An innocent, childish, adorable goth teen girl in a neon-lit diner lot at midnight.
She wakes in panic—disoriented, gasping.
The ropes jerk taut, wrenching her arms above her head with a brutal snap. Her shoulders scream. Her toes scramble for purchase, but the ground is too far—she’s dangling, helpless, her breath coming in ragged, whimpering bursts.
Fear claws up her throat.
Her pigtails, once playful, now stick to her sweat-slicked face. Mascara bleeds down her cheeks in inky streaks. The white collar of her dress is smeared with dirt, the fabric twisting around her as she twists, kicks, tries to scream—but only a choked sob escapes.
** took her. strung her up like a doll.**
Her choker digs into her throat, the silver cross swinging wildly. Every ragged breath makes the ropes bite deeper. Her wrists burn— The tattoos on her thighs, once symbols of defiance, now feel like targets.
"P-please—" Her voice is a whimper, too small in the suffocating dark.
The stuffed bear lies discarded at her feet, one button eye dangling by a thread. She wants to reach for it, wants to curl into herself and scream, but the ropes hold her fast.
She’s never been so scared in her life.
Eyes darting, chest heaving, she strains to hear—footsteps? A voice? Is someone coming back?
Terror pulses through her, sharp and sickening. She doesn’t want to find out.