As her eyes open her limbs flexed in shock. There is a liquid in them, around her entire body too. Tubes run up each nostril and all that meets her skin was the warm glass that surrounds. There was binding on the limbs and around the neck. Without a conscious thought, a choice, her body did what any must to survive. Every muscle is stronger than it should ever be and there is no mental restraint on the force she could use. Snapped bones are preferable to death. In this way her captors have underestimated her strength. The liquid rushes out of the newly shattered glass and she stepped out, bindings in place but their anchor points free.

She wanted to stand but for the moment her legs have given way to gravity, shaky, weak. The retching goes on for so long she lost track of time and then she realize what the stench is. This wasn't water at all, it's a preservative of some kind. She blinked, blurriness fading, surroundings more crisp. The coldness of the air is more apparent, stealing the warmth given to her by the foul concoction that has swept over the grey floor. She wanted to use all five senses, get a feel for whatever this was, but the foul odor dominates the air and the chill freezes her skin and the little brain power she can muster.

Snap. It was a nightmare. Another one.

The lazy wind pushes against the unmown grass like a child sending dandelion seeds on their way: one o'clock, two o'clock, three. Above the white wisps trail and the late spring sun brings a welcoming warmth that coats her as good as caramel over a harvest apple. Her clock said it is near noon and she laid down here at ten, yet somehow the memory of the time is no more than ten minutes, twenty at the most. With a long exhale she can detect the tell tale signs that her brain is still waking from a nap, there are the vestiges of a dream, turning in nonsensical ways, grasping to remain. Then from nowhere comes the memory of where Fleur's supposed to be by this time and before the dream can reassert itself her feet are taking her down the knoll to the path below.

Rough and shaggy like uncombed hair, coarse, blue-green grass, long and unkempt, meadow grass waving and rustling in the breeze, pale and stiff with frost, damp and springy, almost black in the twilight, short like a bowling green, interspersed with weeds and meadow flowers, an expanse of uniform green, brown patches from the intense summer sun and lack of rain, manicured lawn with neat crisp edges, the raggedy grass lay under the brittle leaves in it's shaggy autumnal decrepitude, soft sun-warmed grass of early summer, lush and thick grass of the river bank. The park was nothing like those of the smaller towns. Theirs were miniature formal gardens for the elderly that had retired there for the quiet life. They had benches, ornamental trees, flowers year round and water fountains in clear lakes that were stocked with Koi carp. But not here. Not in the big town. Here a park meant acres of concrete interspersed with neat grass verges. Hargeon Town had rollerblading tracks, tennis courts, basketball courts, water parks and skate boarder basins. There were vendors with hotdogs and burgers, vendors with curry and rice, vendors with tacos and sour cream. There's always music, sometimes clashing from various sources, none of them official. It didn't have color from roses or asters, but it was more vibrant than any planned garden. Fleur was sure when her hair began to whiten she will move out and sit somewhere the birds can actually be heard.

All of a sudden, she spotted a few street children spraying colorful paintings with what seemed to be graffiti cans. They were dabbling everywhere. Certain walls, the floor, the list went on. While their artwork wasn't necessarily bad in any form, the fact that they were tainting the town's beautiful presence wasn't approved of. Fleur walked over to them and grabbed the cans from their hands. She didn't need to say anything but gave them an evil eye, noting that horrible things would come to them had they not stopped. Her eyes then met briefly with a police officer, in which she brought the cans to him and explained the situation; how the kids were spraying up the park in its totality. She also informed him that she already scolded them, all of which was said in the quietest voice. With the end result of the kids running off with no more graffiti cans, he thanked Fleur and rewarded her with some jewels, which she would soon spend on some food. Maybe a burger sounds nice today.