Oren stared up at the dark ceiling above. He couldn't really tell what time of day it was, since everywhere was locked and darkened. The only ray of light came from a dilapidated lantern hanging above.
The chains creaked softly every time he shifted his weight, the iron biting deeper into his torn skin that had long since stopped bleeding. His head then hung forward, and his dark hair clinged to his damp forehead. His breaths came out shallow but steady. He was in terrible pain.
His eyes drifted sideways just to stare into the nothingness he was already used to, to while away time.
The solitary cell had a pungent smell of rust, sweat, and something far worse, the lingering scent of pain soaked into the stones over years. He wondered how many people had died there. And the thought made him shiver slightly.
