More dark writing. Unfinished.

Her thin summer dress does not bode well for the icy prison she finds herself in. The empress drowsily awakens, quickly noticing how awful her head feels. She touches the back of her head, and recoils in shock once she feels moisture.

"....huh...?"

The empress can barely feel her fingers or toes, but she manages to stand up...

Only to find she can't go very far. The harsh metallic clinking of chains, the heavy braces bound to her wrists and ankles.

Anxious breath hangs in the air.

"Hello?" The empress croaks, "Is anybody here?"

She shudders. What was she doing here? Why didn't anyone dress her more appropriately if they were going to imprison her somewhere cold?

This deathly chill...it brings back memories of a heartless realm she visited long ago. Back when she was mortal.

What horrific battles she had fought. When she escaped, she vowed to return with a heart to bring life back into that realm. 

But this prison isn't of the nightmare realm. It's intentionally crafted. Was it built specifically to house her?

She looks around, trying to keep herself warm. This prison is pristine. Not a speck of dust or smudge of dirt anywhere.

Clean, flat walls with frost particles. Slippery smooth floor, clear enough to see one's own reflection. Her own claws can barely get a grip onto it.

On the ceiling was a single large silver disc. Engraved on it was her own name.

Tall as she is, she can't reach the disc. She can't even leap.

The empress flexes her shoulders, only to find that her translucent wings are absent. But how?

There's no back pain at all, they weren't removed with surgical means or brute force. Her back felt like it never had wings in the first place.

She swallows thickly, trying not to panic. But hot tears prick at her eyes, swiftly cooling.

Returning to a fetal position, the empress tries harnessing the emotion of love and the warmth it emanates... but the love she conjures up feels so distant. Just out of reach.

Is she out of reach as well?

--

Clutching the leather sofa tightly, Empurress shuddered. Ganthor lightly carressed her hand with his own.

"I'm right here." He said. "Nothing will hurt you."

A nervous gulp, and cold sweat dotted her forehead.

"Your majesty. Please. Tell us what you can remember." The psychiatrist spoke, clipboard at the ready.

One deep breath, and Empurress recounts her tale.

"...I woke up...in a cold icy room. There was frost everywhere, and me being in a thin sundress... it was bad. Nothing in the holding cell but me, the shackles biting into my fur, and a disc on the ceiling. My full name was engraved. Someone or something built this cell with me in mind...and...I was finally captured."

"After assessing my surroundings, I found my voice was scratchy, and my head was injured. I curled up in a ball to keep myself warm, thinking warm thoughts, you know... but... it hardly did anything."

"I tried not to panic! Really! I know how bad panicking is--"

Empurress was interrupted with a squeeze.

"You tried to be calm. We can only remain calm for so long. it's okay."

Taking a minute to reassess herself, she continues.

"It was...dim, too. No source of light. No light means...no wings. It was like my captor or captors had studied every last piece of me."

"It was just you in there?"

"it was just me...and then I fell asleep again. I didn't smell anything funny, I just...somehow drifted off again."