It's been two weeks since I got locked up. I think that they forgot that I'm down here. I wouldn't be surprised if they did.
I haven't been fed, given water, or even a bathroom. My cell consists of a single old mattress on the floor, no sheet, no pillow, and a bucket to do my buisness in. The cell bars, and walls have wolvesbane infused in them somehow.
There is no window. No light. No candles. Only darkness.
I'm not even sure if it's been two weeks, or longer. I've been trying to count the hours, but it gets hard. Especially when I feel like I'm slowly dying of dehydration.
I wonder if Noah is doing okay.
Who is taking care of him now? How is he doing? Is he okay without me there? Is whoever that's taking care of him, reading his favorite book? Do they know that he hates pickles?
