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Merrie curled up in the corner of her cell with her head propped between her arm against the stone wall and her thigh on the ground. It was a profoundly uncomfortable position but better than trying to sleep on the rotting and stained canvas.

She tried not to think about how long she had been in the cell. Without a spell to measure the time, she could only use the coming and going of her rapist as a clock. From his words and actions, she guessed he usually came twice day. One before breakfast and one before he headed for a bath and bed. With rare occasions would bring him a third time, mostly on days when he was horny or violent.

Then there were the other times when the expected morning rape never came. She didn’t know if he would come for the evening rape or if the abandonment would continue into the next day. In one case, it was three days before he returned reeking of stale beer and spirits from Rat’s.

Being abandoned was the worst for Merrie. Trien didn’t tell her when he was heading in the village, he simply didn’t show up as normal.

She hated when he didn’t show up. The anticipation of being brutalized and raped rose every morning. When he didn’t show up, it felt like being tortured with having her pleasure denied hour after hour. She didn’t realize how much she craved her her customary relief of orgasms and pain.

The silence was worse when she knew she was alone. Terrible thoughts rose up, wondering if Horge managed to catch him or he died for another reason. Would anyone show up? Investigate? The lights outside her cell would last centuries; she didn’t think she could survive that long. Even if she did, would her sanity?

She sighed and closed her eyes. She didn’t have the energy to masturbate, the doubt and despair made it impossible to find excitement. She wanted to, it was the one thing that made her feel better. When she pressed a her wrist to her pussy, it was cool and damp; no fire burned inside her.

Merrie tried to go back to sleep to pass the time.

Her eyes snapped open after only minutes. She couldn’t sleep, she wasn’t tired enough. The longing to get fucked refused to let her sleep.

With a sigh, she uncurled herself from the corner and crawled into the middle of the room. As she did, she let the energies of the darkness around her flood into her system. The dark syrup sensation of power coursed along her veins, an orgasm that wouldn’t quite crest.

She already knew she couldn’t step into the Shadows but she tried anyways. The light pushed her back; even though she couldn’t see it, the surrounding brightness prevented the barrier between the worlds to thin enough for her to move over.

Instead she formed the calligraphy to her transformation spell. The energies wrapped along her limbs, twisting and lengthening them as she took on the form of a Bel Dark hound. The massive creature felt slightly uncomfortable for a moment before her body grew accustomed to the feeling of energy rippling along her senses.

Padding over the corner she defecated in, she projected a prayer to Parn. She had decided to use the hound’s form a few weeks ago but only when she was absolutely sure that Trien wouldn’t return. The smell was sharp but she ignored it. Reaching out, she scraped her claws against one of the rocks. The rough edges caught on her paw but she just did it again and again.

If Trien never returned, if he died or found some way to escape, she would be stuck for centuries in the cell. The magical lights wouldn’t fade or diminish without something else happening. She couldn’t count on an earthquake or even someone breaking into the cell without flooding it with killing light.

Her only hope was that he didn’t protect the ground underneath her cell. She continued to paw, scraping her claws repeatedly over the same line until she felt the faint indentations of her previous attempts. Shifting slightly, she followed the same strokes as before, gradually digging through the ancient stone.

It would take months, maybe years, but she had to do something.