I had been thrown in the Mausoleum. I was free to move about, but all I could hear and see was torture all around me. My friends were left to hang by their chains, growing weaker with each passing day. I witnessed a man, weathered and hunched, his eyes milky white, bring them food once every couple of days. It usually consisted of moldy bread and brown water. I was brought lavish meals, usually accompanied by Eric who would watch to make sure I ate everything and didn’t share with the others.
At first, I refused to eat, staring Eric down defiantly until he grabbed the plate and threw it into the fire. He would leave without saying a word. It was only after I had grown so weak and listened to my friends tell me I needed my strength to beat him that I reluctantly ate what was brought. Some
