Chapter 20: The Unending Cycle

The cold, grey stone wall loomed before Mori, a constant reminder of her captivity. She was chained to a narrow bed, her wrists and ankles secured to the frame with heavy metal cuffs. The last remnants of her dignity had been stripped away, leaving her feeling like a mere object, a plaything for her captors. Time lost all meaning as the hours blurred together. Mori's only solace was the predictable routine that had been established. Every two hours, a person would enter the room, bearing a basin of water and a cloth. They would wash her body, a task that Mori found both humiliating and strangely comforting. The gentle touch of the cloth on her skin was a small respite from the constant discomfort and pain. The first few times, Mori had struggled against her restraints, futilely attempting to free herself. But as the visits became more frequent, she resigned herself to her fate. She would lie still, her eyes fixed on the ceiling as the person washed her, their faces a blur of indifference. The only variation in the routine came from the different people who attended to her. Some were kind, their touch gentle and soothing, while others were rough and hurried. Mori began to dread the rougher attendants, her body tensing in anticipation of their arrival. As the hours ticked by, Mori's mind began to wander. She thought of her family, her friends, and her life before the bandits. She wondered if anyone was searching for her, if anyone even knew she was missing. The thought of being forgotten, of being left to rot in this cold, dark place, was a bleak one. The sound of footsteps echoed outside the room, and Mori's heart sank. Another two hours had passed, and it was time for her to be washed again. She closed her eyes, resigned to her fate, as the door creaked open and a figure entered. This time, it was a woman who attended to Mori. Her hands were gentle, her touch soft as she washed Mori's body. For a moment, Mori felt a pang of gratitude towards this stranger, this fleeting angel who brought a modicum of comfort to her otherwise bleak existence. As the woman finished and left, Mori opened her eyes, her gaze drifting to the small, forgotten things that littered the room. A torn piece of fabric caught her eye, a scrap of cloth that had been left behind. It was a small thing, but it sparked an idea in Mori's mind, a plan that began to take shape in the dark recesses of her thoughts. She would escape. She would find a way to break free from these chains, to reclaim her life and her dignity. The thought was a spark that ignited a fire within Mori, a flame that burned bright with determination and hope. And as she lay there, her eyes fixed on the scrap of fabric, Mori knew that she would not be defeated. She would rise again, stronger and more resilient than ever before.