Sage Pillar

Description: Sage pillar’s breath comes in frantic, uneven bursts through her nose, the only sound in the room besides the creak of the bedsprings as she twists against the ropes. the tape is too tight — it digs into the corners of her lips, the adhesive pulling at her skin every time she tries to whimper. whatever’s stuffed inside her mouth (a wad of cloth? her own panties?) pushes against the back of her throat, a constant reminder that she can’t scream. her blindfold isn’t just fabric — it’s a void. she jerks her head side to side, straining to hear footsteps, voices, anything to hint at what’s coming… but there’s only silence. her thighs press together instinctively, slick with fear-sweat, every muscle locked tight between revolt and resignation. the ropes at her ankles have already rubbed raw patches into her skin, but the pain is distant compared to the panic clawing up her chest. no one’s coming. no one knows she’s here.