The only colour in the room was the red slash that ran down Ashas cheek. The walls, once white, were gray with age and dust. The floor boards, a deep brown covered in dirt. Her pale skin was covered in mud and grime, and dirty half moons rimmed her finger nails. She looked dead lying there, so peaceful she could have been asleep, the only reassurance was the small movement of her chest. I tried to pull myself toward her, help her off the ground, but my hands were painfully bound behind my back, chained to the radiator. Heat blasted my wrist as I tried to pull, myself free. The cuffs scraped away at layers of my skin, but I kept trying.


Somewhere in the distance I could hear the clack of footsteps, making their way down the hall. I tried to concentrate but I couldn’t focus my mind. Maybe it had something to do with the fact the room smelt like mouse dropping and stale alcohol. A figure appeared at the door, a women dressed from head to toe in black. She was in strange contrast to the room; skin and hair perfectly scrubbed, clothes in one piece. As she strutted past me she let a silver flash from her knife shine in my face. Her eyes were little black drops, searing my eyes. She grabbed Ashas limp brown hair and pulled her head up, mouth hanging slightly open. She ran a purple fingernail down the length of her knife, the pressed the pristine surface to Ashas throat.
“Tell me where it is.” Her horse voice commanded.
“The whole reason for hiding something is so that no one can find it, you see?”

“ENOUGH! Tell me where the medallion is,” She screeched.

“No,”I replied, teeth gritted.

A drop of red ran down the smooth surface of the blade, and dropped off the tip. It mingled with the filth of the floor.