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The screaming started again.

The doe-eyed, little, blonde girl huddled into a ball, on her bed, under the covers, trying desperately to muffle the sounds with her pillow. Oh how she desperately wished some kindly stranger would come and take her away, but that was no use. The monster had them, and she loved to make them suffer.

She couldn’t hear what was going on, over Samuel’s screaming, but the little girl could guess. Their hideous keeper was no doubt cutting away strips of skin off of the bottom of his feet again. It would prevent him from wandering the streets of Riften for a while.

Loud, sickening thuds could then be heard, along with renewed cries of pain.

Now he was being punished for his thieving. When Samuel escaped for a bit, he always stole things. It would be impossible for him to steal, for a long time, now that the monster had crushed his fingers with a hammer.

The wicked old crone could be heard talking, although her words were too low to be made out clearly.

Hroar was next, she knew. He always came next. He was being given something to cry about. The torturer had a particular iron dagger, which was completely dull, that she loved to use on him. She would stab him, slowly, for his nighttime crying, in a place that wouldn’t prove fatal. When Hroar screamed and cried from the damage of the knife, she would stab him more, until he passed out from the pain.

Muffled hollers of no could be heard, coming from the “dungeon”, which soon turned to shrieks of agony.

It was Francois’ turn to endure the monster’s punishment. One day, he had slipped, while cleaning the hearth and his clothes had caught fire. Since then, he had become terrified of any open flame. The evil one delighted in this, and would hold a lit torch under various parts of his body. The frightened, little girl could smell the scent of roasting flesh.

After an unknown amount of time, silence took over, and, even though she didn’t want to, the little girl fell asleep.


* * * * * * * * * *


She was startled awake by the sound of the torture room’s door slamming against the wall. Her body began to shake uncontrollably, as she heard unconscious bodies being drug across the floor, and thrown in their beds. The little girl was desperate to remain quiet, biting her pillow to prevent the sobs from escaping. If she was silent and still, maybe she would be forgotten.

When the foul witch finished putting the tortured boys to bed, she could hear her move off to her room, closing the door. Had she been spared? Had she been forgotten? Oh how she hoped! After several minutes of lying absolutely still, she allowed herself to relax. For some reason, Old Grelod had left her alone this night. Sending a silent prayer, in thanks, to Mara, the little, doe-eyed, blonde girl fell fast asleep.


* * * * * * * * * *


Suddenly, pain exploded through her scalp, as she was yanked out of bed by her hair and drug across the floor. She felt her wrist being shacked in the irons, and then more pain burst through her head, as it was slammed into the wall. Dry, claw-like hands held her face in an unmoving grip, and a lantern suddenly lit the horrendous monster’s face.

“Did you really think I would forget about you, Runa?!”