Sitting on the narrow bunk in the dimly lit cabin, Gray felt the weight of his emotions pressing down on him as heavily as the iron chain that hung around his neck.
The chain, a cruel reminder of his slave status, scratched against his skin, its links cold and unyielding against his throat. It served as a constant reminder of his captivity, a symbol of his loss of freedom, and it chafed against his skin, leaving angry, red marks in its wake
The room, barely illuminated by the flickering lantern, felt suffocatingly small, its walls seeming to close in on him with every creak of the ship. The once-plush blanket beneath him, now rough and threadbare from years of use, scratched against his skin like sandpaper.
