The night grew, consuming all light. Devouring all the hope that came with the day. One night, one night such as this one, where the darkness seemed all-powerful and almost alive-someone pushed aside the darkness. A curious soul, perhaps, had shone a light down into the dark recesses of her cell and given her some light, glorious light, if only for a second. It gifted her with hope, and even as the night stole it away, she hid it, in a place even she could not fathom. She kept it, like a small memento to hold on to, to draw comfort from. It was like your mother's hand when you were getting a shot at the doctor's, or your father's reassuring warmth after a nightmare. Those things she never had. But even as she treasured the moment, the dreaded metal-on-metal clang reached her ears, and she flinched. The hope, the memento, was dashed to the floor and ground underfoot like trash. This hope was replaced by dread and fear, intoxicants that froze her to the ground and made her want to disappear into the corner of the cell she called home. Fear kept her from reacting, or even trying to fight back. Oh, she had, in the beginning. But every strong spirit was made to break, just like there were exceptions to every rule. If there was something there, you could guarantee that there was something out there made to destroy it, to undo everything it did. To oppose. And oppose they did. They broke her, like a rentless child who did not understand the fragility of things. She knew better, now, to not fight and to save your energy for the things to come. But-but! In order to fight, you needed to fight for something. That took hope, something she again, did not have. Not anymore. "Hello, my dear. Good morning." The honey-sweet voice, once music to her ears, was now just a reminder of how things had become. The redheaded girl crouched down next to her. "Jenna. Answer me." Her voice hardened immediately. The way she could change her tone so easily-it gave you a sense of uncertainty, never knowing her true colors. But Jenna knew.
"Good morning, Menardi." She spoke quietly, only loud enough to hear, but just that. She had learned long ago that screaming and yelling did no good, just pained you even more.
"Good! Ready to begin?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
" Yes, Menardi." Menardi led the cowering girl out of her cell, where the darkness embraced her, and into the chamber, where the darkness openly hissed at her. Or maybe that was the rat. It was so hard to tell, now. "Look at me." Jenna cautiously raised her head to look at her. Her tormentor's face softened, and she caressed Jenna's face gently. She had to do everything in her power to control her shudders of disgust. "You know I love you." Whispered Menardi tenderly.
"Yes, Menardi."
"So why don't you?" She growled suddenly, growing angry. "Say it! Say that you love me!"
"I-I…I love you, M-menardi." She whispered, trying to stop herself from hearing the words she spoke.
"Good!" Menardi smiled happily, and then left. Jenna let herself shudder all she wanted then, for shudders could not stop anything from happening next. "Get up!" came the dreaded shout. Menardi was back, with her favorite weapon in hand. The nine o' tails whip. Without warning, she swung the whip with all her might, tearing the fragile skin on Jenna's back. It was like a thunderstorm, mused Jenna dully as pain coursed through her, a daily feeling. First the crack, then the pain. Or was it the other way around? It got harder and harder to remember as time went by. Another crack split the air and sent the rat scurrying. Fresh wounds were opened, and rivulets of blood meandered their way down her legs to pool at her feet, the little red tracks proof of today's torture. Five more slashes of the whip, and even Jenna's pain dulled senses knew Menardi was almost done.
Then: excruciatingly agonous pain! Her nerves were on fire; the rat was back again, gnawing on her unhealed flesh! The burn of salt water on her wounds was too much; it overwhelmed her, to the point that she couldn't even scream. As she fell to all fours, Menardi giggled wickedly, enjoying every second of Jenna's pain. "Stand up!" she ordered Jenna. She tried, only to lose control of her trembling limbs and fall to the ground once more. Menardi watched in silence, an elated grin etched on her face. Finally, Jenna got her legs to support her, and she stood. Menardi healed her wounds, and for a millisecond, she was free from the pain-then a blunt-tipped battle mace smashed into her side. She screamed this time, a sound that delighted Menardi to no end. It swung again, and Jenna felt a few ribs crack. As she always did, Menardi healed the broken bones, and continued her sadistic pastime. The healing was only a brief respite from the pain, but without it, Jenna probably couldn't have survived as long as she did. The next brutal hit brought her to her knees again, gasping. The mace wasn't really to hurt, just to bruise. To bruise her really bad. A lapse in the pain warned her that something was amiss. The floor hissed as water began to rise. Immediately, blunt, rusty spikes erupted from the walls. Jenna knew what to do. She sprinted to the nearest wall as fast as she could and began to climb. The water rose with her, chasing her leisurely, knowing it would catch her eventually. Finally, she reached the top, and desperately flung her hand to where the switch was, where it should be, so she could stop the dark water from catching her. It wasn't there.

This was inspired by the new Batman movie. Dark, and painful. I made Menardi a sadistic monster in this one because she was the only person who could probably act this way without it seeming uncanon. Does that make sense? Hopefully I can write more on this soon, I've got a really good idea for what happens next. Stay tuned, and review as always!