Rooms aren't meant to be this cold, this dark. Oak Bellgleam brought her knees to her chin, the shackles around her ankles and wrists clanking together. The elongated points of her ears sticking out of the tangled mesh that was her hair, listening to the faint sounds of her captures walking just beyond the large metal door. The small windowless room kept a shadowless look as the black painted walls towered over the single prisoner. She could hear the sounds of cars and buses roaring past above the cement ceiling, a reminder of just how far she was from home.
