Once again I felt it time to return and slowly edit this story.

I was pleased this time to find that I was not repulsed by my writing- merely aware of grammar and coherence mistakes throughout the chapter.

So I'll try to fix them, but I ask you, dear readers, to please assist me with your creative criticism!

-Khaz.

Cats the Musical is the property of T.S. Elliot and Andrew Lloyd Webber and I am a mere artistic fan.

Etcetera huddled in on herself, shaking and alone.

She was cold, hurt and scared.

She had only been minutes away from her home when she had been taken; swiftly knocked unconscious by an unseen attacker.

She now did not know how far she had been taken or even in what direction; All she knew was that the moments since were the worst she had ever experienced. She would never rid herself of the scarring memory of the things he had done to her.

Etcetra was lethargic, and in pain and weak with hunger, though she had no appetite and parched but had had no will to drink. And she knew her survival was only assured until he was finished with her.

Her surroundings were mostly silent; only an ominous dripping and an occasional far off rattle or clunk. Any of these small noises echoed within the cold, slimy iron walls. Etcetera was constantly alert, trying to pick out any sound which could mean his return.

There was very little room to stretch out and Etcetera's limbs had long cramped up. But the pain was far more bearable than the thought of stretching out which would expose herself to him.

He space was almost entirely dark and the only light was filtering in through a grate in the wall that was partially covered by a rag that cast eerie shadows on the wall in the breeze. The light was cold and artificial- obviously from a street lamp above. There was a mouldy smell around her, tinged with dirt and copper and the air was thick and hard to breathe, as it was heavy with water.

Etcetera dropped her head back to the flood and whimpered to herself at her predicament.

Escape was impossible, when she didn't know where she was… or where hewas.

Rescue was her only hope of survival. And without rescue, survival was her last preference.

But the was a problem with relying on rescue, was that no-one back at the tribe would even know she was gone until tomorrow.

And by then it may be too late.

No one to know she was missing, alone and fighting for her life. No-one but herself; and her captor- The terrifying, arcane, salacious; Macavity.