Holding Pens: Willow
Pacing the cool floor of the pen where she was being kept, Willow wondered if this was a play on location. Was it a reminder that the supernatural creatures thought of people like her as little more than cattle, or was it just a convinient place to keep them? At least the handler assigned to her was decent enough. She had seen some of the others as they passed by, vicious and cruel. Though it probably had something to do with the lack of resistence the witch had. She knew it would be foolish to fight. Everyone around her was ten times more powerful than her. No, if she were to escape she would need to be more clever than charging head on.
Tugging at the slip of fabric she was dressed in, Willow tried to will it to cover more than it did. The dress (if it could be called that) covered everything important but she still felt exposed. She would give anything for a pair of jeans right now, especially after the way one vampire had leered at her. Thankfully though he decided that she would be too much work for him.
"I know what the caged bird feels," she mumbled to herself, remembering a poem she had read when she was younger. It seemed fitting given where she was now.