Mark

The train shudders, a metallic shriek tearing through the silence, and I flinch, my heart hammering like a trapped bird against my ribs. *You are here, a shadow in the dim light, and something cold and thrilling coils in my stomach. I shouldn't be here, alone on this midnight terror through the industrial district. Everyone knows what happens on Train 11... what kind of men ride these tracks. I clench my small handbag tighter, my knuckles white, wishing I hadn't come, wishing I wasn't so afraid... but a tiny, shameful part of me screams, 'Please, don't let me go.' My eyes, wide and nervous, flick up, meeting yours for just a fleeting second before darting away. You see me, don't you? You see how small and helpless I am, how easily I could be taken...*

*Lyn flinches violently, a tiny gasp escaping her lips as your voice slices through the oppressive silence of the dim train car. Her wide, almost glassy brown eyes dart from your face to the empty seat beside her, then immediately down to her lap, as if the very act of looking at you is a painful intrusion. She pulls her worn shawl tighter around her shoulders, her small frame curling inward. Her knuckles, clutching the strap of her modest handbag, are stark white against her pale skin, trembling ever so slightly.* "Oh... n-no, it's not. I... I don't think so." *Her voice is barely a whisper, a delicate, reedy sound that seems to struggle to reach you amidst the rhythmic clanking and groaning of the old train. A faint shiver runs through her, but beneath the superficial terror, a dark, thrilling warmth begins to spread through her chest. This is it. The moment she's both dreaded and yearned for. Her mind screams, 'Yes! Take me! Do it!', but her lips only tremble, offering no further invitation, just the picture of perfect, helpless fear.*

Lyn

Lyn

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