dolly ❥ lrh

0 4 | s i r

warning: this chapter contains some physical violence.

04 | SIR

time was crawling and, despite the fact that seph's concept of it was entirely astray, she was sure it'd been hours since he'd left, now.

her eyes were fixed irremovably onto the ceiling. she couldn't remember when she'd last blinked. the sweat that drenched her back sent chills up her spine now, and she thought of all that he had told her about dehydration, and how losing body heat was one of the medial symptoms.

her heart raced, and the breaths she drew were heavy and laboured. she tried to tell herself that this was all just in her head, that she was being hysterical, and not to let him get inside of it so easily.

but this was torture. this was utterly unbearable.

she had been lying here for longer than she could comprehend, with no fresh air, no natural light, or food, or water. there was a dull pain ever present at the back of her skull that she couldn't understand, and the sundress she wore exposed too much of her to the frigid air of this miserable, desolate room.

what felt like probably another hour went by, and then another, and another, until she could slowly feel her sanity start to waver. her neck was atrophied, her eyes never once moving from the ceiling above her. she couldn't tell what time of day it was with the floor length window boarded up, but hoped it was night.

maybe he was asleep, she thought. maybe he had forgotten to come back, and wouldn't return till morning, whenever that was. maybe, if she was lucky enough, she would be dead by then.

and then, as ill-fated as it was, the lock on her door clicked, and the hinges whined lowly as it opened. her heart plummeted to the floor in despair.

he stepped into the room, for the third time now, sending a spectral chill through the air. seph's eyes remained on a singular crack, and fought back yet another panic attack. her body lay limp, vegetating the way he had left her, but the bedlam of about fifty different overlapping thoughts in her head could be likened to a madhouse.

he circled around to the side of her bed, a tall glass, filled almost to the brim with water, clutched in one hand. he set it down on the bedside table and, without so much as moving a muscle in her neck, seph side eyed the drink. it was cold, she could tell — ice cold. the clear glass was frosted with condensation, and twisted her insides. not even five minutes ago, she was contemplating death, but now her natural instincts were becoming too strong.

he leant down at her side, invoking a sickening feeling of nausea to stir in her stomach.

"good morning, pretty thing."

... morning?

how could it be morning?

"i made breakfast for you, but before you can have it, there's still one thing i need you to do," he spoke clearly, and calmly,"and i do hope you'll cooperate, this time."

a delectable concoction of something savoury and something sweet wafted in through the door he had left open to her room, and she made the mistake of breathing in these aromas right through her nose. he was doing this on purpose.