tormenting temptation

•'𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐓𝐖𝐎'•

She ran down the stairs, her heart pounding, each step feeling heavier. Her mind raced, unable to shake the eerie thought—Which stair would take her where?

The sharp sound of her anklets echoed off the stone walls of the maze-like house. Beads from her anklet clattered on the stairs as they broke free, scattering behind her like breadcrumbs she didn’t want to follow. She clutched her lehenga tighter, her breath ragged, desperate to escape. In the back of her mind, she thought of the anniversary party at his grand mansion nearby, where laughter and music filled the air. How had she ended up here? This wasn’t part of the plan.

The layout had changed—she was sure of it. But how? He wasn't here, she told herself. So, who had done this? Panic gnawed at her.

Suddenly, a soft whistling drifted through the halls, mixing with the sound of her anklets. Her blood turned to ice. The whistling—it was him. Her pace quickened, fear pushing her legs faster, her feet pounding against the stairs. I can’t let him catch me, she thought, her throat tightening with terror. She would rather be buried alive than face him.

Her breath came in ragged gasps as she reached the living room, her chest rising and falling in sharp, painful bursts. Her feet, now bleeding from the rough stones, barely carried her as sweat trickled down her face. Her hands were clenched around her lehenga, knuckles white. She stood there, frantically scanning the room for an exit, her mind spinning. The whistling had stopped, but she could still feel him—like a shadow creeping closer.

She spun around, and there he was—a masked figure, slowly advancing toward her, his steps deliberate, predatory. Her heart thundered in her chest as she stumbled backward, her legs shaking with exhaustion. Her heel caught on the edge of a table, and she crashed to the floor. Her body screamed in pain, but she didn't stop—she couldn’t. She scrambled backward, hands shaking, dragging herself away from him.

His steps never faltered.

Inch by inch, the wall closed in behind her, trapping her. She tried to stand, but her wounded legs gave out beneath her. She sobbed, panic surging through her veins as blood dripped from the gashes on her feet. She couldn’t scream—her throat felt as if it were bound by chains, and her voice refused to obey her.

The man knelt down, his mask terrifying, his teal eyes being shown. His hands were stained with blood as he grabbed her legs, forcing them onto his thighs. She whimpered in fear as he whispered, “He gave you these, didn’t he?”

A scream tore from her throat as he ripped the anklet from her leg. The sharp pain shot up her body, her vision blurring from the tears. He repeated the same cruel act on her other leg, ignoring her cries of agony. The red marks on her skin, the broken anklet beads scattered across the floor—it all felt like a nightmare she couldn’t escape.

The anklet flew through the open window.

Her gaze locked onto that window—her only chance. Summoning every ounce of strength, she shoved him away and bolted toward it, barely feeling the pain in her legs. She reached the ledge, ready to leap to freedom, when her heart stopped.

The window didn’t lead outside.