Genvieve
Lexington takes us into yet another room I haven't laid eyes on before, closing the door and locking it behind me. Letting my eyes peek up I find them quickly pouring over my surroundings. This room looks like a fucking torture chamber.
"Lex?"
"Quiet."
He doesn't insist I kneel, but busies himself with adjusting the room. First, he dims the lighting for the front half of the room while turning on additional spotlights in the space. The first one that he turns on focuses on the St. Andrew's Cross, which I recognize immediately.
This one, in particular, looks like it's made for this intended purpose. The polished oak finish covers each arm of the cross while the center is covered in padded leather. If one doesn't know what this device is used for, the straps on the arm of each cross would probably sort them out. I feel my mouth drying at the prospect.
