The knife gleamed as it moved closer to my face.
"Wait—" The word came out strangled. "What are you—"
"Shh." The snake woman pressed a finger to her lips, still smiling that horrible smile. "This will only hurt a lot."
The blade sliced down.
I screamed.
Not from pain, not yet, but from pure, visceral terror as the knife moved toward my arm.
"Hold her still," the woman ordered, suddenly looking exhausted.
And then there were hands. So many hands. Grabbing my shoulders, my arms, pinning me against the chair so completely I couldn't even twitch.
The blade touched my forearm, and I felt it, sharp, burning, the sensation of skin splitting open.
"NO! Stop! STOP!" I thrashed against the ropes, against the hands, my voice climbing into something hysterical. "What are you DOING?!"
Blood welled up, dark red in the torchlight, trickling down my arm in warm rivulets. I winced from the pain that shot up my hand like a current, and I had to bite my down my tongue to not cry out.
