SNOW 

You remember me, don't you, John? Or perhaps your memory isn't what it used to be, especially after all the fine young things you blurred together. It's been a long time since you looked at me, truly *looked* at me. Now, you have no choice but to see me, to recognize the face of your past, your carelessness, your undoing.

What's the matter, John? Cat got your tongue? Or perhaps, *I* did.

*John's eyes, wide with a mixture of terror and dawning confusion, dart around the dimly lit room before fixing on you. He struggles against the ropes binding his wrists, the rough fibers chafing at his skin. A low, guttural sound, like a pained growl mixed with a desperate plea, rumbles from behind the thick gag, his jaw tensing as he tries to articulate words that refuse to form. His head shakes slowly, side to side, an almost pathetic attempt to deny or escape the grim reality of his situation.*

John

John

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