Drip, plunk. Drip, plunk. Drip plunk.
The slow sound of dripping liquid sounded through the small room. The air was chilly and damp; water was caressing the cinder block that formed three of the wall of the 10' by 10' room. The other wall that housed the door was made out of steel and the door had no handle on this side, just a single lock.
Near the back wall, strung up by the wrists, was a battered and bloody form. In the center of the room was a stainless steel table, one half covered with a piece of felt cloth that had numerous pockets that held various pliers, knives and saws. On the other side of the table, rivulets of blood ran down the groves set in the table top and flowed down to the drain below, causing the steady dripping sound.
The body currently tied up in the chains had now been in the room for a week, slowly being brought to higher and higher levels of pain to the point where they could not take it and passed out.
She slowly regained conscious, something that took longer this time than usual. She could sense that the room was empty of anyone but herself. She tried to open her eyes, one turning out to still be swelled shut, the other opening enough to see- barely. She slowly started trying to take stock of herself. The chains kept her suspended just above the floor, her feet touching, but unable to take any weight off of her arms. She had been stripped of her clothes the day before, and the cold had long since caused her limbs to go numb. Her captor would heat up the room each time he came in to 'play', he said it was all for her, but she knew it was just so the blood would run faster. What fun was it when your victim was to numb to feel, too cold to bleed.
Along with her arms being shackled, stretched out behind her and bound to the wall with steel loops, her wings hung useless. Her greatest weapons had been reduced to her greatest torment. She had always taken great pride in keeping them in pristine condition; not a feather out of place and each one as white as the driven snow. Now they hung in tatters from her back, every plume now stained with her blood and matted together.
The pain was a steady presence for her, it would ebb and flow like the tide. It all came down to what hurt less for her. Finally she settled on staying still, the pain in her shoulders being less than trying to stand on the tips of her toes. They had done so much damage to her legs that she wasn't sure even if she was released that she could stand on her own without support.
Her host, as he liked to refer to himself, was fascinated with knives and what they could do to a Valkyrie's skin. His favorite pastime was carving intricate designs into the flesh of her torso and upper legs, to this point her had stayed away from her chest and feet, but she knew that he was rapidly running out of room and patience with her. The day before, he started in on her wings with a vengeance. Using a number of different pliers to pluck out feathers and then taking a scalpel to the tender skin underneath.
Symmetry was big with this guy; whatever he did to one side of her body, that same cut would be added to the opposite. He had started with twin cuts down her sides, starting at the skin between her arm and the base of her breast and drew the blade in towards her belly before arching back out and ending the cuts just above the ball of her hip. That was the last slice she had been aware of, everything after that was just one continuous burn.
As she hung there, thinking about her current situation, there was a clanging noise from outside her little room. A few seconds later her host sauntered into the room, a steady purring coming from deep in his chest. His pale skin and bleached hair seemed to glow in the light from the single bare bulb suspended from the ceiling above the table.
Turning his head to look at her, he smiled. His eyes showed how much pleasure he took in her suffering. As the smell of her blood hit him, his eyes turned red and his lips couldn't hide the fangs pushing out of his gums. He reached with his right hand behind his back, making sure that she was watching his movements.
"I 'ave the final toy, luv." He rumbled as he brought forward an oblong box from his back pocket and slowly opened it in front of her.
He laughed at the fear now coming to her features as she caught her first glimpse of what was in the box. His purring got louder as she tilted her face up to him and the paralyzing fear was plain to see in her eyes. She knew that her days were few, for it was well known he only brought out this 'toy' when he was finished.
He was happy with her recognition of what this meant, and stepped back to the table and placed the box below the light, tilted so that she could see in it. Without saying another word, he smiled one more time at her and left the room locking it as he left.
Her mind was shut down, left completely blank in the wake of his leaving. Her eyes remained riveted on the object in front of her, unable to tear her gaze away.
Gently nestled in the box, on a bed of blood red silk, rested a long silver railroad spike.