In another part of the dark prison, a red-haired woman was strolling aimlessly with her hands tightly clenched into fists. Her heart thumped hard against her chest as her wide eyes, filled with fear and uneasiness, tried adjusting to the darkness.
"O-Oliver?" she quietly called, her voice trembling.
A gush of wind swayed the dead trees, stirring up the dried leaves, taking with it the stench of death, or rather, rotting flesh.
Hearing another set of footsteps alongside her own, Anabel stopped, narrowing her eyes as she took quick but quiet breaths to calm her raging nerves and silence the pessimistic voices in her head.
"You're gonna die, you stupid hussy!" one of the many voices in her head chided. "You should've stayed in the car! No wonder you're losing Oliver to little girls; Alia's a lot smarter than you!"
