Captive II

🔉 Chambers Of Torture | Sufferings ASMR Ambience

Aerin watched in dread as she detected a faint movement beneath the door. Her breath hitched in her chest, and she prayed to whatever gods might listen that it was only a trick of the shadows or the feeble light. But then she heard it. A low, raspy sound that made her blood run cold. A sound that reminded her of nails scraping on stone, of teeth gnawing on bones, of laughter that was anything but joyful.

Her heart raced, her senses sharpened, and the room seemed to close in around her. Aerin scrambled to her feet, her pulse racing like a wild stallion. She pressed herself against the cold, mossy wall, her eyes darting around the cell, searching for any semblance of a weapon. But there was nothing to grasp, nothing but her own wit and will. And they were not enough.

The door screeched open, its rusty hinges groaning like the lament of a long-forgotten soul. Aerin’s breath quickened, and she dared to steal a glimpse of the unwelcome visitors. Two grotesque figures slithered through the door, goblins in a semblance that would have made the creatures of a nightmare look almost welcoming.

One of them clutched a bundle of clothing, their skin a sickly shade of green, warts covering their faces, and their eyes gleaming with malevolence. The dim torchlight cast eerie shadows on their hunched backs, emphasizing their repulsive, robust figures. Aerin recoiled, her heart racing, her mind struggling to cope with the terrors of this nightmarish world.

The goblin carelessly flung the bundle of clothing to the ground, a twisted delight gleaming in his eyes as he surveyed her.

With fear gripping her, she observed the goblin’s gnarled finger pointing in her direction, his voice a guttural rasp that grated on her ears like nails on a rough stone.

“Put it on,” the goblin hissed.

Aerin hesitated for a moment too long. Her gaze flickered to the other goblin who was busy with something nauseating. He was gnawing on a bone, making a vile crunching noise that filled the cell. He seemed to relish every bit of his grisly meal, his long tongue licking the bone clean.

The first goblin’s eyes narrowed into slits of hatred. He snapped at her with more force. “Orders from our queen! Change your clothes, or we’ll change them for you!”

With slow, cautious steps, Aerin approached the bundle of clothing, her fingers trembling as she snatched it up quickly, as if fearing the goblins might yank her arm and bite her. The goblins cackled, their laughter a discordant, jarring symphony that seemed to emanate from the pits of a hellscape.

As Aerin unfurled the clothing and examined it, her face contorted in disgust. It was a scanty, nearly indecent garment, designed to offer little more than humiliation or the promise of freezing to death in the damp, cold cell. She muttered to herself, “This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.”

But the goblins awaited her obedience.