It all started in a packed metro. A naive, sweet girl sat quietly with her earphones in, tapping away on her phone, lost in her own world. A man standing in front of her noticed the band she was listening to and casually said, "Underrated band, isn't it?" She replied politely, "Yes, it is. Do you also listen to them?"
He said yes—he was even headed to their fest, and she replied, "That's such a great venue… but so expensive." He said he got a discount from work. She smiled.
Scene change.
Dark room.
She wakes up—tied to a chair, confused, dizzy. Her skirt is a little torn, she can't move properly. That same guy from the metro is there. She panics, starts asking questions, trying to get up, but nothing's working.
He doesn't say a word. He pulls her hair back and makes her breathe in some weird powder—like some kind of drug. Suddenly everything feels light, floaty. Her body feels happy for no reason, but her mind is spinning.
She starts seeing things. Her head isn't working right. She watches as he starts painting on her skin—on her waist, her neck, her arms, even near her belly button. He's drawing leaves, shadows, symbols—like it means something to him.
But then, by mistake, she moves a little and one of the designs gets messed up.
He gets angry—really angry—and slaps her hard across the face. Not because of her, but because she ruined the drawing. Then he slowly moves toward her waist, looking at her like she's not even a person.
She screams, cries—but it only makes it worse.
And then… everything goes black.
She wakes up in a hospital. Her family is crying. She remembers only flashes of what happened. The silence in the room is heavier than any comfort.