You sit on the edge of the bed with your head in your hands. You're so angry you're shaking. Back on your feet, you pace the room, letting the sheet drop to the floor as you drag your fingers through your hair.

Don't give up hope, you tell yourself. There is always a way.

You clutch at your tummy with a wince, busting to urinate. You frown at the chamber pot, then give a tearful sigh.

It's one of the most uncomfortable experiences of your life but it's done. You cover it quickly and push it under the bed so you can't look at it.

Or smell it.

Soon after, the next winged man arrives. This time, the sunlight gleams against his dark hair and skin along with the claws of his batwings. Sitting on the edge of the bed with your sheet knotted in place, you watch him as he carries in a tray of dishes and puts it on the desk. You can smell the food. A cooked breakfast. Probably bacon. Against your will, your mouth waters.

'What is your name?' you say as he collects your dirty ones.

He glances over his shoulder but doesn't answer.

You frown but don't give up, telling him your name instead. You wait, but still he doesn't respond, collecting the last of the dishes. At a rush of anger, you open your mouth, about to say something nasty, when he finally speaks, 'You have not eaten. Our master will be angry.'

'I don't care.'

'You should. You should care about him.'

You grit your teeth. 'Never.'

Lifting the tray of dirty dishes, he turns to leave.

'Wait!'

He pauses.

'Won't you ... won't you help me?' you say in a voice as high as a child's. 'I'm ... I'm frightened.'

He drops his head. His great bat wings give a little rustle of irritation. 'Don't try it,' he speaks in a voice deep with warning. 'You won't find help from us. We are loyal.' Then just like the blonde, he pushes through the door and vanishes.

The third arrives soon after. Unlike the others, you can't get a word out of him as he whisks away the chamberpot, the door thudding shut behind him.

The silence that follows is crushing. You curl up into a ball on the bed, your arms wrapped around your knees, your chin against your chest. How can such a big room suddenly feel so small? Somewhere outside a bird is singing, but it does nothing to lighten your mood.

You stare at the desk, the smell of your breakfast the only thing that seems real. You lick your lips. Your stomach growls. Finally, you sit up, then walk over. You lift up one of the closhes and discover that you were right: a steaming pile of oily bacon. You lift up the next closh. Several greasy sausages and what might be black pudding. You prod it with your finger.

Ick!

You've never been fond of meat. In fact, you've always hated the smell, the grease and fat, to the point where it makes you sick. But looking at it now, you feel a disturbing stirring inside your belly.

For the first time in your life it doesn't look so terrible.

The closh slips from your grasp, clattering to the floor as you stumble back. Not possible.

You asked me what I was. I am exactly like you as you are exactly like me. The difference is is that I'm what I'm meant to be and you are not.

You shake your head. 'No. No! I'm not a monster!' You march to the desk, pick up the plate of bacon and throw it against the wall. Bacon and grease splatter against the stone as the plate crashes to the floor. Like the closh, it's metal and the noise of it shatters the quiet, making your ears ring.

Next goes the plate of sausages and black pudding. There's a jug of drink, probably some kind of juice, which you also throw against the wall. Next goes the cutlery. There's no reason or logic to your actions; it's pure emotion, the consequences of which you don't consider.

It's unusual. It's out of character. You're usually a calm person, even in stressful situations. The only thing left is a knife, but just before you throw it you stop yourself.

You gaze at it a moment, looking at your reflection in the metal of the blade. At the sound of footsteps approaching the door, you look around the room quickly, then thrust it under your pillow. All you can do is hope that whoever it is doesn't notice.

You brace your back against one of the bedposts as the door opens. Your heart is pounding. Is it the winged men or is it that despicable monster? Or maybe someone or something even worse?

The door opens. It's the winged men, all three of them this time. You gaze at their wings in envy. If only you had your own you could get out of this horrible situation and fly back home.

You brace your back harder against the bedpost as they look at the mess you've made. One frowns. One shakes his head. The third simply stares.

'What do you want now?' you say, trying to sound braver than you feel.

The blonde man turns to you and raises a crystal jar. It catches the light, making it glare in your eyes, and it takes you a few moments to realise what's inside.

Your eyes narrow. 'Keep that away from me.'

'Master's orders,' he says.

You back away. You might not know for sure what the point of the lotion is but you're not stupid; you can make a pretty good guess. It smells like him. Whatever it is, it contains something of his inside it. You don't want to think what. You really don't want to think what. The thought makes you want to gag.

Stop thinking what!

'Keep away!' you cry as they advance.

Stumbling backwards, you look around you in futility. Fireplace. Desk. Knife. Bed. Windows!

You rush over to the nearest one and leap onto the ledge. 'Come any closer and I'll jump!' You grip the window edge desperately. 'I swear it! If you come any closer, I'll do it!'

The three men look at each other uncertainly. The dark one is shaking his head. The blonde one doesn't move. But the third suddenly rushes across the room. You scream and lose your grip. Your stomach flips sickeningly as you feel yourself falling.