Bolingtone~
The dungeons of Bolingtone were famous for numb, murky, and cold air. Hux couldn't even itch his head as his hands were shackled to the sides, the scent was as if dropping in the marsh of hell. His arms and legs stiffened as a stick, he could hear the wiggling worms down there and the mice that used to come and chew the rest on wasted pieces of his food.
The noises here could be heard three times more than in other places while the cold made the hair on his skin arouse, sleep was a bliss if he could have it. His body was dehydrated by the rough and brutal cold, his lips were torn and the taste of blood was floating between his teeth. Closing his eyes, he heard footsteps, his headache has been worsening and he would do everything just to get rid of this.
"You shouldn't have been here!"
Huxley chanted, his voice was rough and ill. He coughed.
