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Punitive words - he sits thoughts unfolding. As that effect of his most recent wear off a pang grips him, and lures him in again.
Pale and clammy skinned he rises from a tired, broken throne - a rock sits in his stomach, playing on guilt.
It was a constant battle between those two old foes - and one he had neither the strength nor will to endure - one side always lost and conformity killed his conscience.
A hell sentence of black thoughts as innocence is seized.
An iron grip on locks is worsened by frantic pleas.
Now she's bent and broken.
‘Your shrieks could move mountains, but no one can hear us here.'
He asks her to stay calm.
He begs her to stay quiet.
Lucid images are branded on his victim's conscience.
Vivid memories of black shadows baring manic grins.
As her mind regresses - her body trembles and convulses.
Hands clutch her as she wakes up.