The hell that lives in ourselves

(( this one and the next one are twisted and quite a bit graphical, so if you have problems with a some violence being displayed don't read...))


Cruelty. Mercilessness. Darkness.

It’s like a switch has been turned into her mind and now memories are pouring, suffocating.

Pain. Shame. Despair. Agony.

The strong scent of blood as the knife rips again through her flesh, and her body is slammed into the cold wall.

That face. She remembers the look on it. All too well.

“Do you want to see what we do to pathetic wretches like you?”

No. Please, no. Not again.

“You’ll enjoy it, sugar, you’ll see”.

There’s the searing pain when the knife trails again across her back, almost carefully, so as not to cut too deep, not yet, there is still much more to go…She squirms against her bonds, feeling the blood run down her skin and into the already soaked fabric of her torn shirt.

Please, Light, make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.

But it lasts for hours until she is nothing more than a mass of raw flesh and oozing cuts and the men had taken turns at using her body.

She remembers his face as he cuts her bonds with the same knife he used to torture her and she falls to the ground, unable to stand any longer.

The wicked grin, the cold eyes, sparkling with the green of the fel, now that his thirst has been quenched in her sobs of agony.

She lays broken on the floor and he kicks her ribs hard with his boot, making her curl and scream.

Then he just goes away.