The cell reeked of blood and other bodily fluids, her hands were aching and her eyes were closed, blood had scabbed over the wound around her eyes and lids. Her wrists were as red as the sun that shone above her, with merciless intensity. Sweat trailed down the back of her neck. It was hard. She couldn't get out of there. The torn clothes stuck to her sweaty body and melted into her skin from the heat. She felt disgusted; disgusted of herself; disgusted of her body and mind. She opened her bloody brown eyes, looking at the ashes that descended to the ground, smouldering bodies of her friends lay before her; her allies, her family. Ash settled on them, as if covering them in a layer of silk that reeked of loss and evil. This was not supposed to happen.

She was supposed to win.