[Lancelot's POV]
The Old Hag's prison became a symbol of our struggle and perseverance, a testament to the strength and resilience of our human spirit in the face of adversity.
I didn't know how many days had been since Francine was last taken. Time was irrelevant in here. There were only darkness, despair, and cries.
As we sat in the cramped and damp room, my stomach growled in hunger. I felt like it had been so long since we had anything to eat, and our hopes of escape were slowly dwindling.
Suddenly, the door creaked open, and the old Hag entered, carrying a large tray of steaming food.
"I've brought you dinner. Eat up. It's not often that I have guests."
No one uttered anything. We knew that those meals weren't meals but actual flesh and blood.
