There had always been a lot of things going on in Isabella's mind. When she had been only a child, she had always worried about her image, her looks; the perception that other people had of her. When she grew older, her mind –which should have become her favorite place for escapism- had turned against her. She would constantly find new things to notice, to worry, to cry about. She was constantly wishing she could stop thinking, stop worrying, but her mind had remained undefeated. And while a young Isabella was trying to get used to the changes of middle school –and failing miserably- her mind kept on attacking her.

She had talked about it with her parents. Seeking for help and reassurance in her family. She knew that they had noticed strange things going on with her. After all, it wasn't normal for an eight-year-old kid to suffer from anxiety and stress. So her parents had taken her to see a therapist.

She thinks too much, the therapist had told her parents. There was nothing that could be done about it. And so Isabella went on.

Her first panic attack happened when she had just turned eleven. She had been invited to a classmate's party for her first time since third grade and she was nervous, terrified. Her mind, always the devil, became a spiral of possibilities behind why she had really been invited. Maybe it was a prank, maybe it wasn't. Whatever it was, she never got to know. Because her throat started closing up while she was in her parents' car going to the party, soon she felt like she couldn't breathe and when black dots started blurring her vision, Isabella gave up and fainted.

By the time she was a seventh grade student, things had gotten worse. Being thirteen was already hard enough, but with Isabella's disheartening mind, it was the closest to hell she had ever felt. Her thoughts were always a dark cloud fluting from side to side, full of harmful words and discouraging phrases. But the worst happened when that same cloud rained. Those days, Isabella could barely stand the pain building in her chest and the tears, threatening to leave a mark in her face, if she allowed herself to shed.

Something was wrong with her. Something was wrong with her mind.

She had always known it was true. And that made everything worse. Because she couldn't deny it, because her parents knew it, her therapist knew it and her classmates suspected it.

Her thoughts and the pain were eating her alive when she first started reading. She had never read for pleasure before but one night, when her thinking was keeping her awake and she could feel the faint sensation of her throat betraying her once again; she picked up a book and began to read. All, to distract herself.

And so it began.

Her mind calmed down, and Isabella realized that books and the worlds that lived inside the pages were the form of escapism she had always looked for. Soon her room was full of books and, while time went by, so did Isabella's love for reading. She was fourteen when she first read Throne of Glass, and she would be lying if she said that Aelin's journey did not captivate her.

After that, the war broke down. It was not safe to go anywhere, if one did, they probably never came back. The government started kidnapping people, safe with the cover of the night, while during the day, they shot bullets at anyone who they deemed suspicious.

The people rebelled.

The victims started taking people away, too. And bullets began to come from all sides. No matter what you did, who you stood with or who you prayed to, death was always walking next to you. Isabella heard her parents talking about international aid not long before her fifteenth birthday. They never came. Instead, by the time she was fifteen, soldiers from other countries took advantage of her people's situation and a civil war turned into a new and modern form of colonization. Then, two days after her sixteen birthdays, the soldiers took her parents. Bombs were thrown. Afterwards, they took her as a prisoner of war. She was taken to their camp and she noticed that there were many like her in their camp. All girls.

And Isabella's mind, which had finally acted normal for years thanks to the new worlds she had discovered, shattered. Her thoughts were like broken pieces of glass, piercing deep into every part of her and she couldn't run away from any of that. Isabella realized, after a month of being held captive, after a month of barely eating, of terrible hygiene and horrible thoughts; that she had never known real pain until the day they came. There was no running away, no exit, no escape. Not from her mind. Not from them. But she did try. And sometimes, when they would choose another girl instead of her, and when she allowed herself to try to sleep, she would remember the worlds she had visited long ago.

Everything is a trick of the mind. It had always been like that. She had gone crazy a long time ago, maybe had always been. And maybe that was why she hadn't had a normal reaction after encountering Rowan Whitethorn. Or after meeting Lorcan or Fenrys. Not even Remelle. But now that she could understand them, now that they spoke to her and she could answer them...now, her mind had really outdone itself. That's what Isabella thought.

Isabella remembered Remelle and her power. She knew she could speak any tongue. But she hadn't known that she could make other people speak the language she wanted. Maybe Sarah J Maas had never mentioned it in the books but rather in an interview, or Isabella had read it and forgotten about that detail. Or maybe she had gone too crazy. The latter sounded like the most reasonable option to her. But nothing changed the fact that Fenrys was trying to talk with Lorcan –who looked annoyed by the young male trying to establish a conversation with him- and that she knew exactly what Fenrys was talking about (Fenrys wanted to buy new boots and was trying to convince Lorcan to buy himself a new pair, too). Or that Rowan and Gavriel were close to the tent's door, whispering to each other, and that from time to time Isabella would catch some of the words they were exchanging and she knew those words. It was as if the world had been silent since she had escaped, and now everyone was screaming and she could hear everything again. Needless to say, Isabella felt both anxious and excited.

She had prevented herself from screaming at everyone ever since Remelle had left the tent. She had expected an interrogation from the males, but they had just been in their own world (hahah, funny) talking with each other and ignoring her. She didn't know which one she preferred. From the other side of the tent, Gavriel coughed. Isabella looked at him and saw him walking towards the table in front of her. Rowan followed him. Gavriel sat in front of her while Rowan stood behind him, his gaze locked on her and his arms crossed over his chest. Soon, both Lorcan and Fenrys came to the table, too. Fenrys took a seat almost next to her while Lorcan remained standing next to Rowan. Aw. BFF.

And so the interrogation began.

"Good evening" said Gavriel, and Isabella had to physically stop herself from laughing by pricking the side of her hand. Because, c'mon, those were the first words that he had chosen to say to her? She knew he was a gentleman but there was not really a need for formalities. Not anymore, at least. They had been seeing each other every day ever since their capture.

Isabella allowed herself a minute to consider her options: she could answer him and all of their questions the best she could and only hope that they would also answer hers, or she could remain silent and test their patience and reactions. She had once heard that the best way to truly know someone's nature was by making them get angry at you, and to analyze their reactions. Naturally, Isabella's second option sounded more entertaining in the long run because she would love to see four powerful males losing their shit to a nineteen-year-old human girl. The first option, however, was probably the one that would benefit her the most. She wanted answers, too.

"It's night," she muttered. They all looked a little taken aback by the fact that she had actually spoken. They were probably expecting her to do to them as she had done with Remelle.

Gavriel offered her a kind smile, "Sorry, what did you say?" he asked.

Isabella sighed and rolled her eyes in a fake show of confidence. She had to show to them that she was not scared –even if a small part of her was- and that she would not be easy to trick. She would be getting her answers. And for that, an image of mockery and arrogance should help. Or at least, she hoped. "I said it's night already. Not evening".

She expected an incredulous look from the male's side but Gavriel's face remained the same: a kind smile. Oh damn, he was good at interrogating and not revealing anything. She had expected it, they were all hundreds of years old anyway, but it still surprised her a little.

"You are right. My bad..." he trailed and she realized that he was waiting for her to complete his sentence with her name.

"Isabella" was all she said.

Gavriel nodded, "Isabella" and it appeared to her that it was as if he were testing how the word sounded in his lips. "It's nice to finally meet you properly, Isabella," he continued. "My name is Gavriel, but you already knew that" he said and dropped his smile. He had not asked her if she did because he already knew she did. He wanted, however, for her to admit it and confess how, she realized.

She shrugged. "It was a lucky shot. Gavriel is a very common name. I know plenty of Gavriels so I took my chance. Turned out I was right" she teased him, referring to the time when they had first met and Isabella was so confused, tired and stunned by the whole situation that she had blurted out all of their names and things she had always wanted to say to her favorite book characters. A silly move from her part but she had been overwhelmed and, in her defense, she was sure that everything was a creation from her imagination.

Lorcan snorted, Fenrys chuckled and covered it with a cough after a deadly look from Rowan while Gavriel remained the same. It was starting to unnerve her, how different he looked and acted compared to the male who had been bringing her food since her first day in their camp. It was both alarming and slightly disappointing.

"But you didn't just guess my name. You said all of our names". He told her. And he was right, and she hated to admit it.

"Four lucky shots, I guess," she shrugged again.

"Isabella," He said, his tone firm and cold, and she almost flinched at the sound of her name coming from his lips. "We both know that is not true. I just want to know the truth. So...Who are you and where do you come from?"

Isabella swallowed and panicked a little. She had no idea how much to reveal or what they would do to her if she didn't say the right thing. Should she lie or say the truth? Would they believe her?

Would she be safe, regardless of what she said?