June woke to the sound of dripping water. Her head throbbed, and her body ached. Her arms were bound tightly behind her back, the rough rope digging into her skin. The air was damp and stale, carrying a faint stench of rot.
She blinked, her vision adjusting to the dim light of a single bulb swaying from the ceiling. She was lying on a cold, hard surface—concrete, she realized with a shudder.
Her stomach twisted as she took in her surroundings. The room was small and windowless, the walls covered in peeling paint and streaks of dirt. Panic set in, her breaths coming quick and shallow.
"Welcome to hell," a hoarse voice said.
June turned her head sharply. In the corner of the room, a girl with fiery red hair sat with her knees pulled to her chest. Her sunken eyes bore into June, her expression grim.
June’s voice came out in a croak. "Where... where am I?"
The girl didn’t answer. She simply nodded toward the far side of the room.
Two more girls sat there, their faces pale and gaunt, shadows clinging to their hollowed cheeks. One looked young—no older than sixteen—with jet-black hair falling in limp strands over her face. Her hands trembled as she clutched the hem of her dress, fingers pulling at the frayed edges. The other girl, taller and older, sat with her back straight and her jaw clenched. Her icy blue eyes locked onto June, unblinking, assessing. Unlike the younger girl, she radiated a quiet, almost terrifying calmness.
June’s gaze flickered over their dresses—strange, old-fashioned things, like something out of a vintage photograph. The fabric, though clean, was faded, the muted colors only adding to the surreal, eerie air of the room.
"Don’t look at him like that," the taller girl hissed suddenly, her voice sharp as a blade. June snapped her head toward her, startled. The girl leaned forward, her tone low and urgent. "When he comes back, keep your head down. Don’t speak unless he asks you something."
June frowned, her mouth dry. "Why? Who is he? What does he want—"
"Stop," the younger girl whispered, cutting her off. Her voice was barely audible, trembling as much as her hands. "You’ll make him mad."
The taller girl shot a warning glance at the younger one before turning back to June. "Listen to me," she said, her words slow and deliberate. "You do exactly what he says. Smile. Nod. Obey. It’s the only way you’ll survive."
June’s stomach twisted, panic clawing at her chest. "Survive?" she whispered.
The taller girl leaned back, her expression hardening again. "You’ll see," she said flatly. "Just don’t make him angry. You don’t want to know what happens when he’s angry."
The door creaked open, and June flinched. A man stepped inside, the same one who had taken her. His gaunt face twisted into a sickening smile, his hollow eyes gleaming with delight. He carried a tray with bowls of watery soup.
"Good morning, my flowers," he said cheerfully, his tone unnervingly soft. "You’re all looking so lovely today."
June froze, her body rigid with terror. She opened her mouth to scream, but the red-haired girl moved quickly, clamping a hand over June’s mouth. "Don’t," she hissed. "It’ll only make it worse."
The man approached June, crouching in front of her. "Orchid," he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You’re going to be my most perfect bloom yet."
Her heart pounded in her chest as rage overtook her fear. She spat at him, the glob landing on his cheek. His smile faded, and for a moment, she thought she’d won.
Then he struck her, his hand lashing across her face with brutal force. Her head snapped to the side, pain radiating through her skull.
"You’ll learn manners," he said coldly, standing to his full height. "All of you will."
June glared at him, blood trickling from her split lip. “You’re insane,” she hissed, her voice trembling.
He chuckled darkly, his smile returning. "Insane?" he said, tilting his head. "No, my dear. I’m an artist. And you—you’re my canvas."