At the distant edge of the jungle, beneath the thick canopy where moonlight barely reached, a figure dragged himself through the mud and leaves.
Heavy breathing filled the night air. Calvert's face was a mess—smudged with dirt, tears, and dried snot. His clothes were torn, his skin scratched and bruised.
He gasped and stumbled behind a fallen log, pressing himself flat against the ground. His heart pounded like a drum against his ribs.
"I… I shouldn't have offended her…" he whispered, voice trembling with regret. "Aurora… what kind of demon are you…?"
His whole body shook. The memories of the last few days haunted him like a nightmare he couldn't wake up from.
At first, when Aurora had taken him, he was thrown into a dark cellar, hands and feet tied. He thought that was bad enough. But soon… that psycho with the red hair came.
Calvert whimpered just thinking about him.
