This was a lot nicer than anything that belonged to her. The sky blue paint on the walls. The white shag rug that covered a white wood floor. She wasn't even sure if white wood was something that existed, but it was here, and it looked really nice. The matching desk with a bouquet of pink roses. The framed movie posters hanging on the walls. Roman Holiday. It's A Wonderful Life. West Side Story. On the desk was a framed photo too. Of her, Amy and Adam, and Adam's two kids from last Christmas. Her niece and nephew. A large candle was burning, which made the room smell of fresh linen.

The bed felt like she was sleeping on a cloud, and she didn't want to get up. But something propelled her to. She realized she was wearing a long yellow nightgown. Scoop neck. Long sleeves. Pure cotton. If she owned a nightgown as comfortable as this, she'd know.

When she looked at the closet she saw a long floral sundress. Red and yellow. White strappy sandals to go with it. She put the outfit on.

Where was she? What was this place? Tara tried to open the door. But it was locked. Then, she pounded on it.

"Hello?"

When Oliver opened his eyes, he was sure he was still dreaming.

The ceiling above wasn't anything like the ceiling of his room. That ceiling was made of plaster; this was made of a material that looked more metallic than anything else. It was a material that he recognized all too well - the kind of material that had made up his childhood home.

He slipped out of bed.

His clothes were like the pajamas he had at home. They were the same soft, perfectly fitting material. But the colors were different; they were the same blue as the communication stones. A blue that Oliver had never been quite able to describe when asked about it, but a blue that he could always envision - a deep, rich kind of blue.

His first thought was to try opening the door.

But the door was locked.

He tried to push down the wave of panic threatening to overtake him. He had to focus. He had to think things through and work this out, or he'd never get home. He started digging through the desk that looked almost too familiar - like it had been taken from the lab he had spent years studying Maahes in - in the hopes that there was something there that would give him a clue to what was going on.

All he found was a collection of notebooks, and an Alteran tablet. There were some books scattered throughout the room, as well as some data chips, but they were all on fictional subjects he didn't care all that much at the moment - but were all things he had wanted to read about at some point in time.

After a seemingly endless period of searching, he gave up and sank into the chair in front of his desk with a loud, heavy sigh.

Queenie awoke with a sense of unexplained wrongness, like her life had just been moved just a little to the left. And her knife was missing.

Slowly, cautiously, she opened her eyes and looked around. It was her room, sort of. Lavender walls, big, queen-sized bed with the sheer white curtains, the display of decorative weaponry on one wall, the floor-length mirror on the other with the desk beside it. Except the curtains on this bed had little brightly colored flowers embroidered along the edges, imperfectly, as though they were done by hand. The blades on the wall were different from the ones she had at home, and when she went to examine them, she found that they were dull. Never sharpened, never used.

This was either one of those stalker situations - doubtful, security at her place was a little too sophisticated for some random creep to get through - or someone with powers similar to those of that Librarian lady had decided to mess with her life again. At least she was dressed comfortably, though she hadn’t actually gone to bed in her favorite silk pajamas last night. Honestly, after dinner, she was afraid of getting blood on them when Briar retaliated for the comments Queenie had made.

She snickered as she made her way over to the desk. Briar deserved to be called out, of course. Little princess wasn’t going to be allowed to just sit there while Queenie was blamed for Briar’s mistakes.

The first drawer she opened revealed a set of spring-green ballet shoes. Point shoes, already broken in, with a swirling ‘Q’ embroidered on the heel. A small smile pulled at the corner of her lips as a new set of memories - older memories - played through her head.

They were so insignificant when she got them. Just a set of shoes she’d gotten to start her point classes last year. When-

She shook her head. No, right now she needed to focus.

The whole room seemed to be designed to throw her off her guard. Familiarity intermixed with daydreams to lul her into a feeling of security, safety. But she wasn’t safe. As her hand reached up to feel for her choker, she confirmed it. She wasn’t safe here, and she wouldn’t be until she was back at home with a gun in her hand and that choker around her neck.

Still, she found herself putting on the slippers.

Colleen stood up from the far too comfortable bed, glancing around the room. She knew she didn't fall asleep here; she couldn't have, as she didn't know where here was. At least not yet.

She chewed on her lip before folding back the sheets to a polite enough position. For what reason, Colleen could not say, but she felt better doing it. Maybe whoever's room this belonged to would appreciate the gesture and not want to kill her.

The next object of interest was, well, this peculiar room, with a pinch of light emerging from underneath closed square windows, and what looked like real wooden walls. Something she had always wanted for herself. Walls and a roof that she could stay inside for more than a handful days at a time.

But Colleen hadn't had that opportunity for quite a few years now. It would be best to toss that wish away and bury it where she buried her childhood memories. Deep inside where not even she could find them.

The floor was comprised of a few, thick mats, colored in a rainbow pattern, actually, with each color bleeding into the next one like they were dyed in a huge container all at once.

She felt overwhelmed with the more things she looked at, overwhelmed by what had to be an insane amount of wealth to afford such nice things, and Colleen couldn't understand feeling established enough to pour this amount of time into one room.

Despite appreciating that she must have gotten good sleep on this strange bed, she didn't want to be here anymore, not when she was left with racing thoughts and didn't like being alone, but she didn't think that feeling was so strong until she was faced with the reality that she might not be where she first closed her eyes.

Colleen curbed the urge to scream, cracking her knuckles instead, then smoothes her fingers out on her far too nice sleepwear.

It was time to figure out something about this room and where she was. Hopefully sooner than later.

James wasn't sure if he heard someone speak, but he definitely heard someone pounding on a door. Not his door, but somewhere else outside his room. He pressed his ear against the wood. The pounding stopped.

He debated on trying to reply, but he hesitated. He didn't know where he was, and what was out there. He didn't know if the people out there could be trusted. If his intuition told him anything, they were probably in the same situation as him, but this felt different. In almost all of the other situations, he'd woken up with others or it started in an open, organic environment. He hadn't started it all trapped.

Being alone from the get-go made him nervous. There had always been some kind of safety to be found in numbers. Granted, he didn't usually like staying in all of the groups he'd gotten put with, but at least he'd had a choice.

Now he was alone, and what made it all the worse was he couldn't conceive of a way out, and he didn't feel like he was alone.

He felt like he was being watched.

With his ear still up against the door, he didn't hear anything. But he felt something.

A note was slipped under the door, and it hit his knee. It was in an ivory envelope with a wax seal. The initials inscribed in the wax spelled out "CB." That meant nothing to him, and he didn't recognize the seal from anywhere.

Giving a quick look around the room, he opened the letter carefully, as if something inside of it might jump out.

It was just paper.

Though saying it was "just paper" felt like a bit of an understatement. The paper was golden and shining like someone had smothered it in gold leaf. Patterns of vines and flowers danced on the edges of the paper in white, and when he unfolded it to see what was written inside, the words were written in black ink and fluttery, artful script.

𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒥𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓈,

𝐼'𝓂 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝒸𝒾𝓇𝒸𝓊𝓂𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒻𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝒾𝒶𝓇 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝓌𝒶𝓎. 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓃 𝓊𝓃𝒻𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝒾𝒶𝓇 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹 𝒾𝓃 𝓊𝓃𝒻𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝒾𝒶𝓇 𝒸𝓁𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓈, 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓃𝑜 𝒾𝒹𝑒𝒶 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 "𝑔𝑜 𝒽𝑜𝓂𝑒."

𝐼 𝒹𝑜 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊.

𝒟𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝑜𝑜𝓂? 𝐼 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝒾𝑔𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝒾𝓉 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝓉𝓇𝒾𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒾𝓉. 𝒩𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝒹 𝒶𝓅𝓅𝓇𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉, 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝐼 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒶 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝒾𝓂𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃.

𝒫𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝑔𝑜 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑒𝓉. 𝐼'𝓋𝑒 𝓁𝑒𝒻𝓉 𝒶 𝑔𝒾𝒻𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝐼𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑔𝑜 𝓅𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝑜𝓃, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓊𝓃𝓁𝑜𝒸𝓀.

𝐼'𝒹 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒾𝓃𝓋𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶 𝒻𝑒𝓌 𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝑔𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝒾𝓃𝓃𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 - 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹'𝓋𝑒 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝒾𝒻 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓃𝑜 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓇𝑜𝑜𝓂. 𝒟𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉. 𝐼'𝓂 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓁𝓁 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝓁𝑜𝒸𝓀𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓅𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝓉 𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒.

𝒜𝓃𝓎𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈, 𝐼 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝒷𝒶𝒷𝓁𝓎 𝓉𝒾𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑒 𝒷𝒶𝒷𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝑜𝓃. 𝒢𝑜 𝓅𝓊𝓉 𝑜𝓃 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓃𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝒸𝓁𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓁𝓁. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓇𝑜𝑜𝓂 𝒾𝓈 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑒𝒻𝓉 (𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓌𝒶𝓎). 𝒥𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓀𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝑔𝑜𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝑒𝒻𝓉. 𝒴𝑜𝓊'𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓇𝑜𝑜𝓂 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝓇𝑜𝑜𝓂 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝑜𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝒹𝑜𝑜𝓇𝓈. 𝒮𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝑒 𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹.

𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓌𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝑜𝑜𝓃.

- 𝒞𝐵

Spoiler! :

Normal Text in case the cursive text breaks:

Dearest James,

I'm sure these circumstances are familiar to you, in a way. This is not your first time waking in an unfamiliar world in unfamiliar clothes, with no idea who brought you here, and it's not your first time wondering how and when you can just "go home."

I do hope to make this experience different for you.

Do you like the room? I designed it just for you, and I tried to be very thoughtful with it. Not that you'd appreciate all of that, knowing you, but I like trying for a good first impression.

Please go look back in the closet. I've left a gift for you. If you go put it on, the doors will unlock.

I'd like to invite you and a few other guests to dinner this evening - not that you would've known if it was evening, seeing as there are no windows in your room. Don't worry about that. I'm sure you'll find clocks here and there to put your mind at ease.

Anyways, I know you like to read, but you're probably tired of hearing me babble on. Go put on some nice clothes and meet the others in the hall. The dining room is down the hall to the left (for you, anyway). Just keep going left. You'll see the dining room is the only room with open doors. Should be easy to find.

I look forward to seeing you soon.

- CB

James found his face contorting more and more in discomfort as he read the letter. This didn't sound like a random god who made a mistake bringing him here. This didn't even sound like some kind of test or mystery to solve.

He was brought here to dine? And what else?

His brows were pinched together as he got to his feet and placed the letter on his desk. Getting dressed up was his ticket out of this room, but then what? How would he get out of this? How would he get back home?

He frowned and spitefully glanced back at the letter. CB - whoever that was - had already guessed he'd be trying to figure out how to get back home. Well, of course he would. Most people didn't like being kidnapped and had lives to return to.

Reluctantly, he marched to the closet and opened it. In the middle of all of the rather regular clothes he'd seen before, there was a suit.

Gods. It was that suit. The suit that kept coming back to haunt him, at this point.

CB had a sick sense of humor.

Tara pounded at the door for a moment, and then she stopped when it was clear that no one was coming.

She sighed. The room was nice, but something about being trapped here was unsettling. And she was creeped out by the pictures of her family sitting on the desk.

Just as she was debating her next move, she thought she heard someone. In a moment, they were gone, but they had slipped an envelope under the door.

It was adressed to her. Tara's heart pounded.

What else could she do right now? She opened it.

𝒮𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉, 𝓈𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝒯𝒶𝓇𝒶,

𝐼 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝑜𝑜 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓇𝒾𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉'𝓈 𝑔𝑜𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓃. 𝐼 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒷𝑒 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒻𝓊𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓈𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒, 𝐼 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊.

𝒟𝑜 𝓁𝑒𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝒾𝒻 𝐼 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒶𝑔𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓅𝒾𝓃𝓅𝑜𝒾𝓃𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒! 𝐼 𝓉𝓇𝒾𝑒𝒹 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓇𝑜𝑜𝓂 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓃𝑒𝑒𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒. 𝐼𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝑒𝒶𝓇𝒸𝒽 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝓇𝒶𝓌𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝐼'𝓂 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓁𝓁 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝒾𝒸 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓎 𝒷𝑜𝑜𝓀𝓈 - 𝑒𝓃𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓉𝑜 𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒶 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓁𝑒 𝒾𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹!

𝒪𝒽, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓎𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽. 𝐼'𝒹 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒾𝓃𝓋𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑜 𝒶 𝒹𝒾𝓃𝓃𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓂𝓎 𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝑔𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔. 𝐼𝓉 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓁, 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽, 𝓈𝑜 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝒶𝓉 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝓁𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓈. 𝐼 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝒻𝑜𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝑜𝓊𝓉𝒻𝒾𝓉 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝐼'𝓂 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓁𝓁 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝑜𝓃𝑒. 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈.

𝐹𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝑜! 𝒪𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒. 𝒜𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓅𝑜𝒾𝓃𝓉, 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝓇𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃, 𝓈𝑜 𝒾𝓉 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝓃'𝓉 𝒷𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹. 𝒴𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝒶 𝓈𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁.

𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓌𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊!

-𝒞𝐵

Tara took a deep breath. She walked over to the wardrobe and saw a dress she didn't notice before. Spaghetti strap. Royal blue. Sparkly. Silver shoes. She put it on. There was makeup and a hairbrush on the wardrobe. She skipped on the makeup for now and just brushed her hair and parted it down the middle.

She caught a glimpse of herself and supposed she looked like a person. She'd feel better in the outfit if the circumstances weren't so strange.

Who was CB? She supposed she'd find out soon.

The door was open. She stepped into the hall.

He wasn't sure when he had first heard it, but the pounding that had been coming from outside suddenly stopped. He couldn't shake the feeling that something bad had happened to the person who had been doing the knocking - or the person on the receiving end of it.

Oliver took a shaky breath.

Maybe it was just his imagination. Vala had dared Z and him into watching a horror movie marathon the other day; his mind could have just been playing tricks on him. He ran his hands through his hair again before rising to his feet. He wished Maahes was here. He had never thought there would come a point in his life where he'd be looking to Maahes for guidance, but things were different now-

An envelope had just been slid underneath the door.

Oliver stared down at it.

After a moment of hesitation, he leaned down to pick it up. When he opened it, he was met with a strange feeling of nostalgia. While he had never received a letter like this, he had received invitations that were formatted with the same care and elaborateness as this-

He read the first line.

And then he froze - able to do nothing other than read through the letter.

𝒪𝒹𝓇𝒾𝓈! 𝒪𝒽, 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝒶𝒸𝓉 𝓈𝑜 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓈𝑒𝒹.

𝐹𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓊𝓅 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓃𝑜 𝒾𝒹𝑒𝒶 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑔𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒? 𝒪𝓇, 𝒶𝓉 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓉, 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈, 𝒽𝓂? 𝐼’𝓂 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊’𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝑀𝒶𝒶𝒽𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝒹𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒𝓈. 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝑜𝒻 𝒾𝓉 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓈𝑒, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓉𝑒.

𝒟𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝒷𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝑜 𝓅𝑜𝓊𝓉𝓎 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓇. 𝐼 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊’𝓇𝑒 𝓊𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝒶𝓉 𝒽𝑜𝓂𝑒. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒.

𝐼’𝒹 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝒾𝓃𝓃𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓂𝓎 𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝑔𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓈. 𝐼𝓉’𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝒶 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓁 𝒹𝒾𝓃𝓃𝑒𝓇, 𝓈𝑜 𝓈𝓊𝒾𝓉𝒶𝒷𝑒𝓁 𝒶𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓇𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓋𝒾𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑒𝓉. 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝓊𝓅 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓊𝓃𝓁𝑜𝒸𝓀 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊’𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓁𝓁.

𝐼𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑔𝑜 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝑒𝒻𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊’𝓁𝓁 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒’𝓈 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝑜𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝒹𝑜𝑜𝓇. 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉’𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝑜 𝑔𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽! 𝒮𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝑒 𝓈𝒾𝓂𝓅𝓁𝑒 𝑒𝓃𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽. 𝒮𝑒𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒!

-𝒞𝐵

Oliver dropped the letter and frantically glanced around. He was the only one in the room. He couldn't spot any cameras, either. But the person who wrote the letter - CB - knew things that they shouldn't. They knew about Maahes. They knew how Maahes frequently ended up in situations like this.

And, most terrifyingly of all, they knew that his name wasn't really Oliver.

He bit his lip and ran his fingers through his hair again. Either they had somehow seen what was going on inside his house, or they had hacked into SG Command's databases. Which one of them was more worrying?

He looked over at the closet.

After taking a deep breath, he warily approached it. The letter had already given away what would be inside, but he had wanted to trick himself into thinking that it would be something that would let him fit in more. When he opened the closet, his worst fears were confirmed: it was formal Alteran clothes.

Odris immediately spun around and made a beeline for the door.

He still couldn't open it.

He fought against the urge to cry and sat down against the door. There had to be some other option. Maybe he could try summoning one of the spirits - they would be able to do more than he could. Even if they couldn't, he would feel better having them there with him.

...But Maahes had been summoned by Vala last, and Sune was with Arin. Neither one would come if he tried to summon them.

Odris looked back in the direction of the closet.

Frantically wiping away his tears with the palms of his hands, Odris got to his feet and returned to it. Putting on the outfit was the only option he had right now. It made him feel stupid - especially when he was still wearing the special glasses he had made in lieu of his old, long lost goggles - as he looked himself over, but the door opened when he tried turning the knob again.

He stepped into the hallway.

There was already someone else there. She looked around the age he appeared to be, with a dress that could have only come from Earth. Now he was feeling even more stupid. He hesitated for a moment, reaching up and taking his glasses off. He wished he had his long hair still; he wouldn't look as bad with that.

He put his glasses in his pocket.

"Hi," he said, giving a smile he didn't really feel.

Queenie had already tried the door - and tried to pick the lock - and was resigned to waiting for whoever put her here to tell her what they wanted from her, when those instructions finally came.

A letter pushed under the door. She had to roll her eyes at that. Efficient, sure, but kinda childish.

She plucked it up off the floor and unfolded it. Fancy gold paper and cursive handwriting, like one of those tacky invitations the odd millionaire would send out once in a while to invite their fellow rich people to an 'exclusive' party, free of the press, of course. Rich folks liked to small talk about the inconvenience of the press.

Personally, Queenie found that topic null and void as far as conversation starters went, but then, her life was a little different than most of theirs.

The letter she now read, though, was quite a bit different than those invitations. It was, however, an invitation.

𝒪𝒽 𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃𝒾𝑒,

𝒴𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈. 𝐼 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉, 𝓈𝑜 𝐼'𝓁𝓁 𝓀𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝒾𝓉 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓉.

𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓈 (𝓎𝑒𝓈, 𝑜𝒻 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓈) 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓋𝒾𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝒾𝓃𝓃𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔. 𝒫𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝒹𝑜 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓊𝓅 - 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒’𝓈 𝒶 𝓈𝓊𝒾𝓉𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝑜𝓊𝓉𝒻𝒾𝓉 𝓈𝑒𝓉 𝒶𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒾𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑒𝓉. 𝒴𝑜𝓊’𝓁𝓁 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝒾𝓉.

𝒪𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊’𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒹𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝓊𝓅 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝑔𝑜, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓊𝓃𝓁𝑜𝒸𝓀 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝑒𝓍𝒾𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑒𝒻𝓉. 𝐼𝓉’𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝒹𝑜𝑜𝓇 𝑜𝓅𝑒𝓃. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓃’𝓉 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝒾𝓉.

𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒, 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓎 𝓃𝒾𝒸𝑒.

-𝒞𝐵

Spoiler! :

Regular text in case anyone here is like me and really bad at reading cursive:

Oh Queenie,

You're not new to things like this. I know that, so I'll keep it short.

You and the others (yes, of course there are others) are invited to dinner this evening. Please do dress up - there’s a suitable outfit set aside for in your closet. You’ll know it when you see it.

Once you’re all dolled up and set to go, the door will unlock for you, and you can exit down the hall to the left. It’ll be the only door open. You can’t miss it.

And of course, play nice.

-CB

She rolled her eyes. Her every instinct told her not to play along, to find her own way out and get home, but this wasn't a normal kidnapping. The note confirmed it. Even if she was still in her own world (doubtful), the only way anyone could know about the other worlds in the first place was if they had the power to travel, see, or take people between worlds.

So, with great reluctance, she led the invite on the bed and opened the wardrobe to see what had been chosen for her for formal wear.

A simple dress, one she recognized. It had been described to her before she got it as, "Sort of vintage, retro, you know, classic." It was over eighty years old, is what that meant. A 2019, off-the-shoulder piece in spring green. She'd worn it for her first high-profile job.

She put it on and braided her hair back to suit the dress. She could wear it loose, but it would get in the way if things got dicey. So, three french braids all the way down, secured with rubber bands she found in the dresser, all of them braided together. If she had her usual supplies, she might decorate it with pins or clips. She even suspected that if she looked, she'd find those very same supplies somewhere in this room, but she didn't have quite that much patience today.

So she checked the door again and found that, as promised, it was unlocked. She stepped into the hall.

Colleen had spent plenty of time in various rooms and buildings over the years, especially once she left home, but she had never seen something quite like this.

The wooden dresser by the bed beckoned her closer, reminding her of Aunt Halrie's love for crafting various objects that tended to wind up in her room and not anywhere else in their house. A half-smile formed at that memory, then fell soon after.

She started to pace the floor, her feet light despite her deep thoughts, thanks to many, many days of self-training and reflection. There were not too many options for her, at least, not obvious ones. Breaking out did not seem possible, but she definitely did not want to stay here either.

After a few minutes of thinking, Colleen stopped her movements to blink at what was on the floor. A letter? That seemed a bit odd, but then again, she was somehow in an unknown location with no idea how she got here, why she was here, and what she could do to leave.

She once again chewed on her lip before picking up the note to read it.

𝒞𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇,

𝒟𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝒷𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓇𝒾𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈. 𝐼 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝒾𝓉’𝓈 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒶 𝒷𝒾𝓉 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓃𝑜𝓌, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓈𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒. 𝐼 𝒹𝑜 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝑜𝑜𝓂 𝐼 𝓅𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝑜𝑔𝑒𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝐼 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝒾𝓉’𝓈 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒶𝒻𝒻𝑜𝓇𝒹, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎. 𝐼 𝒹𝒾𝒹 𝒾𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜!

𝒯𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝒾𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑒𝓉. 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒’𝓈 𝒶𝓃 𝑜𝓊𝓉𝒻𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝐼’𝓋𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓅𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓃 𝓇𝑒𝒹. 𝐻𝑜𝓅𝑒𝒻𝓊𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉’𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝑜𝑜 𝑜𝓃-𝓉𝒽𝑒-𝓃𝑜𝓈𝑒, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓃𝑒-𝓉𝒽𝑒-𝓌𝒾𝓈𝑒𝓇.

𝒩𝑜 𝓇𝓊𝓈𝒽 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝑔𝑒𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 - 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝓉! 𝐼’𝓂 𝒾𝓃𝓋𝒾𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓉’𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒶 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓁 𝒹𝒾𝓃𝓃𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝒸𝒸𝒶𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃.

𝒪𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊’𝓇𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎, 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒹𝑜𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓊𝓃𝓁𝑜𝒸𝓀 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉. 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝒶𝓃 𝑜𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝒹𝑜𝑜𝓇 (𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝑜𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝒹𝑜𝑜𝓇, 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒹𝓇𝑜𝑜𝓂𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒) 𝓈𝑜 𝒾𝓉 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝑒 𝑜𝒷𝓋𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈.

𝒯𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽. 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓌𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊.

-𝒞𝐵

This room, was made for her? How was this CB person privy to her history, to know these details and how to put them in a single place?

Reading the letter only made Colleen more unsteady, a feeling she hadn't felt so strongly for a near five years. What could she do besides obey this person's instructions, at least for the time being?

Not to mention that CB knew about Cardinal because that was the only reason to dress her in red. And she could name the amount of people who knew about her being Cardinal on one finger. Herself, only. At least, on terms of people alive.

She didn't want to check and see what outfit she was meant to wear. Her imagination was enough to scare her, not to mention the possible consequences of having someone know her secrets.

Colleen sighed, then finally steeled herself to open the closet. She laughed for a second, thinking she should have guessed this would be her outfit: a very familiar, carefully stitched cherry-colored dress with a matching hood.

Here went nothing. Changing took only a couple minutes, but her heart sank when she folded her sleepwear and laid the pile on a corner of the bed. She re-braided her hair, thinking about the letter's words about formal dinners and looking nice.

Thick-heeled boots accompanied the dress, and she carefully tied the strings before pressing a hand around the knob. Colleen took a deep breath before stepping into the hallway.

The suit fit better than it ever had before. The delicate pattern of the dragons and the flowers danced all across the black jacket and pants, and his similarly black shoes had gold accents to match.

James sighed as he looked in the mirror on the back of his closet door. If he hadn't already been disturbed by the letter, he was disturbed by the fact that he'd woken up clean. He didn't pride himself in poor hygiene, but living out in the woods all alone and living off of the land just meant you smelled like the land, among other things, and when he looked in the mirror, he hardly looked it. He definitely didn't smell like it.

He did, however, still have bed-hair. Curiously, he went to the doorknob to see if putting on the outfit was all he had to do to be freed.

It didn't budge.

James narrowed his eyes at the stubborn door-knob.

Fine.

He quickly combed through his hair and styled it so it was swept back. He looked back in the mirror one last time with a pointed glare before shutting the closet door and making a beeline for the exit. The knob finally gave way, and he exited into the hall.

As expected, there were other people in the hall, each one dressed up in their own fashion.

He straightened his jacket's lapel.

"Well, I'm assuming you all received the same invitation I did," he said, looking down the hall. It was lit by swirling candelabra sconces mounted on the wall, each evenly spaced out a few feet from the other. The walls were striped with shades of purple and had a faint pattern on them, but he didn't look at it too closely. The carpet was of a similar purple hue but had hints of maroon. It looked like there was an armor display a little further down.

It felt like he was back at the palace, though this had a decidedly different feel.

"CB said it should be this way," he said, starting down the hall.

When the man stepped out into the hallway, Odris felt a pang of recognition.

He didn't know why he felt that way. He just knew that he had seen the man somewhere before. It wasn't enough to know his face well, or even to have a clearly defined opinion on him from sight alone. The man's clothes looked like they were from Earth. Maybe he was dealing with someone from the SGC; he only knew a handful of people there. Maybe he was dealing with their neighbors - neighbors who lived far enough away that they weren't ever close enough to question just what was going on inside the Cartwright household.

Part of him hoped that it was Maahes in another guise. He didn't have his lenses on right now. He couldn't tell for sure. But the look on the man's face was a decidedly not Maahes look, and Maahes would have gone rushing over to him if he had realized it was Odris underneath all of the fancy ancient clothes he had always dreaded wearing.

When the man finally looked away and started down the hall, Odris let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

After a moment, he followed after him.

He tried to remember what Maahes had done when he had ended up in situations like this before. The first time it had happened was when Maahes was barely six - Odris couldn't help but give a little nostalgic smile at the memory of Maahes running around as a little kid. The memory mortified him now, but Odris had always wished he had taken a picture or two of Maahes when he had been that small.

He shook the nostalgia away. He had to focus. Names were probably a good place to start. He needed to know who he was with before he could start figuring out a way to get out of these clothes and out of this place.

"I'm Oliver," he said, as both an introduction to the unnamed man and the other people in the hallway. "Oliver Cartwright."

"Queenie," she introduced herself. This 'CB' person didn't seem the type to be polite enough to allow her an alias, and burning those in these situations was one hell of a hassle. So, honesty was best. Limited honesty, yes, but still honestly.

Her braid of braids swayed behind her as she fell into step with the more talkative members of the party. Judging from their clothes, these people spanned time periods from late Earth history, an at least one of them was probably from another world.

"Where are you all from?" she thus asked in a pleasant tone. Just trying to make some small talk.