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They Speak in Cold Whispers

By @Grallingbo

The chains shook, making bell-like ringing sounds as the prisoner struggled against his binds.

The shackles were tight around his writs, almost digging into his skin no matter how he moved. His breaths were heavy and fast, almost panicked as he watched the door to his cell with weary eyes. Sweat dripped down his neck in plump beads and with every anxious swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbed aggressively.

He could hear them. The sounds were loud as if they were being relayed directly into his ear drums.

The footsteps were nearing. They were getting louder with every footfall, sending chills down the prisoner’s spine as he listened helplessly to the ominous echo of their heels. Just outside of his cell, he could see the red-orange glow of the lanterns flicker, illuminating the stone hallway with small flames. They seeped into the cracks of the stone, lighting up even the darkest crevices of the wall.

Then a shadow came looming behind the light. It was human-shaped, outlining the body of a man’s head and shoulders.

And that same shadow opened the door to the prisoner’s cell.

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