Her hands were bound. Her legs were tied . She had never felt this constricted . A stale air clogged the sepulchral silence . The moon possessed an killer, ominous glare . A glare that pierced , that tore . A glare that permeated her courage . The tenebrous night was shrouded by an inimical gloom . The gloom suffused as did a certain melancholy . The thick torn raffia strings had robbed her . They robbed her of power and dignity. She managed a muffled scream . She struggled sturdily . She teared . The four walls loomed and leered. Her perspiration dripped from her forehead. The bulk of her weight dragged her down. She wriggled, and twisted . Just then, the door knob turned . The door creaked open .
Benedict (:
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