Journal Entry 57

30.07.2026

The basement had a putrid odor bordering on the stench of death.

Before me lay the epicenter of my misery. The chain that had connected the clasp around my ankle was still anchored to the stone wall. My dried blood still stained the basement floor. To the left lay my toilet—a metal bucket—on its side.

Pain. Disgust. Anger. Sadness. The emotions immediately made me want to vomit.

Images of food scraps thrown onto the floor by my captors flashed through my mind. I could feel phantom punches connecting with my skull and gut—reminders of the painful hours I had endured.

The voices I had heard earlier returned, this time resonating from above me. The wooden ceiling creaked beneath their footsteps. Were there two, three, perhaps four of them?

Perspiration dampened my skin.

Was the terror starting again? Why had I come back? Was I crazy? What was I trying to prove? Were the chain, its clasp, and the bucket waiting for me once more?

I felt dizzy and afraid.

Then I heard the wooden basement stairs creak.

It was too late. There was no way out. There was nowhere to run. I should have listened to Jonas. Why did I not listen to my King?