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Torture: A Short Story

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“Y'know, Caitríona, this can all stop,” the voice begun. It was all in my head, in my goddamn mind every minute of the day. It crooned at me, saying sickly sweet thing as its owner, that fucking demon, picked among the myriad of objects laid out on a grand stone altar; tongs, pliers, various types of edged knives and other surgical instruments. All of these items had been wielded as implements of my torture.

The sound of metal scraping against the stone altar, set a few paces away, echoed in the confined space, as something was shoved aside on it; possibly a tool being picked up, inspected, and then discarded for something better, something worse. I wanted to scream, wanted to plead to heaven, to the angels, to God, for mercy, but I knew

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