What is this? Where is this place? Griffith hung from the ceiling by his arms, deep wounds from a bullwhip already covering his body. The stunted creature stumbled up to him and said, in a horrible voice "Now it is time that we take care of you. Once I begin, your beauty shall not withstand!" A strike to his head followed
Griffith awoke with his ankles and wrists secured in irons about 4 corners of a wooden rectangular table. He would not cry out, for what point was there? Once again, the creature clumsily dragged itself in front of him. He roughly pulled on a lock of Griffith's pure white hair, saying "I just love your hair. I have to get some of my own. I never could grow much here…" Griffith looked up to see his long hair fastened around a rolling pin in the torturer's hand. In one swift motion, Griffith felt his head jolted in the direction the creature, the "Torturer" swung. With an awful tearing sound, a part of his scalp was removed with the hair. He could feel the blood flowing down his forehead and into his eyes. He looked up to see the thing stuffing the hair into his burlap pants. "Finally, just what I needed. Decorations. I hope you don't mind, dear, but I wanted to keep myself warm under these awful pants of mine. I want to be comfortable in the year we're going to spend with each other. You will be like my wife." The creature walked out of Griffith's sight again, and came back with a kettle. "Oh, dear!" it chanted "it looks like you have a stain on your head. I know the cure! Boiling water!" Griffith could feel the scorch of boiling water all down his face, down the back of his head, and running down his back. Still, he did not flinch. Slowly the thing hobbled around to the back of the table, and Griffith could hear something being said about "Running away", but did not understand his aim until he turned to see its instrument. Slowly, ever so slowly, it cut away at the tendons in Griffith's ankles, first in the right, second in the left. Blood poured out of the wounds, and in each one, he could feel the severance, and the fraying of the tendons. "Now you can never run again. We can be together forever and ever and ever and ever and ever, my dear whore wife!" softly, slowly, Griffith began to weep, for the finality of the situation was now clear. The torturer came around the table to face Griffith, noticing his tears. "There, there, dear. Dry those tears. No? Alright, I'll dry them for you." The torturer pulled out a sharp, pointed knife. He saw the knife come closer and closer to the edge of his eye, and his eyes raced, looking for a way out. With no way in sight, Griffith took a deep breath. His tears quickly turned to blood and overflowed onto his eyelids as the torturer painfully dug around in his tear ducts. The torturer, seeing his job done, grasped Griffith's face and forced his tongue inside of his mouth. Griffith reacted quickly and bit the torturer's tongue. Stumbling back, blood dripping from the tip of his tongue, the torturer went into a froth, digging around in his chest, pulling out an expander and a small knife. Unscrewing the expander slightly to make it larger, it forced the device into Griffith's mouth and reached inside with his knife. Griffith tried to evade it, but it was no use. Suddenly, he lost the feeling in most of his tongue. The torturer pulled it out and stuffed it into his ragged pocket. "Don't worry, my dear. This is just the beginning."