“Open the door!” I cry, my banging on the woodgrain growing sluggish by the second as the fight in me soon dies.
The room is spinning a deep crimson, but I measure my breathing and focus on inhaling and exhaling. I was brought in here for this exact reason. This red room is a mindfuck trip, intent on breaking those who are trapped under the scarlet hue.
With that thought, I will myself to calm, refusing to fall victim to Oscar’s psychological torture. To survive this, I must stay strong. I cannot show any weakness. This was a test—one I failed terribly—and it mustn’t happen again.
It takes me a few moments, but once I’m composed enough to breathe without wheezing, I scope out my surroundings, wondering if there is anything of use inside. I search under the velvet cloth draped across the
