Where am I? was the first thing to go through the little troll's mind. Fear was pulsing through his body, his eyes seeing nothing but a white cloth. He could feel cold concrete against his bare, aching skin. He tried to move his hands, finding them bound by rope. He found bindings on his feet too, and the texture of the same rope was rough against his tongue. He raised his hands to his face, trying to remove the blindfold, and successfully pulled it off. As his eyes adjusted to the slightly larger amount of light, he found himself in his basement, staring at boxes of sopor. All the pain came rushing back to him, both from his memories and his scars, and violet tears began rolling down his gray face.
The door creaked open, and the sound of two large hooves clopping down the stone steps resonated through the room. The troll stared down at the floor, which had specks of his own purple blood almost engraved into the concrete. Almost a million scenarios raced through his mind, Will he beat me? Will he rape me? Will he let me go, only to torture me later? Or will he just end my torment and kill me? he thought, awaiting the torture to come. He felt a warm, soft tongue against his cheeks, and he gathered from this that his lusus was behind him, for he didn't dare to look up. He didn't speak, for one wrong word could send him through hell all over again. He continued to stare at the ground, and to his surprise, he felt his bindings loosen, the taste of rope removed from his mouth.
"You've been a good wiggler, my sweet. And every good wiggler needs to see the circus at three sweeps. Come on, stand up."
The young purpleblood did as he was told, and looked up at the Capricorn, who stood far taller than he did. The fish-goat turned, pushing the troll forward with his tail, and the pair walked up the stairs.