Lydia felt the cold, damp stone beneath her fingers as she curled them into fists, her nails digging into her palms. How could people do this to their fellow humans as business!
She wasn't one to give in to panic, but the weight of her situation pressed down on her chest like a vice. Her surroundings were barely visible in the dim light, a flickering torch outside the cell casting long, eerie shadows on the walls.
The air was thick with moisture and the stench of mold, mingled with the sharp tang of metal from the rusting bars. It smelled like despair, a place that had trapped many before her and would likely trap many after.
"I need to leave this place," she murmured into the oppressive silence, not expecting an answer. Her voice felt small, swallowed up by the vast emptiness around her. Yet, in the silence, Meceline stirred from her corner, her figure barely discernible in the shadows.
