I was exhausted. Every day that passed was an even dirtier and miserable dungeon. They might be doing it on purpose, making my cell more inhumane by the day, hoping I’ll c***k.
My appetite has ceased. It didn’t matter if the King brought my favorites, fresh and delicious, I couldn’t keep them down. I’d vomit it the moment he leaves the cell.
Maybe it was the silver or just the overall atmosphere here.
The lack of shifting has also started an intense migraine. My body is shaking and numb.
I couldn’t decipher smells anymore. I didn’t know which was mine and which was from the dying criminals I had as neighbors. Death was in the air. Was it me? Was it them? Was it the rats that crawled beside us?
The only good thing that came from the dungeons was the King and his visits. It reminded
