"And what exactly do you plan on telling him... Alisha?"
From the deep, pitch-black shadows of the cellar, a figure stepped into the pale light. His yellow eyes pierced the gloom, looking down at her with pure, sickening revulsion and apathy.
Alisha gasped, scrambling backward on her hands and knees. The rough gravel tore at her skin, but she barely felt it; she knew instantly that he had not come to offer mercy. "Oh... Roland. It's you..."
"It's me what?" His voice was soft, yet charged with a terrifying undertone that sliced through the heavy silence.
A paralyzing dread seeped into Alisha's soul. She looked up at him—at this absolute madman towering over her—and found herself completely stripped of her usual defenses, her mind racing frantically but fruitlessly for an escape.
