#& chapter 1.

Some time following their introduction to the kingdom, and after Cecile had calmed herself down considerably, she figures it’s prudent to look around. There was no point in running around like a chicken with its head cut off-- if she could find some sort of way out in this place, or at least a way to contact someone, then they would be rescued before things got too bad. 

Or, she thinks bitterly, tapping her way through the castle halls, I can slice the heads off those stuffed toys with one sweep. 

So far, her walk around had consisted of wandering around outdoors and, once she’d steeled herself to return inside, an annoying amount of locked doors. Why have so many rooms if they couldn’t access any of them? Every knob she rattles to no avail leads her to sigh world-wearily, giving it a look like it’d personally offended her and her family before moving on. 

Eventually she wanders into the kitchen, however, which is thankfully open. As she takes in the immense amount of food, her thoughts wander to her room, which she’d also looked at briefly, if only to set things down. It didn’t have a fridge, but... if I get non-perishables, she thinks, I won’t have to worry about encountering others for meals. With that in mind, she rifles around until she can locate a large pot and begins steadily filling it with food that didn’t need to be refrigerated.

It was a pretty smart plan, she thought, until she heard the sound of someone else entering the room. After all, though the idea behind it was practical, being caught with a big pot full of random foods wasn’t the most refined position. Immediately she fixes the intruder with a cold, blank look, frozen with one hand reaching out for a box of crackers and the pot balanced on her hip. There’s an uncomfortable silence on her end, and then--

“Well? Are you going to stand there as if you are a deer in the road? Did you need something? I am not occupying the whole kitchen, am I?”

The whole debacle with the bus ride should have been an indicator for how the rest of Cecile’s day was going to go, she thinks. She never took public transport unless necessary for a reason, and when she did, she spent much of the time with earbuds shoved just all the way in her ears to discourage people speaking to her. None of those rides had ended so poorly as to have her waking up in an unfamiliar location, at least, staring blankly at a... frog. 

Cecile would, though reluctantly, admit that her language comprehension was below average indeed-- but really, even if she could completely understand what was being said, none of it made any sense. A kingdom? A frog and a dog? Quests? Her mouth opens, as if to object at the idea of having to fight for someone-- or even be on a team, which was not her cup of tea-- but then the word murder comes up. That was one she understood, sure, but she wasn’t sure why it was being said now. It didn’t seem wildly relevant. 

Injury wasn’t something Cecile was unfamiliar with. As an athlete, and an athlete who fought with blades, no less, she’d come up with her fair share of scrapes before. Blood didn’t bother her much and nor, she assumed from the few movies she’d seen featuring it, did gore. But-- 

“Quel? Quel? Tu ne peux pas- Tu ne-”