At the lowest point in the grand Longhurst mansion, underground was the place, dark, stinking and humid from where no screams, no cries reached anywhere but on deaf ears and thick cold stone walls.
The sunlight barely reached the small cells, many of them empty and uncleaned for years. In one such cell sat a man, shackled by the metal chains at his bruised ankles and wrists.
His once neatly kept golden brown hair now reached below his ears in irregular lengths, adding to his sweaty and sticky forehead.
With every slight movement of his limbs, the metal chains jingled, alerting the guards standing outside. After a few days, he stopped moving at all until necessary.
His big green eyes had lost all their light as he breathed heavily, still waiting for his body to surrender to the pain and the endless darkness to embrace him.
