⛓️ (from any verse you want)
Myrkr wasn't sure how much time has passed since he'd been gods knew, where. The hours melted away between the sessions of inflicted pain, only to reemerge with no recollection of what caused him agony in the first place. Due to the nature of his wounds, he was unable to free himself; he must've been forced to use his magicka to heal himself before his captor was gone, thus he was reduced to nothing but a simple, mortal man each time he was left alone.
He had no idea why he ended up here, and he had no idea who captured him. All he knew was that every noise made him tremble in his shackles, his heart wanted to jump out of his ribcage, and his stomach turned with extreme anxiety. Whoever did whatever to him, he feared it; he feared it so much that his body had it's natural reaction by now, and he always wanted to flee, to no avail.
His cell was dark and silent save for the noises he and his chains had made. His neck was secured to the wall with a collar, as well as his arms as he was forced to kneel on the ground in a dark room. He was, most of the time, alone, and whenever his captor visited, he only knew by his own distressed sobbing and the still lingering pain in every inch of his body. He couldn't remember what was being done to him, but he suspected that his captor attempted to kill him at least once - and must've realised that he couldn't be permanently killed. By now, his black shirt was stiff with dried blood on his front and on his back. His own dried blood. He was nothing but entertainment; a toy to pass time with.
Now, steps echoed down the corridor towards his cell and he was whimpering out of fear already. Myrkr shut his eyes and turned his head away, trying to pretend he wasn't even there, but it was impossible. He knew whoever came, came here for one reason only. To hurt him again.
