Hello, Victoria.

She woke up in a room without windows. Her wrists hurt.

What was that smell?

She was on her back, she could tell that much. Wide awake. Her temple throbbed to the rhythm of what could possibly have been the worst migraine she'd ever had. A blow to the back of the head, maybe? Drenched in sweat, small beads already forming on her forehead. Her entire face felt especially oily. Wayward strands of hair clung damply to her face. She tried to brush them aside, but couldn't. She couldn't move. Restraints? No. No cuffs, no binds. She willed every fiber of her body to erect itself. Not so much as a twitch. A tear rolled down the corner of her eye of its own volition. Victoria, she was paralyzed.

The air was stale yet maddeningly humid. It was like being in a room that hadn't been opened in years. Like a tomb. Beneath her, the stone floor was cold and unfriendly. Her line of vision was limited to the ceiling alone, which was riddled with suspicious stains in varying shades of brown. A single light bulb illuminated the room but barely, flooding it in yellow, sickly light. It hung overhead like an eerie, unblinking eye that stared her down.

She wished she could close her eyes.

What the hell was that smell? Rotten fish? It seemed like it was everywhere.

There are no inevitabilities, Victoria. Only tendencies.

If she could, she would've jumped at the sound. Upon hearing the voice, a shudder crept down her spine. When you're rendered powerless to express fear, it becomes even more terrifying. She could feel her heart thumping so loudly it threatened to break out of her ribcage altogether.