˙ VALKYRIE

The cold floor and wall of the prison bit into my skin. Hairs on my body rise and itch. Every damn minute here makes me want to throw up, scream. Makes me want to punch something. Not only is the window high but small, barely big enough for perfect sunlight or moonlight to sneak in, yet the cold seems like it's tattooed on the wall.

The low glow of the light bulb in the ceiling isn't enough for one to see clearly but thanks to my sharp eyesight. A rat ran past the cell from the ...