Maisie
I slipped in and out of consciousness.
The first time I opened my eyes, I was being strapped to the seat of a private jet. The second time was during touch down. I was lifted like cargo into the backseat of a limousine with the Queen's crest.
I barely took note of the dark haired guard speaking in hushed tones from the front seat before I was dragged under again.
The third time, I saw only darkness. There was something over my head—a hood?—or maybe I was in a sack of some sorts. The hands carrying me shifted and the fabric over my face shifted enough that I caught sight of red roofs, lush gardens, high pillars of gold that ran all the way up to the skies, marbles polished to such perfection that I caught a glimpse of my reflection against them.
I was in a sack.
My eyelids drooped again, no matter how hard I tried to leave them open.
