She screams; so loud it hurts her ear which seem more like an ant bite compared to what is next. Pain she fears, pain that has not yet felt but will soon to come. She knows it. She senses it. They torture her with this pain that comes not only once but twice over. She knows the present. They know she knows it. They plan to do it over and over again until she breaks and tell them what they want to know.
A crack of the whip, she jerks. The sound itself hurts. She hung there by chains, unmoving, too tired to do anything else. But her screams keep on coming and coming, ringing in that dark wet cellar, wet with not water; blood. “Please” she begs. Please and nothing more. She could not put a stop to it; she could not give them what they want. So the whips come down at her again, because she does not know a thing.
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