The cellar was cold and damp and smelled vaguely of mold and other sharper scents of paint, oil, and turpentine beneath the glow of electric lights at two stands that stood opposite each other.
She wanted desperately to sleep. But she already knew the consequences if she relaxed even a little to ease the ache in her back. Over and over again, and then ...
“Lift your chin!” came the icy command. “Now look at me! Yes, that is it.
“You’re thoughtful … now sad. Now, lower your gaze. Let me see exactly what you are feeling and thinking.”
She did as she was told. It took no skill or great effort as the silk wrap slipped from her shoulders and exposed bare skin.
She shivered. Not so much from the cold, she was used to that from the early hours of the street market. It was from the anger in that voice, far colder, without any feeling.
“Now, smile softly. You have a secret, a lover perhaps. You can feel his warmth, the touch of his hand on your bare skin. What? No lover?”
That voice, teasing, taunting, then laughter, chilling very much like the room so very cold. She forced her thoughts away from that. She had hoped ...
But there was only that voice.
“Look at me! Imagine that your lover is here, watching you from the shadows. You cannot see him, but he sees you. You are shy, but there is also anticipation for something you have never known. Yes! That is what I am looking for!
“Do not move! Do not breathe! You must remain very still!”
She held herself as she had the past days, perfectly still in spite of the fear deep inside, hoping that each day was the last one—through countless sketches, the way she was touched, a hand moved, the silk cloth wrapped around her almost like a caress that made her shiver, exposing her.
There was no sleep, little food or water.
“What will you do with food or water?” she was asked.
That voice was always there, teasing, tormenting, in the faint sound of that door being opened, then closed once more, the lock set, and the surrounding darkness for companions.
There were other sounds beyond, faint sounds almost like the sound of weeping when the door lingered open for a few seconds, then silenced once more. And then she alone again.
“What are you doing?”
The words stung like a blow.
“I told you not to move!”
That figure loomed up out of the shadows cast by the lights and came at her.
“I told you!”
The rage flew at her, then a blow that snapped her head back, and that single light shivered as her eyes watered. Then another blow, and she tasted blood.
“Now you’ve ruined it!” The words stung.
A shadow separated from the other shadows and loomed out of the darkness, and a sound. She attempted to cover herself, as if she could hide from the words, and that horrible glaring stare.
“Get rid of her!” Words that stung more frightening than any blow.
“There are places, you know them ...”