his world is little more than four walls and a sliver of sun, the faintest hint of morning light that creeps in over the grime - soaked floor. he pays it no mind, fixated instead on the mindless thumping of fist against stone, the rhythmic beat of his heart made flesh ... it has been three days, or perhaps a thousand, he does not know for sure. he lives in the narrow scope of a moment, in every breath, in every beat of his fist, focused wholly on the hope that he might find himself free once more.
but now, something new: the screech of hinges, the scape of wood — he blinks, he stills, and, after a moment, he speaks, his voice as flat as still water, "you shall set me free or i shall rise and rip you limb from limb." / @stelegy
