Gunpowder & flower stalls

Mr.Carrot? Mr.Carrot, where did you go?

The scream left C's lips as a small, soft and vicious creature leapt onto her - it's nonexistent claws digging into her as she began to thrash around.

It was pointless however because as soon as the thing had a grip on her she felt herself start to slip through the floor, fingers digging into the cracked concrete helplessly.

It was all for nothing however as she felt her head start to slip through the floor and desperately took in one last, long, lungfull gulp of air in an attempt to last just that little longer. It was unnaturally dark so she couldn't even see what gremlin had grabbed her but she knew that whatever it was it didn't intend to kill her via physical means.

She'd be long dead if that was the case.

As her oxygen began to slip out against her will, the floor squeezing her lungs far too harshly, she felt (somehow) her vision giving out on her. It wasn't the loss of vision because she couldn't even make out her fingertips in front of her eyes as she tried once again to crawl out,it was the feeling of her eye lashes fluttering against her cheeks.

She knew something magic was messing with her when she heard the voices:

"The pretty thing, pretty pretty thing!"

"No no. Already marked. Water and coal. We no touchey."

"But why dat on dem then? Little ratty deamon thingie!? Explained that!"

She could hear the childish contempt in the things voices, the first was creaky like an old door, the second squeaky like a church mouse and the final one was unhinged and reminded her of that nonexistent thing at the bottom of the lake back home.

That nonexistent thing that had grabbed at her, that had tried to steal her away and drown her, that thing that had whispered to her in that childish tone, that thing that had ripped her skin and left unexplained bruises and the thing that had left the mark on her shoulder blade that looked like an angler fish with hands in a ring of rotting pondweed.

It was all too much and she felt like screaming and swearing and crying and keeping everything locked away at once.

Then, then she was hitting the ground, she was breathing and her eyes felt like they were bleeding from the pain the bright lights inflicted upon them. She let out an abrupt gasp as air rushed her system, and her head proceeded to spin and pound like a war drum  as she forced herself to sit up.

When her eyes adjusted to the light she felt a tired disillusionment as she recognised the place that the things had taken her too and was more angry than anything when she was finally able to identify the thing on her chest.

It look unassuming to anybody else. It was, to anybody else. But Mr.Carrot hated her. The plush sentinel was a worn orange, faded with time and loving use and its black glass eyes flashed red as she picked it off of her and threw it at the fire place in the corner. The flames took ahold before it could escape but she knew it would be back.

The damn thing always was.

She was unsteady on her feet, but she forced herself not to stumble into the wall. She knew this unruly little place well enough to know not to touch anything.

She didn't believe in anything other than slight of hand and magicians tricks until she'd first came to this place. She still refused to believe in windigos but after the little shit show she'd just been forced through she was reconsidering.

Taking in a deep breath she was met with the homes usual scent. Dried medicine herbs, breakfast tea and decaying books. There was also the hint of something distinctly spicy and thinking of it, it was probably thanks to the mysterious owner of the damned plush that she could see in the doorway holding the door for her mockingly.

"Fuck you."

She made sure to kick the toy down the stairs as she hobbled out of the room, oxygen deprivation wasn't apparently something the houses residents understood, and allowed herself to enjoy a respite on the landings banister.

From her perch she could see the expensive furnishings that always seemed to change every time she entered through the front door. Her Magician friend had said something about it being cognitive.

The fancifulness of the home was all due to C perceiving it as such. To each occupant it was something different, a mix and match of eras and furniture. Now that she wasn't out of one of the many rooms that changed location constantly she let the landings new scent envelop her.

It still smelt of tea and spices but this time instead of the herbs and decaying books that the fire room held this time the air was embedded with the smell of blood and what could only be described as electricity. It reminded her of the bad aftermath of a storm.

"C!"

Before she could react she felt herself nearly tumble over the banister as five foot something inches and a far too few pounds of Mexican girl bounded into her - Mr.Carrot clinging to her should smugly.

Lazy fucker.

"Hey Sofi."