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She manages to hold a breath when she's airborne, and doesn't nearly drown this time.

She holds her breath and stays underwater as long as she can.

Maybe if she could find a hollow reed she could fashion a snorkel and stay forever.

She doesn't have one. She surfaces.
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The Baron is standing on the shore.

"Come here," he says.
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She shrinks back, towards the center of the lake, till it's almost too deep to stand.

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The Baron transforms into his owl shape, swoops down on her, and grabs her out of the water.

He drops her in the middle of the lake, from enough of a height to knock the breath out of her on impact.
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The flailing and coughing lasts longer when she has to work out how to float, too.

She's not even sure if this is better or worse, is the problem. If he beats her, if she drowns, if she's dropped a hundred times, well, now she knows it will all be gone by morning. What he did to her before was not gone after it was done.

But of course it's not an either-or choice. Probably. He does not seem likely to weary of commanding her to follow him. Perhaps she can just stall until she's a swan again?

If she spends all night, every night, defying him and being punished for it, she'll have no chance to write.

She splutters and coughs and gasps and manages to tread water.
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The owl fishes her out of the water again and drops her on the shore.

The Baron puts his hands on her shoulders and squeezes where his talons were digging in a moment ago.

"Come with me," he says.
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Etty hisses in pain, shrinks in fear. "I'm begging you," she pleads, "please, please, please -"

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He drags her to the edge of the water and shoves her into it facefirst, stepping on her back to prevent her from climbing out.

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Etty struggles to no avail. She holds her breath, as long as she can, and lets it out, and inhales water and chokes and squirms.

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The Baron holds her under for long enough that anyone else would definitely be dead.

Then he lets her up.
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She has practice, now, at recovering from lungsful of water.

She does.
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The Baron waits.

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"You can," she coughs, "pick me up and carry me wherever you want me to be - why do you need me to walk to it - why do you need me to pretend willing -"

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"These tantrums are unbecoming, my swan."

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"I should like nothing better than to be so unbecoming that you never want to see me or touch me again!" Etty shrieks heedlessly.

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The Baron scowls thunderously and punches her in the stomach.

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Etty vomits lakewater and bile into the mud.

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When she appears to be finished, he grabs her by her hair and drags her upright and punches her again.

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Etty makes an abortive pained sound.

Till dawn. Till dawn. At dawn she will be fixed.
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The baron hits her again.

And again. And again. And again.
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Etty isn't even making noise anymore.

Just thinking dawn dawn dawn like a mantra to the rhythm of her own heartbeat, pounding in her ears.
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Dawn is many hours away, and the baron is extremely patient.

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He's not leaving her in much of a condition to be able to walk even if every fiber of her being wished it, nonetheless.

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Her walking is no longer the point.

When she's covered in bruises and no longer able to stand, he pushes her into the lake again and leaves.
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All right.

So -

There are choices.

Etty crawls to a point where she can rest her head in the mud without effortfully keeping her head above water, and she goes limp, and she contemplates these choices.
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