The stains appeared to be indelible. They were gradually turning into scars, reminiscent of oppression, etched deep inside her soul.
The cat’s insouciance tried to tell her, that guilt was misplaced. She was a victim, not the criminal. But the eyes that looked at her were still hungry. The creepy touch of hands that explored her body spoke of lust, not guilt. And there was no escape route.
Maybe, there was… she will not emerge out of this hole today. The poison she had consumed will color her battered skin a little more, and those sinful tongues will not be able to lick it off. Her body will symbolize torture, not pleasure.
It was her final revenge. The chocolate covering her body was poisoned, and would claim a few more lives.