Nia

The floor was damp. Cold seeped through the thin fabric of my dress, clinging to my skin like a second punishment. They hadn’t tied me the way you’d expect—with rope digging into my wrists, leaving angry welts—but with a pair of iron cuffs bolted to the wall, the weight of them pressing on my shoulders until they burned. The sharp chill of the metal bit through my bones every time I shifted.

I had stopped trying to keep count of the hours. The single bulb above me flickered in ...