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She lay there covered in blankets. The cocoon twisted about her preventing escape from the bed or even to the heater across the room. Off, again. Every night her mother conspired to unplug it because it "wasted electricity". So what! It's ******** cold! Burying her head into the covers, she escaped the cold air that threatened to blacken her skin at the touch. To eat at it like a disease. Just a few more minutes... The sanctity of the bed was more than convincing.

Two hours later her ragged head emerged. Panic stricken, she looked around for her alarm clock and its green glow, but there was no light to be seen. The clock was off. The twinkle lights. The radio. And internal debate began in her head at that moment: to investigate or to sleep in out until daybreak. Unfortunately the cold burned more than her curiosity and she huddled deeper. Layers and layers constricted about her as she rolled to the side. Rasping breaths escaped her as they pushed on her chest. Fingers coiled as they pinned her arms to her sides. From where she lay she could still see the desk across the room. Suddenly it shook and paper flew. The posters above it flapped free from their thumbtacks and clattered to the cold floor below. A deafening noise erupted in her ears. The sound that annoying person at the movie theater makes when they try to get the last of the soda from each and every crevice of ice in their Godforsaken extra large Coke. The mattress beneath her opened its gaping mouth and slurped her up, leaving the edge of a blanket sticking curiously from the center.

Thud. Her limp body hit the bottom. It was stone or some other hard surface, for she felt warm liquid gathering near her head. Cautiously the blankets uncoiled after sensing that their prey wouldn't fight back.

"Shoo, you pesky vermin." His croaking voice was the last thing the girl heard before she blacked out.

Warmth. Her feet tingled from the pleasure and she extended her toes as to grab at every last portion. A soft moan fled her lips.

"You're up?" It was the voice from before. She opened her eyes in hopes to find the face to which it belonged. Across the room stood a man. Well, he looked as such, just a bit shorter. From the distance she estimate he was about three feet tall, and that was being generous. His crooked back did not help the illusion of height.

A cough,"Yes, sorry." A nervous laugh. His glazed eyes glimmered in the fire light.

"I'm glad. We worried that you may have lost too much blood." His wrinkled hands pressed together nervously as if pained. Or guilt ridden. "But you're talking, so that's good news." Blood? Oh, her head. She reached up to pat the area but found a bandage instead. "Oh, and do try to not mess with your dressing, I'm not a very good nurse and I'd hate to have them come back to fix it after all the trouble they went through."

"Of course." She dropped her hand and discovered the warmth again. And this time, the source: a blazing fire.

Suddenly the old man scuttled across the room toward the door. "Hurry, get to the back room. It's behind the painting of the oeifyn," he added before she could ask. The... what? On the far wall were depictions of birds, landscapes, and some creatures she couldn't pick out. She stood there for a moment deciding which looked most like an oeifyn when the man piped up once more. "The horse!" Why couldn't he have said that before and spare the oeifyn nonsense? She grabbed the edge of the frame and tugged. Without too much force the painting gave and parted from the brick, revealing a short passage and room beyond.

A heavy knock befell the front door. "One moment!" the man said quickly, "These old bones take a while to get across the room." All of this she heard from behind the painting. But what was with the need for rushing along? After all, hadn't she just suffered substantial shock and blood-loss? Speaking of which, there was a lot more to ask the need of.

"Old man, open the door," a voice boomed impatiently, "I have a warrant." A creak as the door swung open. A thunder as it crashed shut behind the visitor who assuredly forced his way in. "Now where are you hiding it?" Silence. "You're blind, not deaf. Where is the human?" Silence and then a thump. "I don't want to have to tear down your cottage to find it. And I really don't want to arrest you on account of not complying-"

"Sir, I have no idea what you are talking about." The croak was back in his voice, "There haven't been humans in the south-eastern quadrant in years." A crash as something broke over the wood floor.

"I'll come back tomorrow. By that time you better have your story straight." The door cried open and shut once more with a house shaking impact. The girl braced herself on the wall of the passage with a deep inhale. She didn't realize that she had been holding her breath. Where was she that humans were an oddity, and apparently a felony? It was this question that ran through her head as the painting fell from the wall and the man darted in. Without a word he took her to the back room where people of his stature, animals, including oeifyns, and unknown creatures sat around a wooden table. Each stared at her with curious eyes, and some with frustration.

"A pleasure," announced a woman who rose from her seat. She appeared the same age as the blind man who stood beside the girl now. "I'll be your den mother."

As I said, this is misguided inspiration. I don't know if I should continue this or if anyone is reading it and wants to know where this is going. If I have time I might come back to it, but if there is little to no interest then I'll leave it as such, for i have other things to work on. :}