"Fuck! My head feels foggy…" Lionel groaned, clutching his head as he struggled to open his eyes.
But they remained stubbornly shut, as if opening them would invite something worse. His head throbbed, each pulse like a hammer striking his skull. His fingers tangled in his hair, rubbing aimlessly as though it might ease the pain.
Then, the creak of a door pierced the silence, sharp and grating. The sound seemed amplified, too loud against his pounding headache. Lionel's eyes fluttered open instinctively, snapping toward the source of the noise.
Déjà vu. The strange, unsettling feeling washed over him.
Five women, all dressed in maid uniforms, filed into the room. Each carried something—a bucket of water, a plate of food, a bowl that smelled distinctly of blood, folded clothes. The last woman entered empty-handed, her gaze low and hesitant.
