picture on begining
There were two figures in the Temple of Apollo.
One male, one female.
It was night; a new moon.
The female lay on her side, barely visible in the faint light of the stars; the man stood looking down at her.
She groaned, in pain.
"Call him," the man said, his tone cold.
She groaned again.
"Call Fugo. Call him here. Scream, and beg him to come save you."
The man’s voice betrayed no hint of mercy. Only hostility and murder calcified into dark cruelty.
The girl only groaned. She did not move. Her arms and legs were twisted in directions they were not meant to go. She could not escape on her own.
"Don't try and fight me," the man said. It was not a threat, but a statement of fact. "Manic Depression can control you completely. You no longer have free will."
His hand shot out, clutching her throat. His fingers slid beneath her skin, into her flesh.
Her scream echoed through the darkness.