Jasper had 'more important places to be' so Tempest was left to a room full of silence.

Sometimes she treasured it.

Other times she couldn't stand it.

Now was one of those times.

If you're going to be useful for anything you could atleast keep me busy Crew. Hell make a fuss or start meowing for all I care. Tempest mused to herself as she petted his tiny head.

It's safe to say she wasn't an affectionate being but his small and beautiful features were hard to resist admiring.

I have to do something.

Tempest stood from the bed, tying her hair in a knot and covering it with her beloved black hat.

From unfortunate experience, she knew that staying still was the worst thing she could do in these moods.

The insanity would slowly take over her.

First with a twitch of her fingers.

Then her legs would bounce.

Her breathing would increase.

Her mind would go blank, save for the memory of their commands replaying on a loop in her mind.

'Be silent child.'

They'd boom as they pulled out a weapon of choice.

It only took a single sound from one child and the entire room would suffer.

For the witnesses, not by meeting the end of a blade or any weapon, but by smelling the strong metalic scent of blood.

Witnessing the glossy marbel floors pool with crimson red.

Seeing how far the splatters of blood would reach up the walls.

And listening to the choking and gurgling of their companion as they'd fight with all of their might not to make another sound.

Yet being completely helpless.

That was the real torture.

It's as though every small detail about the prison was hand picked to make it the most torturous.

The lack of colour played games with their minds and drove them crazy.

If Tempest subjected herself to the silence of one room for any longer, the flashbacks would take over and she'd lose control of her sanity.

Her nails would blindly tear at her skin just to feel something familiar.

Her throat would close up and her words would be lost for weeks.

So she cradles her new companion to her chest, not wanting to leave his side, and takes off down the stairs.

"Oh hi! What you-"

Tempest doesn't wait around for Amelia to finish her prying interrogations and as per routine, slams the front door shut behind her, exiting the pale yellow beach house.

•

After restlessly storming the streets and excusing it as 'sight seeing', Tempest had her mind set on one place and one place only.

The gym.

What she really needed was the exertion. The business of a public facility and the headache inducing music they played from the speakers.

And since Jasper had only shown her one destination on the entire island, that is where she heads.

The college of Erridan.

In his yapping, she recalls Jasper ranting all about the place and how it was apparently way more interesting than your average human college.

From that she guessed that their teachings were adapted more to beings with magical abilities rather than insignificant human subjects such as English literature.

She always wondered what life skills people gained from sitting around analysing the most boring poems all day.

Tempest was glad she dodged that bullet after getting kicked out of school.

The grand stone building wasn't far from where she'd ventured on her power walk so soon enough, she was traipsing down the pavement of the driveway.

She didn't know if it was the kitten on her shoulder or her winter attire that was gaining her the judgemental looks from lingering students.

Either way, she took a mental note to invest in a more weather appropriate Jasper approved disguise to help her blend in more.

It was slowly killing her to have to cover up the piece of art that was her body with oversized woollen clothing.

After escaping captivity, fashion fast became an easy investment of hers.

Everything about the element of having access to choice for once in her life, down to the array of colours her life had been lacking, had her mind running wild.

And it didn't stop there with the alterations she'd made revolving around her body over the years.

She smoked because she could.

Drunk to say she had.

Tattooed every blank inch of her scarred body in the hopes that maybe one day, it would feel like hers.

And it was all a part of her identity disorder.

Her closet was her main way of expressing the way she felt in the moment.

She had an outfit to fit any and every aesthetic to satisfy her inevitable identity crisis'.

The sooner she was reunited with her suitcase of clothes, the sooner she'd start feeling in control.

Until then, the gym it was.