Tom had been in solitary for two months now. He knew that if he stayed in the common are he would be murdered or traded or raped or all three. He wouldn’t last. So he got himself thrown in solitary, where the food was easy to come by and there was water running through his cell in a small clean brook, and the conversation was at the barest minimum it could possibly be. Just the way he liked it, if he had to be honest.

His cell had come to be his home— the rocky, rough floor made his back ache at first, but soon he found just the right spot and slept the days away. Occasionally a book or a blanket would be thrown down along with the food, so it was quite easy to keep himself warm and entertained. He made a charcoal paste out of the rock dust and the charred twigs he found in the corner, and drew on the walls. Soon he found himself talking to himself, detailing how the betrayal had happened and how the others had died. How he had no one.

He spoke aloud and he spoke rough and he spoke with emotion and clarity and sadness and rage. He spoke until he had no stories left, no tales to tell… and then when he was all out of stories… one was told to him. He got to hear the story of a madman who had been cursed with the animalistic need to eat humanoid flesh. He spoke of a previous life, but as though it were not his own. As if it were his dreams.

Tommy had been keeping track of the days as best he could, but when the food was distributed in an erratic schedule he had no choice but to give up on such a thing. He couldn’t keep track anymore.

The days passed in a blur, until all he could hear were his own agonizing thoughts about what had happened, what had went down, how it could’ve been avoided. He shouted at himself a few times, though thought hisself crazy and decided he wouldn’t go for that particular ledge.

Today Tommy was laying on his pile of blankets when a scream echoed through the caverns thick rock walls. Something hit his temple and he was out cold.

He didn’t know for how long he was out, only that his head was throbbing and that he couldn’t get past a fogginess in the forefront of his mind. "W-what— what’s going on?" His voice was scratchy and low, reverberating off the walls. It was then that he would notice a thick red line in the sand in front of him— and a masked beast on the other end of it. "Who are you, sir?" He would scurry back from the line, quickly bumping into the wall of packed sand. "I-I don’t know why I’m in here with you, and I would leave if I could, but could you please just tell me what’s happening, sir?"

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