Standing alone at the city Fairgrounds the woman turned her seaweed green eyes upwards at the purple banners that had been long raised, torn to shreds and tattered with time and weather. She took a difficult breath inwards, then outwards, knowing what laid ahead would be difficult. She took a few steps inward and started to walk. Spoiler: Warning of Themes Abuse, domestic abuse, violence, mild paranoia mentions. The first turn, snow raised down heavily, her breath fogged as it left her mouth. She was back in the past, looking at the figure of Varis, as the purple cloaked figured strode over with a smirk, introducing himself. She felt her heart ease at his arrival. The second turn, of them running through a maze, laughing and playing games with each other, a small smile on his face. Finally reaching the end - the prize in the middle. The fourth turn, now she was getting lost, a bottle smashing against the wall, drunken words of rage slipping through Varis's tounge, hot-headed and quick to anger, shouting words of jealousy to a bewildered Yala. Fifth turn, now her panic had began to set in, a cold dark and cramped cell, barely enough light to seep through. The warm summer sun filtering through the cracks in her bars. The stench of blood and her right arm covered in the old wounds, the chains flicking on the ground as she dragged herself forward. She could see his eyes through the maze walls. But suddenly, a brilliant light showed through, strong enough to make Yala blink. A man stood at the entrance of her cell, extending a hand in welcome. Not Varis. Not anyone she really knew. The broken and feeble bodied half-starved woman dragged herself forward, the chains melting off with a simple touch. As her breath evened, Yala made her way through the maze with a stride, she remembered then she fled, a certain vigor back in her body. She had survived. She had escaped. Away from Varis. The survivor picked up the broken pieces..and ended up at the end of the maze. A soft smile escaped her lips, as the worn table rested with two chairs, long forgotten under an arch. She took a seat, and stared straight at the invisible savior, not entirely here or there, missing but not forgotten. She closed her eyes and could picture him, silver eyes with glasses, the cane he walked with, the drab clothing he always wore. The woman gave a stretchy, extending her arms. "So Fivin, ready to have a chat?"
