The roar of Jack's voice still reverberated in the room, a chilling aftershock to his sudden appearance. Lili, naked and bleeding, froze on the bed, the shard of glass slipping from her trembling fingers to land with a faint chime on the floor. His eyes, burning with a cold fury, fixated on her as he took a menacing step forward.
Lili instinctively barricaded her head with her arms, curling into a tighter ball on the bed, her entire body screaming for protection. But there was no shield strong enough. His large hand, adorned with heavy, cold rings, snapped out. The first impact was a sharp, open-palmed slap across her cheek, sending her head snapping sideways with a sickening crack. A guttural scream tore from her throat, raw and desperate, as a white-hot wave of pain radiated through her skull. Her back arched violently off the mattress, a spasm of agony.
Before she could even gasp for breath, the second blow landed, a brutal backhand that caught her just below her eye. The sharp edge of a ring tore into her skin, and a searing, immediate gush of blood followed, warm and sticky against her cold cheek. A choked whimper escaped her lips, swallowed by the rising terror. Her skin felt wet and cold, aching with a deeper, internal soreness that promised dark bruises.
A third strike, a vicious blow to her jaw, snapped her head back against the headboard, sending a jolt of bone-deep pain through her skull. Her vision swam, blurred by tears and the overwhelming agony. She scrambled backward, desperate to escape, to find any sliver of safety. Scrambling off the bed, she ran, stumbling, to the farthest corner of the room, collapsing onto the floor in a heap, pulling her knees to her chest, trying to make herself small, invisible. Her body shook uncontrollably, convulses with silent sobs that tore at her throat, unable to form another sound.
He stepped back, his chest heaving slightly, his eyes still burning. "This is a taste," he snarled, his voice low and menacing. "A reminder of what happens when you betray my trust. When you question my authority." He stared at her cowering form, a silent, chilling threat passing between them. "Clean yourself. And remember your place."
Then, as quickly as he had appeared, he was gone, the door clicking shut with a soft, finality that felt louder than a gunshot.
Lili lay there, shivering uncontrollably, her body a canvas of fresh pain. Her cheek throbbed, a hot, radiating ache, and the cut below her eye seeped blood, mingling with her tears. Her naked skin felt wet and cold, a horrifying contrast to the internal inferno of shame and fear. She pressed a trembling hand to her face, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth.
As she slowly, painfully, dragged herself from the corner, the room began to subtly shift around her. The silence that followed Jack's departure was not empty; it was filled with unseen whispers, the echo of his rage, the chilling premonition of what awaited her. Her physical pain, though searing, was quickly overshadowed by a more insidious, psychological torment.
Her mind, fractured by repeated trauma, began to construct new horrors, so vivid they felt agonizingly real. The air in the room grew heavy, suffocating. She was no longer in her bedroom; she was in the black room. She felt the cold, rough texture of leather straps tightening around her wrists and ankles, binding her limbs to the unforgiving metal of a frame. Her body was stretched taut, exquisitely vulnerable, every inch of her exposed. Her neck, too, was secured, holding her head immobile, unable to move even a fraction of an inch, forcing her to stare straight ahead into the oppressive darkness.
Then, he was there. Not as a memory, but as a chilling presence. She felt his hand against her hair, yanking her head to the side, exposing her back. The first whip cut through the air with a chilling whistle, followed by the sickening crack as it made brutal contact with her bare skin. She screamed, but the sound was choked, trapped in her throat, a guttural rasp. Her back arched violently, a desperate, involuntary spasm of agony, but the restraints held her fast. There was no running, no escaping, no hiding. She could feel the hot, blinding tears that streamed down her face, the way they clung to her skin, cold and stinging.
"Such a defiant little animal, aren't we?" his voice, sharp and cutting, echoed in her mind. "Trying to hide your true nature. But I see you, you filthy thing. You are mine to control. Mine to break. You think you can shame me? You are the disgrace here."
Another whip snapped, another searing lash across her back. She gasped, fighting for breath, choking on the hot air that felt like smoke in her lungs. She felt the distinct, tearing pain as the leather bit into her flesh, leaving angry, burning welts. The rhythmic, relentless descent continued, each strike delivering an exquisite agony that consumed her.
"This is for your disobedience," his voice, cold and devoid of pity, drilled into her very core. "For your lack of respect. For thinking you could decide anything for yourself. You are nothing but an empty vessel, and you will learn your purpose."
The torture continued in her mind, so vivid it was real. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. Her breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, as if the very air was pressing down on her. Even when her eyes were open, the room would sometimes darken, the walls seeming to close in, the luxurious furnishings transforming into the cold, stark confines of a cell. She started to jump at sudden, ordinary sounds,the creak of the floorboards, the distant chiming of a clock,her body tensing, convinced it was Jack returning, or the prelude to another, more elaborate punishment. Sleep, when it came, was not a refuge, but a chaotic landscape of fragmented nightmares, leaving her more exhausted than before. She found herself constantly on edge, her senses heightened, hyper-vigilant for any sign of impending threat, her body ready to flee or collapse.
This constant state of terror, the intrusive visions, the overwhelming sense of vulnerability, were slowly, irrevocably, reshaping her mind. It was the beginning of an unseen torment, a prison constructed not just by walls and chains, but by her own terrified imagination.
Now, Lili lay asleep on the floor, her limbs twitching erratically as the nightmare intensified. She whimpered, a small, broken sound, lost in the suffocating darkness of her mind. Jack materialized before her, larger than life, his face a grotesque mask of cruelty. He backhanded her again, the force of the blow sending her sprawling. "Please," she choked out, her voice barely a whisper, "Please, no more."
He laughed, a harsh, grating sound that echoed in the confined space of her mind. "More? This is nothing, little thing. You haven't even begun to pay for your insolence." He grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head back, exposing her throat. She cried out, a desperate, animalistic sound, tears streaming down her face. "Mercy," she begged, her voice thick with terror. "I beg you, mercy."
His eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure. "Mercy? You dare ask me for mercy? Your pain is my pleasure, your tears are my reward." He threw her to the ground, her body hitting the hard floor with a sickening thud. He picked up a shard of glass, its edges glinting menacingly in the dim light. He knelt beside her, his face close to hers, his breath hot and foul against her skin. "Let's see how much you can take, shall we?" He pressed the glass against her cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. She screamed, a high-pitched, piercing sound that tore through the silence.
He continued his torment, each act more brutal than the last. He threw objects at her – a heavy book that struck her in the ribs, a metal candlestick that left a gash on her forehead. With each blow, she cried out, her voice hoarse and raw. "Please, Jack! Please! I'll do anything! Just stop!"
Her pleas only seemed to fuel his rage. "Anything? Is there nothing you won't do to avoid my displeasure?" He sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Pathetic. You disgust me."
Her body was a symphony of pain, a canvas of fresh wounds. She lay on the floor, curled into a fetal position, her body shaking uncontrollably. Her mind, a shattered mirror, reflected the horrors inflicted upon her, each image burned into her memory, a permanent scar on her soul.
Lili lay shivering on the cold, hard floor of her bedroom, her limbs still twitching sporadically, a desperate dance against the phantom torment of her nightmare. The echoes of Jack's cruel laughter, the imagined snap of the whip, and the phantom shards of glass still pricked at her mind, even as the dream began to recede. But the retreat offered no solace. Instead, a new, searing agony pierced through the fading horror.
A sharp, intense pain erupted in her chest, a sudden, crushing weight that stole her breath. It was as if an invisible hand had seized her heart, squeezing it in a vice-like grip. Her eyes, still heavy with the residue of sleep and terror, snapped open, but the room remained a swirling, indistinct blur. She gasped, a ragged, desperate sound, and instinctively clutched her hands to her chest, pressing down as if to contain the frantic, chaotic drumming of her heart. Each beat felt like a violent tremor, threatening to burst through her ribs.
Her vision, already distorted by tears and exhaustion, began to narrow, the edges of her sight encroaching inward, until she could see only black. It wasn't just darkness; it was an oppressive void, swallowing the faint light of the room, consuming her. The walls seemed to press in, the air growing impossibly thin, each attempted breath a shallow, burning struggle. A cold sweat plastered her hair to her forehead, and her body began to shake uncontrollably, a violent tremor that started in her core and spread outwards, making her teeth clatter.
Then came the voices. Not the distinct snarl of Jack, but a cacophony of whispers, a million voices rising from the encroaching blackness, swirling around her, burrowing into her skull. Worthless. Disgusting. Filthy. Broken. Not good enough. You deserve this. You are nothing. You are a mistake. You are unlovable. You are a slut. You are a failure. You are tainted. You are corrupted. Not good enough. Never good enough. The words were relentless, a brutal, internal assault, each one a hammer blow against her already shattered sense of self. They were the echoes of every cruel word ever spoken to her, amplified and distorted, a chorus of condemnation that resonated with her deepest fears.
The pain in her chest intensified, radiating through her arms, making her fingers tingle and grow numb. Her throat constricted, a tight, burning band that refused to loosen, making it impossible to scream, impossible to call for help. She was drowning, not in water, but in a suffocating wave of pure, unadulterated terror. Her body was no longer her own; it was a vessel of uncontrollable agony, writhing and convulsing on the cold floor. She clawed at her chest, at her throat, desperate to escape the invisible chains that bound her, to silence the voices that screamed her worthlessness.
This was a pain beyond physical injury, a torment that tore at the very fabric of her being. It was the raw, unbridled terror of a mind pushed past its breaking point, a direct consequence of the relentless trauma she had endured. The blackness consumed her, the voices grew louder, and Lili, curled into a desperate ball on the floor, was lost in the agonizing, uncontrollable maelstrom of her own mind. The world outside ceased to exist; there was only the searing pain, the suffocating fear, and the million voices telling her she was not good enough, over and over, until the words became the very air she couldn't breathe.
Then, a soft click. The bedroom door opened, and a sliver of light cut through the oppressive darkness. Clara stood on the threshold, her face etched with concern, her eyes immediately finding Lili's convulsing form on the floor. Without a moment's hesitation, Clara rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside Lili. She understood immediately. The trembling, the silent screams, the frantic movements – this was a terror beyond words, a mind unraveling.
Clara reached out, her touch feather-light, and gently, carefully, gathered Lili into her arms, not too tightly, ensuring she could still gasp for air. "Lili," she murmured, her voice a soft, steady anchor in the storm. "Lili. Lili." She repeated the name, slowly, rhythmically, a gentle mantra against the chaos.
Lili, lost in the depths of her nightmare, felt the familiar scent first. The clean, comforting fragrance of Clara's perfume, a subtle blend of lavender and something earthy, began to permeate the foul, decaying air of her mental prison. It was a faint beacon, a thread of reality in the terrifying tapestry of her hallucination. The million condemning voices, though still present, began to recede, their sharp edges softening, their volume dimming, as if Clara's presence was a shield against their relentless assault.
But the visions of Jack, the physical torment, remained agonizingly real. She was still in the black room, tied to the metal wall, her wrists and ankles bound, her neck secured so she couldn't move even a fraction. Jack loomed over her, his hand raised, heavy with rings. He slapped her, the impact jarring her phantom body, sending a fresh wave of pain. "Such a pathetic whore," his voice snarled, dripping with contempt. "You think you can escape me? You are nothing but a broken toy." He backhanded her again, the phantom rings tearing at her skin.
He picked up a shard of glass, its edges glinting with malicious intent. He pressed it against her side, dragging it slowly, the imagined cut a searing line of fire across her ribs. She writhed against the bindings, tears streaming down her face, a silent scream tearing at her throat. The pain was absolute, undeniable.
Then, the cold reality of the glass, the searing cut, began to fade. A profound shiver coursed through her, a full-body tremor that shook her from the depths of the nightmare. Her eyes, wide and unfocused, slowly, agonizingly, opened. The black room dissolved, the phantom Jack vanished, and the suffocating terror began to recede. She was no longer bound to a metal wall, no longer bleeding from unseen wounds. She was on the cold floor of her bedroom, still trembling, but she was real. And she was in Clara's arms, the soft scent of lavender a tangible, undeniable comfort against her cheek. Clara's gentle voice continued, "Lili. Lili. Lili."
"Lili. Lili. Lili." Clara's voice was a soft, persistent thread, pulling Lili back from the abyss. The scent of lavender, so powerfully real, finally anchored her. The black room, Jack's cruel face, the phantom pain, all faded, replaced by the blurry reality of Clara's embrace. Her eyes fluttered open, wide and unfocused, taking in the dim light of her bedroom, the soft contours of Clara's face above her.
A raw, broken sound escaped Lili's lips. "You left," she whispered, the words ragged, tasting of bile and dried tears. It wasn't a question, but a stark, painful accusation.
Clara flinched, her grip momentarily tightening before she remembered to ease it. Her eyes, filled with profound sorrow, glistened. "Oh, Lili," she breathed, her voice cracking. "I am so, so sorry. Please, forgive me." She leaned her head against Lili's, her own body trembling slightly.
The apology, the warmth, the very presence of Clara, was too much. It triggered a different kind of terror, a desperate need for concealment. With a sudden, surprising surge of strength, Lili tore herself from Clara's gentle hold. Scrambling backward, her naked body aching with every movement, she stumbled away, her eyes wild, fixed not on Clara's face, but on the bathroom door. She needed to hide. She needed to hide the fresh crimson lines marring her forearms, the self-inflicted wounds that spoke of a pain Clara couldn't comprehend, a betrayal of another kind.
She lunged for the bathroom, her movements clumsy and desperate, and slammed the door shut behind her, the sharp click of the lock echoing loudly in the sudden silence. Leaning against the cold wood, gasping for breath, Lili heard Clara's soft gasp from the other side.
"Lili? What is it? Let me in, please!" Clara's voice was laced with frantic concern.
Lili pressed her back against the door, her eyes scanning the small, familiar space, seeing only the raw vulnerability of her body, the vivid marks on her arms. A chilling, desperate resolve hardened her features. "Stay back!" she screamed, her voice hoarse and raw. "Don't come near me! Stay away, or I'll cut my neck open!" The threat, born of terror and a desperate need for control, hung heavy in the air between them, a final, brutal barrier.
The silence on the other side of the bathroom door stretched, thick with unspoken fear and desperation. Clara stood frozen for a moment, the threat hanging in the air, a chilling testament to Lili's broken state. But she couldn't give in to the fear. She had to reach Lili, to break through the walls Lili had erected around herself.
Clara turned, her gaze sweeping across the room, landing on a decorative wall hanging near the door. It was a collection of antique keys, each one unique, a relic from some forgotten time. A desperate idea sparked in her mind. Moving quickly, she lifted the hanging from the wall, the keys clinking softly against each other. Her hands trembling, she began to try each key, one by one, inserting them into the lock, turning, testing. Each failed attempt was a small stab of despair, but she pressed on, driven by a fierce determination.
Finally, with a soft click, one of the keys turned. The lock disengaged. Clara's breath hitched in her throat. Slowly, cautiously, she pushed the door inward, just a crack, peering into the dim light of the bathroom.
What she saw shattered her heart. Lili was huddled on the floor, naked and shivering, her body curled into a tight ball. Tears streamed down her face, her hands shaking violently. But it was the bruises that stole Clara's breath. They covered Lili's body, angry purple and blue welts marring her pale skin, a horrifying testament to the violence she had endured. Clara's heart clenched with a pain so intense it felt physical.
Clara's hand reached for the doorknob, her heart aching at the sight of Lili. Pushing the door fully open, she stepped into the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind her. The soft click of the lock resonated, sealing them inside, away from the world, away from Jack. This was their sanctuary, however fragile.
Clara knelt beside Lili, her movements slow and deliberate, filled with a gentle urgency. "Oh, my love," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Let's get you warm." She carefully helped Lili to her feet, supporting her trembling weight, and guided her to the bathtub. As Lili sank into the porcelain, Clara turned on the hot water, steam instantly beginning to curl, warming the chill in the air.
With immense tenderness, Clara began to clean the wounds on Lili's forearms. Each cut, stark against her pale skin, was a fresh stab to Clara's soul. Lili's breath hitched, a choked sob escaping her lips. Her hands, resting on the edge of the tub, clenched into tight fists, knuckles white, as the warm water met the raw, stinging flesh. A soft whimper escaped Lili's throat with every gentle dab, her body rigid with pain, but she no longer had the strength to pull away.
As Clara worked, her gaze fell lower, and she saw them , more self-inflicted cuts, delicate, agonizing lines tracing paths across Lili's feet. A new wave of horror washed over Clara, but she pushed it down, her focus unwavering. She carefully cleaned these wounds too, Lili's body tensing, another silent testament to the pain. The water in the tub slowly began to change, the initial pristine clarity giving way to a faint, then a deep, reddish tinge, before gradually becoming colorless again as the blood was washed away.
When the last wound was clean, Clara leaned forward, her heart overflowing with sorrow and fierce love. She gently pressed her lips to Lili's forehead, then her bruised cheek, her touch feather-light. Then, with a soft devotion, she kissed each of Lili's freshly cleaned wounds, her forearms, her feet. A low, pained groan escaped Lili, and her fists clenched again, even harder this time, her body still recoiling from the ghost of pain, unable to accept comfort where hurt had so recently resided.
Clara understood. She pulled back, her heart aching, but her gaze unwavering. Reaching for a soft, clean towel hanging on the door, she knelt by the tub and began to gently pat Lili's reddened, sensitive skin dry.
Leaving Lili in the warmth of the bathroom for a moment, Clara unlocked the door, slipped into her own room, and quickly returned with fresh, soft clothes. She locked the bathroom door behind her once more, sealing their private space. With infinite patience, she helped Lili dress, her hands moving over Lili's bruised body with reverent care.
Finally, dressed in clean, comfortable clothes, Lili's strength utterly depleted, Clara led her to the hard floor, far from the bed with its fresh, agonizing memories. Lili collapsed into Clara's waiting arms, her head resting against Clara's shoulder, her body still trembling but settling against the familiar warmth. Clara held her close, stroking her hair, and gently kissed her forehead.
"You are loved, Lili," Clara whispered, her voice firm, unwavering. "You are so loved." The words hung in the quiet room, a fragile promise against the vast, dark emptiness that had threatened to consume them both.
Lili lay curled in Clara's arms on the cold floor, the gentle touch a stark contrast to the violence that still echoed in her mind. Her body, though no longer convulsing with the panic attack, still trembled with residual fear and exhaustion. The whispered words, "You are loved, Lili," were a fragile balm, but they couldn't erase the horrors etched into her soul.
"The black room," Lili murmured, her voice raw and hoarse, barely audible against Clara's shoulder. She shifted slightly, her head still buried, unable to meet Clara's gaze. "He... he took me back." The simple words carried a weight of unspeakable terror. "It was... worse this time."
Clara tightened her embrace, a quiet gasp escaping her lips. "Oh, Lili, no. I'm so sorry, my love."
Lili continued, the words tumbling out in a broken rush, a desperate need to unburden herself. "He didn't use the whip... not at first. He just hit me with his hands. Over and over. His rings..." she trailed off, her body tensing at the memory of the sharp impact. "He called me... he said I was a slut. Filthy. Worthless. He said I deserved everything. And then... the glass." Her voice dropped to a barely audible whisper, thick with the horror of the imagined pain. "He cut me with glass, Clara. All over. And when I begged... he said it was just an excuse to hurt me more."
Clara's breath caught in her throat. She could feel Lili's fresh wounds, the ones she had just cleaned, and now her mind painted the terrifying picture of how they came to be. Her arms tightened around Lili, tears silently streaming down her face. The sheer depravity of it, the cold, calculating cruelty...
Lili shivered violently, burrowing deeper into Clara's embrace. "He said... he said it wasn't rape. He said it was love." Her voice cracked, a horrifying mixture of despair and twisted understanding. "He said... this is how he expresses it. Because he wants me to be his wife. And he won't stop. He'll never stop." The finality of those words hung in the air, a suffocating blanket of despair.
Clara held her, her heart shattering with every word Lili uttered. She felt the searing heat of Lili's fear, the profound depth of her pain, resonating through her own body. This wasn't just a bruised face or a broken spirit; this was a soul being systematically destroyed. The monstrous definition of "love" Jack had forced upon Lili, the insidious way he twisted reality, chilled Clara to the bone. It clicked into place: Lili wasn't just a prisoner of the house; she was a prisoner of a mind diseased, a reality warped. This wasn't something she could simply comfort away. This was a nightmare from which there was no waking up inside Blackwood Manor.
Clara closed her eyes, pressing her cheek against Lili's hair. The weight of Lili's brokenness, the chilling understanding of Jack's relentless evil, settled upon her. She had tried to be there, to comfort, to protect in small ways. But this... this transcended all attempts at solace. Lili needed more than a hug; she needed to be free. A cold, stark realization solidified in Clara's mind, pushing away the fear of Jack, replacing it with a quiet, burning resolve. She couldn't stand by any longer. Not while Lili was being systematically erased.
She knew what she had to do. It was a terrifying, dangerous path, one that could put her own life at risk, but there was no other choice. She would call the police. It wouldn't be now, not with Lili clinging to her, but it would be soon. The silent promise formed, a desperate, final resort to break the cycle of horror.
Clara slowly, carefully, began to stir from the cold floor. Her muscles ached, but a fierce, protective energy surged through her. She looked down at Lili's fragile, bruised body, still curled against her, and a silent vow solidified in her heart. This was it. There was no turning back.
With a tenderness that belied her own exhaustion, Clara gently scooped Lili into her arms. Lili's body felt impossibly light, yet heavy with the weight of her suffering, a stark testament to how utterly broken she was. Clara carried her carefully to the bed, her gaze sweeping over the stained sheets, the crimson streaks, the dried vomit, the evidence of a night of unspeakable horror. With a grim resolve, she gently lowered Lili's body onto the floor for a moment, then stripped the soiled linens, tossing them aside with a shudder of disgust. She pulled fresh, clean sheets from the wardrobe, crisp and white, a small, desperate attempt to reclaim some purity in this defiled space.
She then lifted Lili again, placing her gently onto the clean bed, arranging the pillows around her head. Lili stirred faintly, a soft whimper escaping her lips, but she remained in the shallow, tormented sleep of the traumatized. Clara leaned over, her heart overflowing with a desperate love and a fierce protectiveness. She kissed Lili's forehead, then her bruised cheeks, lingering there, pouring all her silent promises into the touch. She hugged Lili close, a soft, comforting embrace that Lili instinctively leaned into.
For a long moment, Clara hesitated, her hand hovering over Lili's hair. Leaving her felt like a betrayal, even for a moment. But this was for Lili. This was the only way. With a deep, fortifying breath, Clara carefully eased herself out of the bed, her movements slow and deliberate so as not to disturb Lili.
She moved silently across the room, her eyes fixed on the bathroom door. Slipping inside, she closed it with a soft click, then turned the lock, sealing herself in. Her hand, trembling slightly, reached for her phone. The glowing screen felt like a beacon in the darkness. She took another shaky breath, steeling herself, and dialed the emergency number.
"Yes, hello? I need to report a crime. My name is Clara. I'm at Blackwood Manor, the address is..." Her voice, though low, was clear and firm. "I need you to come immediately. There's a man here, Jack, he's... he's been abusing the woman I care for. She's been beaten, tortured. He calls it love, but it's not. I've seen her wounds, the ones he inflicted, and the ones she inflicted on herself because of him. He keeps her a prisoner. He won't let her leave. He threatens her, he..." Clara's voice broke slightly, but she quickly regained her composure, recounting the horrors, the details Lili had whispered, the chilling truth of the black room, the terror in Lili's eyes, the bruises, the cuts. Every word was a desperate plea for justice, a burning indictment of Jack's depravity.
In the bedroom, Lili was not deeply asleep. She had felt Clara's body shift from the bed, the subtle change in warmth and pressure. Her eyes, though still closed, were aware. And then, through the thin bathroom door, she heard it, Clara's hushed, urgent voice. The words were indistinct at first, a low murmur, but then fragments pierced through her exhaustion, chilling her to the bone. "...police... arrest Jack... abused... tortured..."
Her body went stiff, rigid with a new, terrifying fear. Her muscles, already screaming from the night's ordeal, locked up, refusing to obey. She was too exhausted, too broken to move, to stop Clara, to scream. Her mind, however, was wide awake, painting vivid, horrifying pictures. Jack's face, contorted in rage, as he found out. The sound of gunshots. Clara, lying still. Herself, dragged back to the black room, the punishment tenfold, endless, for daring to hope, for daring to be found.
Heavy, silent tears began to run down her face, soaking into the fresh, clean pillow beneath her. They were tears not of pain, but of absolute, paralyzing terror, for herself, and for the woman who was unknowingly, desperately, sealing their fate.