In a dimly lit room, sitting on the cold stone floor, her back against a wall streaked with grime, was a haggard-looking Matsuri. Chains bound her wrists behind her, the metal biting into her skin with each small movement. Her usually sharp eyes were dulled by exhaustion, a thin cut on her cheek still fresh, dried blood tracing a line to her chin. Her coat was torn, her hair matted with sweat and dust.
Yet, despite all of these hardships, the will to survive burns even brighter than before. Still, she had tried several times to escape, and all ended in failure, which led to her current predicament of being bound even more tightly than before.
There were only two ways to exit this place, one was through the door that was up the wooden stairs, and the other was through the small window.
