She lay there, the steel of the table cold against her back, a mild discomfort in her left arm. Must have just slept wrong, she mused to herself, her vision returning slowly. This was not where she had gone to sleep, of this she was certain, perhaps because her bed was not made of steel and didn't have these restraints attached, at least not the last time she'd checked. The tube in her arm was pumping a crimson liquid into her veins. Blood? Was she receiving a blood transfusion? Couldn't be. The thought had come and left from her head in much the same way that a drunk man does when he comes home to find his wife in bed with another man and after a drunken tirade and a much longer and more embarrassing bout of drunken sobbing, comes to realize this is not his wife, nor his home, and the guards are already outside. That is to say, it's been a rough weekend and she's none too happy with where it's gone, and it's about to get much, much worse.

As her vision gradually returned to a state of focus and adjusted to the low light in the room, another revelation fell upon her: the crimson liquid could not, in fact, be blood. This was due, in part, to the fact that it was glowing. Like, really brightly glowing. She could feel panic trying to claw its way from the pit of her stomach to her chest, but rather 

than allow that to happen she furrowed her brow and puffed out her cheeks in frustration.

First time I get paid enough to eat a good meal and sleep in a real fucking bed and I get kidnapped and brought to… She paused her mental complaint and released the breath inflating her cheeks. “Where in the Nine Hells am I?” She asked no one in particular. Her eyes scanned the rest of the room for some clues. A collection of metal work tables lined every visible wall, each adorned with a collection of small shelves filled to the brim with what appeared to be notebooks of varying age, expensive looking, laboratory grade glassware, and small clay pots lovingly etched with runes in a language she couldn’t read, each with different plants growing out of them. Her nose filled with the cold, sterile smell of cleaning supplies and an equally sickeningly sweet scent of what she recognized as anesthetics. Oh, wonderful, I’m in a lab. I hate labs. Labs where you wake up after not falling asleep there usually implies the presence of either a weirdo with a nasally voice and the intent to make you into some perfect love doll or a smug jackass with a God complex. Her mental calculus ran over the possibilities a few times and having no way of knowing what kind of lab operator she was dealing with she decided instead to take stock of everything else.

Both arms, check, one has a tube with this glowing gunk inside of it, I really hope that’s not poison… Or worse, an aphrodisiac. Both legs? Check, also bound to the damn table. Tail? She flexed the muscles in her lower back and felt a movement behind her, under the table. Okay, tail is here but has been fed through a large hole into the underside of the table and bound there. Fuck. Who just keeps an operating table around with a big tail hole in the bottom… Unless it’s not for tails. She shook her head dismissing the thought entirely. She banged her head lightly against the table in defeat, her brow again furrowed, her eyes locked on the ceiling.

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Ceiling is a bit low, must be a basement. Of course it’s a fucking basement. Why can’t the crazy person ever have a lab in a nice penthouse suite with a view of the coast, and maybe a cute and toothy Dark-Elf maid. Nope that’s not a kidnapper’s lair, that’s just my happy place. The ceiling above was made of carefully layered grey stone supported by tall columns of wood and brick. I wonder if these restraints are magical. She pondered a moment before closing her hand and tapping her knuckles against the table. For an instant there was a loud knock that was almost instantly silenced as a set of runes shone blue on binding around her wrist. Dawnfather’s dazzling dong, of course they’re anti-magic restraints. At least I haven’t been stripped naked. She crooked her head to the best of her ability to see her legs and chest. Still in my pajamas I see. So either they have a sleepwear fetish or they intended for me to wake up back at the inn and none the wiser about this lovely foray. Her musing was interrupted by what sounded like the flapping of large wings. 

“Oh Good they fly too.” She remarked out loud, her voice utterly unamused.

“You’ve woken up, I see. Stronger dosage needed for Half-Demon kin, noted. Must be the Infernal blood.” The voice responded. It sounded male, and despite clearly intending for her to not be awake, he didn’t seem at all bothered.

“So, what are you putting in me, oh strange winged captor?” Reigna said, indignantly rolling her eyes. When they came to settle back on her new found favorite spot on the ceiling she was met by the gaze of two dazzlingly bright, sky-blue eyes. His jawline was smooth and defined, not a trace of hair or stubble. His hair was thick and straw-colored, tied into a tight warrior’s knot at the back of his head. He had the solid, square frame of a man who regularly performed physical labor, but lacked the distinct tanning and weathering of someone who worked with their hands. Protruding from his back was a set of stark white wings, the feathers edged with gold, almost like filigree or the illumination of fine, illustrated storybooks.

Reigna could feel her whole body flatten like pancake batter onto the table as she let out an audible groan. The man cocked an eyebrow at her quizzically

“That was quite the sound.” He said simply.

“Smug jackass with a God complex, check.” She muttered to herself.

“Oh, do I seem smug?” He asked, no real inflection in his tone as he pulled at the tube connecting her arm to a larger reservoir dangling from a gantry beside the table. The hanging tank was the size of a small wine cask. He took it down and shook it a few times, no sound came from within.

“Good, all gone. That part is done.”

“What part?” Reigna asked, growing more annoyed by the second.

“Oh, the infusion, of course.” He stated, matter-of-factly

“Oh, good, glad we cleared that up. But what.. Exactly…” Reigna could feel her thoughts slipping into incoherence.

“Shh, sleep, you’ll be back soon.” The man hummed as a sweet, calming scent filled Reigna’s nose and she drifted into the dreamless blackness of chemically induced sleep.

I really need a break…