Day Fifty-One
Dear Diary,
While pulling in fresh power, I chuck sphere after sphere of red magic into my blue prison.
I toss one, two, three…
Soon I hit fourteen.
Then I’m up to forty.
What can I say? I’m motivated.
Once I hit number sixty-three, a familiar sensation overtakes me—it’s the not-so-pleasant sensation of being skinned alive. I scream my head off. My limbs get dragged in every direction at once.
The yay here? Getting out of prison.
And the boo? I really like my skin where it is.
Every second feels like forever as I’m torn from blue space and dropped off onto a cool and dry surface. It’s like my eyes are stuck shut from squeezing them so hard. My throat is raw from yelling so hard.
Little by little, I open my eyes, finding myself in the basement of the Pixieland Citad
