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Maves — The alley is thick with rot. The stench of damp cardboard, spoiled food, and something metallic clings to the air, sinking into the cracks of the pavement, the torn plastic, the discarded things that will never be reclaimed. Maris lies among them. She doesn’t move. Not yet. The plastic bindings around her wrists and ankles bite into soft flesh, leaving faint red indentations against skin that was never meant for such treatment. Her arms are pinned awkwardly, her legs numb beneath the weight of torn trash bags pressing her down. Maris is naked except for a small black thong that barley covers. Maris should feel humiliated. But humiliation requires energy. Maris breath is slow. Controlled. Each shallow inhale measured, barely enough to stir the damp strands of white hair clinging to her face. The cold bites deep, settling into her bones, but she barely reacts. A warning sign. If she stops feeling it altogether, it’ll be too late. A sound. Footsteps. Not the careless, indifferent

Character created by @Jetset

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