It was dark. And exceptionally cold.
There was a dark cloth covering her face as she was dragged over the damp stone.
The shackles on her wrists rattled, but not as loudly as those around her ankles. And with each passing moment, she could feel her body growing weaker, unable to keep up its own weight.
The hands gripping her arms were not gentle and when she tripped on her own chains, her knees collided with the stone cold ground and a loud whimper escaped her lips and her eyes watered. And even then, she was being yanked back up in standing position by a harsh grip at the roots of the hair at the back of her head. And then, with a rough push from someone behind her, she began walking again.
These people didn't speak, Ophelia had found out. And when she tried to speak or ask questio
