Tattoos, body chains, and dark lipstick.
Ina and Amé are two women who rewrite the game.
Follow them into their never ending world.
Written by Ina Seele and Amé Fengári
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She was shocked, to say the least. Even in the basement, Amé could hear the screaming and shouting between the most in-love people she's ever met. She hasn't heard Idina raise her voice or even get mad since her internship at the Vatican City, or Ivaan at all. Ever.
But she didn't worry. They could start throwing things at each other, call each other names, threaten each other or heck, break up. She gave it 24 hours before they started apologizing to each other in the form of brutal, angry sex. She just hoped they were both physically cured of their wounds, or else they'd be a whole lotta stitching to do.
And she couldn't stitch a button on a blouse.
Amé could be a spy. She proved herself by getting the key from Ina, stealing the passcode to the elevator, finding the elevator and managed to follow her to the basement and not be seen by either of them.
She removed herself from the wall and began walking toward Damon's cell, where she watched Ina converse with the prisoner. She had been down here for so long, the screaming and crying and hallucinating yelling and weeping of POW started to not bother her at all. She tapped into that side of herself that was cruel, merciless, and selfish.
"How's Amé doing?"
"What do you care about my sister?"
Silence. "She's definitely the prettier sister."
Ina laughed at his sudden outburst. "Yeah. Yeah she is."
"Before he finally kills me," he said, "I want to pray with you. That way, God would forgive me and I could go to heaven, and then I could watch over her, so she's guarded against men who do her foul."
Too late, Damon. Too, motherfucking late. She had been defiled, violated, and abused by men emotionally, spiritually, physically, and mentally.
She stood in front of his cell and looked at his chains, which clasped around his wrists, neck, and ankles. Like a vile animal. Like a man. Like men should be, for being so cruel. So mercilessly cruel. She pouted, tears at her eyes and she shut them tight, breathing in deeply.
She used her bobby pin and started picking at the lock. All the hours of torture hadn't allowed him to sleep, so now that he had a break, he was knocked out cold as soon as Ina was manhandled out of the basement. She worked on the lock for a while, since she wasn't used to such modern form of concealment but when it clicked open, she removed the lock and slid the bars aside. She turned around and closed themselves inside, put the lock far from his reach and placed her bobby pin back in her bun.
He was a hair taller than Ivaan. Maybe because of his hair indeed, it was longer on top, and shaved at the sides. He was laying on his side, his breathing sounding like old squeaking toys after being squished. His clothes were torn in gashes, his skin open and slashed in certain places where it'd definitely hurt but not kill him, and his face looked the part.
