The fabric was tight and hot around her face, and Sabrina struggled to keep her breath steady through the warmth of her exhales. There were tiny pins of light that fell through the fabric's weave, but nothing wide enough to see through. She was barefoot, and her thighs were starting to get sore from holding up her legs from the cold of the concrete floor below her. Her wrists were burning behind her, tied so tight that she could feel her hands pulsing with her heartbeat.

  Every 10 minutes or so, a voice would suddenly come from the darkness, entering the room and shrieking at her. She had tried to answer their questions, but every time she spoke, the angrier they became. They called her liar, murderer, puppet. It made her cry at first, but when she did, they would prod at her arms with a blunt metal rod that sent sharp electric needles through her entire body.

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  She liked it better when they left the fabric covering her face when they yelled at her. Every so often, they would rip it off, and shine a blinding light into her eyes, pulling them open with their rough gloved hands so she couldn't look away. The only thing she could see was the light, and it would leave trails of blinding light long after, even when they put the mask back on.

  She grew exhausted - from the tears, the shocks, the shouting. It was when she started to finally give in to the hollow feeling of defeat, of numbness, of rest did she hear the voice start to sing to her.

  It's okay, Sabrina.

  It wasn't coming from the room, no, but inside her own head.

  Surrender. It's okay to surrender. I can fix this.

  And so Sabrina slept.