πππππππ
"I said get up." I wanted to crouch. To help her up. But that was when I saw it. The scars. I couldn't move. I couldn't think. All I saw were the big, thick mark that tainted the skin of her back. Some were older than others, the flesh already white, while others were red, dry scabs still hanging at the edges. It was horrendous mutilation. Residues of what seemed like brutal lashes, burns, and cut marks. And it all seemed too fucking familiar.
"""""
(Flashback)
Hanging from the ceiling, chained and bound by her wrists and ankles, she looked like a fucking offering. An offering to God. An offering to me.