Mognorug

Liz had no idea how long she had been trapped in the 17th basement of the JF Institute. In complete isolation, the sense of time and space was the first things to go. At first, she tried counting the number of meals she had been fed, back when she had more hope about getting out, but she had lost count a long time ago. How much time had passed? Days? Months? Years? The answers to those questions lay outside the silence and darkness of her cell. In all that time, Liz had never gotten used to the touch of latex. She still hated it as much as she had the day her mistress Elena had taken her in. Or was it former mistress now? She hated its artif