Annabella Stine // D3 // wip

”You’ll be my friend, won’t you? Forever and ever and ever,” the I whisper to the girl next to me. The one who was not able to speak, the one who had little stiches in her hands and feet, in her knees and elbows. She was my little puppet, my best friend, mine and mine alone. I tugged at the strings that would raise her arm, then the one that would raise her other one, and then I moved forward into her embrace, this whole time the other girls screaming a silent scream, one that was answered with my gleeful laugh. We were together, and always will be. My friend. Forever and ever.

Her Puppets

Deja Hatcher
12 | female | Marree | Liliana Murny

I've always had aspirations of being a dancer, those dreams even going back to when I was as young as four. I still do actually, it's my way of speaking. I get to express myself, both my joys and my sorrows, along with my frustrations. I used to dance to tell my stories, the fluid movements of my body painting a picture that was as beautiful as it was descriptive. Every spin, every toe point, every single one of my movements was a part of my story and it was special to me. Something as missing though, I felt empty, I didn't have anyone to share it with, no one to talk to about...anything. I wanted that one person I could talk to about anything for real, I wanted to have sleepovers with her, and do all those cute girly things.

I was always that cute, little girl with the flaming red hair that would more often than not be the one to observe the conversation rather than join in. I was happy with my life, aside from having no one to call a friend; I wanted for nothing else. Little did I know that I'd no longer need a friend when I met the Stines... what I didn't know was that the cost of having that friend would be my freedom. I no longer could dance for myself, it was always at the bidding of another, always for her! This wasn't what I thought having a friend would be like. I thought I wanted a friend...but now...now I don't know, cause I'm a prisoner in my own body.

Cadman Gertz
15 | male | Loony | John-Alan Slacha

My father would carry me to bed when I fell asleep on the couch, and in his warm embrace he would whisper "You are strong, Cadman. It's in your name." Then he would set me in my bed, and kiss my forehead and walk away. I wish I could live to his expectations, I wish I could be strong. But how can one be strong when they are not in control. I've been this sick kid's toy for almost two years. I was angry, because I wasn't going to let these sickos keep me in their demented reality. So I fought back, to make my father proud, to be strong. But as time went by I realized escape was futile. The strength was seeped from me every time the drug that paralyzed me was injected. I became weak, giving in to these demented games. I am the shell of the boy my father lost, no longer strong or resilient. I have accepeted my current position, my only hope is that some day I will be strong again.

My name may be Cadman, but I am not strong. I am a toy.

Bella Voldaren
15 | female | Annastasia | Sierra Corwin

She's sort of a compulsive girl, she was once full of energy and ready to take on the world, but since being taken captive she's noticeably changed. She had much less energy, and her will to fight has long since diminished. She would much rather just let herself be played with then struggle fruitlessly to escape. Even when she's alone and able to talk to her fellow captives she rarely speaks, she would rather stare off into the void that is her imagination. That's the only place she can be happy now, the feigned happiness the is forced to show when she's played with makes it all that more painful for her. It's gotten to the point where she doesn't really even know what true happiness is, is it the happiness she's forced to have when she's played with or is it something else entirely.