One Hundred and Five North Tower
At first all it saw when it opened it's eyes was black. That's normal. It waited for its eyes to adjust, they didn't. It could taste the palpable darkness, which left a great monotony on its tongue. Was there a storm coming? It would hear the rain, but wouldn't see it. It would cry to touch its ardent drops, but to no avail. Its silent deplore was also to no avail, no one knew; no one cared. It was One Hundred and Five North Tower. That's all; no more. Once it was a man, a "someone". Now One Hundred and Five North Tower was all that was left; simply a shell. It couldn't remember the day its hallowed existence finally failed to manifest; just another time. He knew no morning, no evening, no sunrise, or sunset. He was nothing, just One Hundred and Five North Tower. One Hundred and Five North Tower sat and waited; perhaps for hours, maybe just seconds. He waited. Finally a knock, more of a bang, his home opened revealing two men. Both with rapiers and violent guns hanging off their well fed bodies. One, only one, carried a lantern, revealing with his soaked cloak that it was indeed raining. His visage warm, but uncaring. Slightly aquiline features were the only truly noticeable factors. Slowly he reached out with a package in his hand.
"One Hundred and Five North Tower," the guard said, with an undeniable air of superiority. No reply, only a fleeting glance. "Your daily rations have been reduced. You will eat one slice of the usual bread with two pints of turnip water daily." The parcel in his hand revealed itself to be simply a jug and a loaf of dark bread. One Hundred and Five North Tower jerked with a look of absolute despair, as a suitor is for a bride.
Feeling no need to perpetuate a bad situation the guard sat down the bread and hastily left; stopping only to lock the cell. They didn't leave fast enough, however, to evade the piteous sobbing of a desperate soul, hunkered over a single lock of hair.