She doesn’t know how long she’s been here, but her skin is swollen from the water, the ever present water, the torture that will never go away. Her hands are red and bloody from clawing at anything, everything, trying to escape. Nothing works, nothings helps. This is eternal. This is hell.
And then the door opens. A man comes in, hair shaggy and smelling of white liquor. He splashes through the water covering the floor, picks her up like a damp ragdoll. Frowning at her weightlessness, the way she doesn’t even protest. She knows she has met him, mocked him and loathed him and pitied him, knows that he is like her, a losing Victor. But until this moment, helpless in his arms and being carried towards freedom, she doesn’t think she has ever seen him before.