By Auditor Fink
He was bound by chains, hand and foot, suspended spread-eagle in the air. The manacles tore at his flesh, making each tremor a fresh, new pain. His joints ached as he struggled to remain aloft. A single candle hidden amidst the swinging chains seemed only to magnify his dread as it brought deep shadows to life. The room smelled of death, both old and new, as his own blood added to the already rust-stained floor.“Oh little spider, alone in its web,” a singsong voice erupted from the darkness. “Alert even now, as its life starts to ebb.” The makeshift song was accompanied by fresh sobs from the suspended figure and the ever-present rattling of the chains.“I did not know!” the bound man cried out to the shadows. “How could I know? They said you were a myth, that you did not ex–”THWACKA chain shot forward through the darkness, piercing his tender abdomen. A cruel, barbed hook entangled itself in his lower intestines. His body went cold and clammy, pouring sweat, in spite of the relatively cool air. His breathing went shallow as his heart began to race. This isn’t happening, he thought. If this was happening I would be in much more pain. This is all just a bad dream. A nightmare, to be sure.A red demon face appeared as if by magic. The horns were shaped as if they were Ram’s horns that glinted in the flickering light. The mouth was twisted into a cruel sneer and the nose, so long and narrow, seemed to point into his soul. It was the eyes that truly brought this face into the realm of the terrifying. Baby blue, and cold as ice, they glittered with almost childlike wonderment at the scene before them. Almost dancing with merriment, they regarded the figure bound as a plaything to be used and discarded.The bound man laughed. “You’re not even here. I’m dreaming. I’m dreaming. I’m dreaming.” His voice grew fainter with each repetition as he slowly pulled into himself, retreating into his mind, when his body was so perfectly trapped.The demon just watched: unmoving, unflinching, and unsympathetic. When the crying stopped and all had grown still again, the demon made a gesture, a sort of upwards nod with his head. With that, the chain attached to his abdomen began to slowly withdraw. The jagged end pulled his intestine out with it.“Tell me, little one. What use is a spider that can’t even weave,” the demon asked the now still figure. A bell interjected from somewhere up above. The demon reached up and removed her face. A mask dropped away, revealing a rather beautiful high elf. “Oh well, I suppose it cannot be helped. Time to get back to work.” She hung the mask, and a set of dark, blood-splattered robes on the wall, taking time to blow out the candle.The sound of footsteps on stairs could be heard in between the creaking of the chains. “Good Morning,” a voice said merrily. “What brings you into the Weaver’s guild today?”The whole time the chain kept pulling on the bound man’s innards. Slowly, inch by inch, making his intestines, out-testines. From there, they were dragged through a kiln, removing the moisture and hardening them. Then they were fed into a rather large metal contraption turning them to string. A loving hand passed over them as they were fed into a loom. “Rest well, dear spider, for at last you shall finally be able to weave.”
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