Monday evening it had taken some time for Emilio to calm Petra down. She was in hysterics from Brandon having touched her, so it was more difficult than it might have been otherwise. Eventually he had to coax her into getting sleep, not leaving her side until she was asleep, and reassured that he would keep her safe.
In the morning, she woke up to the sun trying to filter in from behind the curtains, feeling afraid and confused. Cautiously, she got out from under the covers and did as she usually did — a thorough inspection of the room, to make sure nothing was lurking. As she went, she threw the curtains open, in order to decrease the number of shadows in the room. After, she analyzed herself in a mirror, and hugged herself tight before making a dash to the closet.
The clothes she was wearing were too tight, and showed too much skin. She rifled for a pair of sweatpants, socks, and a loose turtleneck. The idea was to hide her shape, and show a minimal amount of skin so as not to tantalize. Her last step was to pull her hair down, and fix it into such a fashion that it was still tied, but her bangs helped to hide her face. The goal, after all, was to be minimally noticeable. It was safer, this way.
Days were bad for Petra. She almost never had a chance to relax. Constantly, it seemed, she heard dissonant whispers, telling her things she couldn’t decipher, yet always seeming malicious. She could usually get a reprieve of sorts, with the voices staying in the background, if she watched something. For this, she liked to stick to bright, colorful fare, which typically took the form of animated movies — Disney, more often than not. The music was fun, and she could identify with the struggle in some stories — especially ones where the main character was trying to break a curse or struggle for survival. In a certain sense, it reflected her own situation (that she didn’t fully understand), and gave her some hope that she would find some light in the darkness.
Nothing else she tried helped as much. Music was just noise, and didn’t occupy her mind. Reading only seemed to encourage the whispers to st next to her ear and mock her, so she didn’t do that either. She was in the midst of Mulan when Emilio came to check on her, bring her food, and generally make sure she was ok.
Evenings were generally worse. She was always on edge, in case The Architect or The Shadow Man came to see her. Petra didn’t understand them or their motives, but knew they’d kill her if they got the chance. So she was always on edge, and always tried to have a plan ready in order to defend herself. Emilio checked in on her, before she typically went to bed, to show her that he was securing her room. It was an effort to try to help her sleep better, but it only sometimes worked.
She went to bed with a certain sense of peace that night, feeling as though something benevolent was keeping tabs on her. Relaxing a little, she climbed into bed, and was able to get to sleep, and sleep well. For a little while, at least. Sometime in the middle of the night, her dreams became nightmares. The kind with her in a dark and potentially abandoned place, being stalked and taunted by images of flashing, pointy grins and touched with tendrils made of shadow or flesh or enticing words. The kind where she is prey to their predatory nature. In these dreams, it is made clear that she is just a toy in a round of cat and mouse; a mere pawn in a game of chess.
The message in her dreams is always clear by the time she awakes — you will die. You will be devoured, and forgotten.