Hungar ate at her. Her stomach growled as it tried to eat itself. She now sat at the bottom of the stairs, looking up hopelessly at the door. She had been locked in the cellar for two days. She did think she could speak, her throat scratched and every breath was labored.
She stopped crying, but still felt like it. She felt guilt, extreme, extreme guilt. Guilt that made her insides flip.
Her legs felt numb from sitting in the same position for so long, and she felt terribly cold. she was shaking and now screaming.
Just screaming, nonsense, apologies, and back to panicked screams. She pulled at her hair and waited for stirring upstairs. A hint to her release.
nothing, radio silence upstairs.
Night fell again, and then suddenly. From upstairs she heard a loud crash. The front door was knocked off its hinges, and (Y/n) rushed upstairs and started pounding on the door. She would have screamed but she had lost her voice completely.
She heard the lock click, and as the door opened...
black
YOU ARE READING
fear (Moriarty x reader)
Mystery / Thriller(Y/n) (L/n), resident of the flat in central London that was always damp and cold, as the curse of basements is. There is something about living underneath the worlds greatest detective that makes one so much more cautious in life.
