Gabriela
Time passes so slowly that I lose track of the days that roll by.
In the dark recesses of the dungeon that Alpha Storm considers a cellar, I'm left to nothing but my own thoughts.
At first it scares me, being down here with no one but myself. Everything is silent aside from my own breathing, and the only light source I have is a small c***k from the cellar door not exactly fitting back into the warped frame, which shines a little light down the steps.
There's no discernible schedule for when I'm brought food, or how much or how little it'll be, until I hear the telltale heavy footsteps descending down the stairs and an enforcer tosses me a paper bag with whatever scraps they decide to feed me that day.
There's no room for talking or questioning when I'll be let out of here.
