The foul smell in the dungeon made Lyla scrunch her nose. It reeked of pee and decay. Two rusty chains hung from the ceiling and disgusting things which were left in the bowels from previous prisoners. Lyla stood in the middle of the cell, refusing to let her skin touch anything. She wrapped her arms around her abdomen mumbling soft words as though her child could hear her.
Her left eye was swollen and her cheek bruised. She had busted lips but the real ache was on her ego. She felt more embarrassed that people beneath her had seen her being dragged to the dungeon looking like a mess.
Did anything happen to my baby? I hope not.
