torture memory because honestly i dont want someone to stumble across this in a comment

[spelleton]

[ You can't tell where you are right now; for all you know, you could be in a cell, or in a basement, or in a room where everyone's watching you, or a balcony, or anything, anything, anything anywhere anywhere at all.

Your world is a kaleidoscope of pain, light and darkness rushing through incomprehensibly. Your own breath comes in spurts and gasps. You feel like you're dying, and you wish you would. ]

"Still won't speak? What a waste of time."

"Well, I wouldn't say a waste. There's still some things a warm body can be useful for."

[ You know better than to beg for mercy, even in the shattered mess you've become. So you weep instead, wasting your sparse breath on tears, because there's so little left to you that it doesn't matter, that nothing matters. You want to die. You want to die so badly that it hurts.

Something sharp is set against one side of your face. It stays there for a little while, scratching and scraping maddeningly, and you don't bleed from it, not even when it's rammed in and through because eyes don't have any blood in them

it doesn't change what you see at all and it's scratching and scraping the back of your skull, itching, you can feel it

You want to die so badly. ]