Lyra
The rats scurried about noisily as I was pushed into the cell. It was like I was intruding on their home. Their sharp and loud squealing noises split the still air of the dungeon as if in protest to my arrival.
The cell was dark. It took me sitting down on the rough stone floor beside the rusty iron bars of the gates to know I wasn't alone.
I turned into the cell, registering through the darkness not just one, not two, but a mass of bodies slumped against each other deep into the cell, hiding in the comfort of the darkness.
The damp and decaying stench coming from there told me some were dead, some were rotting, and some were almost eaten alive by the rats.
I probably would end up like them, dead, rotting away, or almost eaten alive by rats—rats, of all creatures.
