A thrill ran through Rosalyn, that comforting excitement that happened when she hit a viewer milestone. There was nothing else like having so many people pay attention to what she was doing, creating, exploring, accomplishing. It almost made her forget for a moment the pure peril she was surely in.

She took in a deep, ragged breath. If she treated this experience like any other stream, it should be okay. If they thought this was staged content for their enjoyment, then fuck, she’d make it enjoyable. If KC believed her and was trying to figure out from the outside how to get her out, then she could just focus on surviving and attempting to be entertaining.

And maybe avoiding pain and death. A lump formed in her throat as she reached up, pressing her palm against her chest where the ropes of fire had been. Maybe she should ask Rhizaid about the heir. She had to find that guy before the demon wizard got bored of waiting and dragged her back. And maybe along the way she could figure out if she could learn some kind of defense against his magic.

She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be a human in this world, or what the player character would be if the game had worked normally. Could she learn magic if the demons could? Or maybe there was some kind of special talisman or defensive items she could gather that would negate his pain spells. Or maybe something that could break the rope thing altogether so she would be fully free of him.

She couldn’t help but wonder if she made it home without breaking the spell...would he still be able to...

She shook her head. There was no use worrying about that at this point, when the way home seemed so far away. It didn’t just feel far away...it felt impossible.

Rosalyn sucked in her cheeks until it was almost painful, letting them go with a sigh. “Focus, focus, focus,” she said, allowing herself to fall into a monologuing mindset. If she was going to treat this like a regular stream, then she was going to talk to her audience like she normally would. “I gotta get myself out of here.”

Her eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness, but somehow there were no gaps or seams in the wood to let any of the outside light in at all. So despite her pupils likely being massive, she could just barely make out the shapes of things.

“First priority is water,” she said, moving carefully towards the back where all the jugs had been. She didn’t want to step on any of the glass—she didn’t know where it was, but she’d rather not find out by stepping in it. “Here’s hoping I can find it in the dark. Or that the bitch actually has it in here and wasn’t tricking me.”

She felt around, her hand closing around a cool hard lip of something. It was smooth and as big around as her wrist, with a softer texture in the top, like a cork. She gripped the sides and twisted it back and forth until it popped free, and she gagged at the scent that assaulted her nostrils.

“Oh god, that’s not water,” she gasped, huffing out hard to avoid breathing in the stench as she jammed the cork back in. She felt along the shelf to the next jug. “Pray for me.” She popped the cork on that one, and wasn’t immediately hit with anything nasty. In fact, there was no smell at all. She leaned in, hovering her nose over the mouth and inhaling deep. “It kinda smells earthy, like clay...but that’s gotta be the jug, right? People make jugs out of clay. There’s like, rivers and shit here. So, there’s got to be clay, that they cast into pottery, right?”

She shoved a finger down into the top, but couldn’t reach anything. She tilted the jug towards her, until some of the liquid inside reached her fingers.

“It feels like water,” she mused. “It’s not like melting my skin off or anything.” She tilted it further, and cupped her hand, managing to catch a little in her palm from what she was sloshing onto the floor. “Here goes nothing...” She leaned in and touched the tip of her parched tongue into it, and the tepid water somehow tasted like ambrosia. As soon as she felt some relief to her thirst, she suddenly needed it, and bent down, putting her face beneath the jug and pouring the water onto her face. She gulped as much as she could get into her mouth, no longer caring whether it would make her sick or be some kind of demon water that would kill her somehow.

Finally, she was soaked and the jug was mostly empty. Rosalyn gasped for breath as she pushed it back into place and replaced the cork.

“Ugh, so much better,” she sputtered, patting her wet fabric-covered belly. It had maybe not been smart to drown herself like that, but she couldn’t help it. Now she could think more clearly about her escape.

Just as she was about to close her eyes to see if KC had said anything more, the wagon lurched to one side, and she staggered, falling to her hands and knees. Sharp pains lanced through her palms, and she grunted, trying to fling herself from the floor.

“Found the glass,” she moaned, and then the wagon pitched again, throwing her further forward. She threw her hands back down to avoid going face-first into the sharp mess, a low whine escaping her throat as she shredded her palms.

The wagon jostled, and despite being a tad disoriented, she felt like it was moving backwards. Was Rhizaid backing into something? A laugh bubbled up from Rosalyn’s throat as she pictured the demon parking the wooden box in a double garage in suburbia. This distracted her from the throbbing wetness on her hands for all of a split second before the wagon lurched to a stop, putting pressure on her palms for a third time.

“Fuuuuck,” Rosalyn hissed, huffing and puffing a few times to attempt to breathe through the pain. “This is okay,” she wheezed. “It’s not as bad as that magic shit. I’m okay. It’s fine.”

She moaned, gingerly lifting her hands and sitting back on her heels. She reached up, but before she could even grab on to a shelf above her, curling her fingers made her nerve endings scream in pain. She drew in a sharp breath and instead tried to push her forearm against something lower, carefully bringing one of her feet beneath her and hoping she could avoid stepping on any of the glass.

The door to the wagon opened then, with a creak and a bang, as if Rhizaid had flung it hard. The demon was nowhere to be seen, though, and Rosalyn squinted, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the light outside.

“Out you come, little thing,” the demon called in a singsong voice, like the trill of a bird.

Rosalyn quivered, not wanting to move for a myriad of reasons. Blood and glass, yes, but now that she could see the cage bars awaiting her, she didn’t want to go in. “You can’t seriously expect me to walk into your fucking cage.” Beyond the bars stood an intricately-carved wall made of some kind of stone, and a silvery brazier with flickering flames alight inside.

“Ah ah,” Rhizaid replied, finally appearing around the back side of the thick shiny bars. “It’s your cage. Come-come.”

“Um, how about no?” Rosalyn forced as much bravado into her voice as she could. “There’s broken glass everywhere and I’m bleeding.”

“And soaking wet,” Rhizaid added, clucking her tongue. “I see you found the water and made a right mess of yourself. The quicker you get into your cage, the quicker I can find dry things for you.”

Rosalyn gritted her teeth, an involuntary shiver betraying her. “I’m not walking through broken glass just to be a prisoner.”

“Oh, you’re not a prisoner,” the demon purred, dancing her fingers up the metal beams. “You are my most prized pet. I will take excellent care of you, once we get to know each other better and I know everything that you need.”

“I need to not be bleeding and not be kept in a damn cage!” Rosalyn snapped, an edge of insanity to her tone.

Rhizaid didn’t seem affected in the slightest by her new pet’s upset. She was cool as a cucumber, patiently awaiting her orders being followed.

Rosalyn glared at her, but withered as warm liquid slithered down her middle finger and dribbled to the floor and bile rose in her throat at the feeling. She’d never thought she was grossed out by blood—but she’d never had so much of her own pouring from her torn flesh before.

“Fuck,” she muttered, and looked around for something to help her navigate the glass. She settled on a chunk of wood next to her, using her elbow to knock it to the floor of the wagon with a clatter. She nudged it flat and then carefully walked across it, jumping to the edge of the box where the door was.

She peered out like a terrified cat moving to a new house, poking her head out to look around. To either side were more cages, more shiny bars, other living things encased inside. None of them looked humanoid to her, and she briefly wondered if any were intelligent enough to talk before Rhizaid spoke up.

“You sure made a mess of my stuff, little thing,” she cooed. “But that’s okay. It’ll all get cleaned up, just like you. Come-come. Down now.”

Rosalyn’s gut knotted with dread. This bitch really thought of her as some kind of wild animal to capture as a pet. Her head spun. “I think I’m losing too much blood,” she murmured, and made the mistake of looking at her hands. Her vision blurred as she took in her slick, crimson palms, and she staggered from the back of the wagon, fumbling her landing.

The bottom of the cage was soft, like mossy dirt, so thankfully when she hit it on her side she didn’t clonk her head off of anything hard. Her head still spun, though, and the moaned low in her throat.

“That’s it,” Rhizaid cooed. “You go on and rest up.” She grunted and there was a great squeak and clang, presumably her securing the cage behind her prize. “I’ll be back shortly to clean you up with some dry stuff.”

Rosalyn opened her mouth to respond, wishing she had something, anything snarky to say, some kind of snappy one-liner, something cool that would make her seem like a badass in the face of grave danger. But she couldn’t muster anything.

All she could think of was that if she did happen to bleed out in this cage...at least she’d wake up back in the woods.