It was cloying. That faint sensation of imprisonment. It was choking her, her sanity, her soul. Her beautiful face ravaged not by time but by stress. Her captors seem not to care. She was naught but a nuisance for them. They finally saw a way to undermine her courage and spirit. They had finally broken her.
She was somewhat in a kind of prison. No bars nor chains holding her, only ribbons and ties that bind and cut her deeply to her soul. She had tried seeking their help, to lessen the pain. Her captors simply turned away. They did not want to help. They wanted her out, out of their lives, out of existence.
She had always thought herself strong to overcome any obstacle. She was, however, a weak being. She was pure but slight, her will not made of stone. With each passing day, her soul blackened a little... But before it totally hardened, she finally found the solution to her captors' problems. She freed herself. And Death welcomed her with arms wide open.
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