Mary woke up to the surrounding greyness broken only by the pinkiness of her own clothing. She was still tired but judging by the angle of the sunrays, she was allowed to sleep late.

“Look who's finally joined us,” a male voice said.

Mary looked around. Her cell was still empty other than for Mossie, thank Muchmighty for that. The robot was buzzing quietly near the window, looking outside. But when the girl stood up and went closer to the bars, she could see that other cells were quite occupied.

Across her and to the left, she could see a tall boy in a dirty, blue prison uniform. He was sitting close to the bars, with his back resting against a wall. He was strangely familiar...

“What got you in here? Have you left your porridge unfinished at the canteen?” He continued.

“She's imprisoned, not executed. Author's pen, have your Allarius really taught you nothing about the rules?” a rough female voice came from Mary's right. She couldn't see the owner, but the words triggered an unpleasant memory.

“At least he taught me not to run into not-mine battles, unlike some hotheaded idiots.”

“Dennis?” Mary asked.

The boy spat on the aisle. “Yeah.”

“And you are...?” She asked to the left.

“Laura.”

“I'm Mary.”

A slender hand reached out from the left, and Mary shook it. It was a bit awkward, but manageable.

“How long have you been here?” Mary asked. “I haven't noticed you yesterday.”

“The cells move around every day except the full moon.” The girl said, then thought for a moment. “I think it's been four years or so, but it's really hard to tell. Time flows differently here.”

“It is coming,” came a whisper from the right, and Mary jumped away from the bars. She thought that cell was empty.

“Finally,” Dennis said.

“Wait. What's coming?” Mary asked.

“Food. You'll see,” Laura explained.

Mary wasn't so sure she wanted to see. A squeaking noise came from the right as if a giant was walking wearing old, rocking chairs as boots. It grew louder as whatever it was neared, and Mary took a step back. And then another. And...

A large, silver trolley filled to the brim with silver platters and cloches appeared. It was pushed by a very finely dressed man with a thin, twirled moustache. He stopped by the whisperer's cell and took out a snow-white scroll.

“Bonjour monsieurs et madames,” he said with a thick, French accent. “For today's lunch, I'd like to recommend an Agnus steak with white alba truffles. Regarding starters, the chef's special for today is a bowl of red swiftlet nest soup sprinkled with chips of Belgian chocolate. As for desserts, may I suggest a Frozen Haute Chocolate ice cream sundae,” he read.

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That... wasn't what Mary expected. The waiter removed the cloches one by one to serve the dishes, and Mary's nose was bombarded with an array of scents she'd never smelled before. It was as if her nose had won a massage at the most luxurious SPA. She was really glad that by then, the usual scent of her prison was already well researched and properly ignored.

She had to swallow gallons of saliva every other second, or she'd seriously risk drowning.

The others didn't act surprised, however. Everyone calmly accepted their portions, although when Mary's turn arrived, she finally noticed that the bars at her cell didn't come with a door of any sort. That turned out not to be a problem, as the food, dishes, and gilded cutlery all phased through the cold metal. She double-checked, but her hand couldn't replicate the feat.

“Thank you,” she said, barely keeping herself from plunging nose-deep into her soup.

“The pleasure is mine,” the waiter bowed deeply.

The food tasted as amazing as it smelled. Most of it felt almost alien, as the orphanage wasn't nearly financed enough to present its occupants with such delicacies. It was a harmony played on her taste buds, poetry written with spices. The only thing she could complain about was that it eventually finished. But despite wanting to eat a lot more, she couldn't say she was still hungry - the amount was perfectly chosen to make her just full enough while preventing overeating.

“Was everything to your liking?” he said as he collected the perfectly cleaned dishes.

“Get lost,” barked Dennis throwing the plate at their owner, who caught it with a ballet-like pirouette.

What was wrong with that guy? “Yes, thank you,” Mary said, while her stomach tried to coerce her brain into committing some crimes that would get her a life sentence at this place. She heard snickers from Dennis, and surprisingly Laura. The waiter bowed again before moving on.

“Wasn't prison food supposed to be bad?” Mary asked once he disappeared around a corner.

“It was, once,” Laura said sourly, “but a long time ago, someone with a lot of power in the Academy considered that abuse and declared a minimum cost of prisoner's daily food expenditure. It probably wasn't really much back then, but it was worded weirdly. Fortunately for us, it mentioned the value of some ancient coins, which today are rare collectables and... I think someone had tried to change this quite recently, but it's only been processed for what, fifty years at the moment?”

“Seventy-eight,” the whisper came from the other cell, and Mary almost jumped again.

“Yeah, sounds about right,” Laura said. “So, it won't be changed in our lifetimes.”

“...right,” Mary lied. “So, what happens now?”

“You can go to sleep until the next meal if you liked it so much,” Dennis spat on the floor in Mary's general direction.

“What's wrong with him?” Mary asked Laura.

“Oh, he's still bitter over his last escape attempt. It was a good try.”

Mary perked up. “You have an escape plan?”

“Had.” Dennis barked. “But it failed. And they - they only let it go on for so long to make us suffer more.”

“What do you mean?”

“See this?” He knocked on the bars. “It looks like a normal dark iron. I came up with a ritual spell. It took months. I had to cut myself, paint the runes with my own blood...” He spat again. “But it was all for nothing.”

“I don't follow,” Mary said.

“It turns out the bars aren't iron,” Laura said. “They're pure gold covered with just a thin layer of other crap to mask it.”

“So why don't you just make another spell, this time for destroying gold?” Mary asked.

Everyone laughed. Even the whisperer made strangled chuckling noises, which Mary found rather creepy. Unfortunately, the thought of creepiness brought up painful memories which she wasn't ready to face yet, and a shiver went down her spine.

“Don't you get it?” Laura asked once she regained her breath. “They're just toying with us.”

Dennis looked Mary in the eyes, and only then did she really see the haunting of his gaze. “There is no escape.”