Annabelle woke up, hoping she was dreaming about being held against her will, but when she opened her eyes and looked around, her spirit fell as she realized that she was still a captive. She felt like she’d been ran over by a semi-truck. Her hand moved up to her jaw, and it was tender to the touch. She took the ice pack off and placed it on the floor next to her bed and decided to try to stand. It took her a lot longer than it should have, but she finally made it to her feet, and her head was spinning. She leaned against the wall until her head stopped, and once she had her wits about her, she started to move about the bomb shelter that she was in. She looked down at her wrists and gently touched where the wounds that went from the center of her wrists down about three inches were at not more than a few hours ago. She didn’t have any idea how they healed so quickly, but that was the least of her worries. She tried to stay strong, but the longer she was in this mess and the thing this mysterious stranger was doing to her. She couldn’t help but notice that her faith was starting to wavier, and for the first time, she thought she might not survive this ordeal. She felt so oppressed that she laid-back down on the old mattress and wept quietly, wishing she could talk to Ryan.
She stopped crying when she heard the door to her prison unlock and slowly begin to open. She sat up on the mattress and quickly wiped her eyes. When the door was opened fully, she saw that it was Sorin. She looked at him with utter contempt in her eyes. He looked at her, and she swore she saw a flash of concern in his eyes, but it was gone in an instant. “Ah, good you’re awake, it's time for your conversation with the master.”
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