"Please sir I beg you, don't hit my husband" You clasped your hands and kneeled before the male who is whipping your husband without showing any mercy to the poor soul.
The pitiful screams of your husband echo through the village as none of the civ...
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You sit on the bed, legs folded and dressed in a stark white gown, the picture of desolation. Your forehead is bandaged, wrists adorned with chains, and your face is a mask of lifelessness, devoid of any emotion. You resemble a doll, one that breathes but holds no spark of life.
The sound of the door opening breaks the oppressive silence, followed by the clinking of metal as the bars covering the door are unlocked. It's a familiar routine now; the nurse or maids either bringing food or preparing another injection of medicine. Three days have passed in this torturous cycle, your voice hoarse from screaming and begging for death. Multiple attempts to end your suffering have been thwarted: banging your head against the iron bars or trying to stab yourself with a stolen knife, only to be stopped by vigilant eyes constantly watching you.
"How are you doing, Miss Y/n?" The doctor's gentle voice reaches you, her posture and kind smile meant to offer comfort but instead leaving you feeling even more hollow. You know she is only doing her job, unaware of the true horrors that bind you here.
Your stone-faced expression remains unchanged as you cast your eyes back towards the window, your only semblance of escape. The doctor, undeterred, nods her head and takes a seat before you.
"I know you don't want to talk, but I fear for your mental stability. You need to let out your emotions so that your heart feels free and your mind relaxes," she says kindly, her words meant to soothe and draw you out of your shell.
"I want to die," you say with a cold, emotionless tone, your eyes meeting the doctor's with a chilling directness. The doctor flinches at your stark declaration, visibly shaken.
"Let's forget about that, Miss Y/n. Kindly take some rest and have your food," she responds, her voice wavering slightly. She glances at the maid, who promptly places the tray on the bedside table.
"All these grains added to your diet provide nutrition and stability for your mental health. I hope you will recover from this soon," she continues with a forced smile, trying to convey reassurance before walking out of the room.
The maid's eyes follow the doctor, silently pleading not to be left alone with you. But duty calls, and she approaches with a mixture of fear and determination.
"Please, Miss Y/n, kindly have your food, or else Mr. Jeon would fire me from my job," she begs, her eyes wide with desperation.
You look at her, your expression icy and fists clenched.
"Then look for another job," you reply coldly, each word striking her like an arrow. Fear and uncertainty flicker across her face as she tries to process your ruthless response.
