Scene: "Dinner with the Unknown"
From the Perspective of a New Captive
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He sits at the far end of a table longer than any room should hold.
The candles are tall.
The silverware glistens like knives in confession.
And across from him, she sits — quiet, still, unblinking — in a crimson dress that curves like flame.
She hadn't spoken since bringing him here.
No threats. No questions. No screaming. Just…
"Come."
Now he sits in clothes that aren't his, hair combed, hands shaking beneath the table.
A plate of roasted duck and something red — too red — sits before him, untouched.
She lifts her fork.
He follows.
She chews slowly, deliberately, like she's savoring silence more than taste.
> "Eat," she says at last. Her voice doesn't match the room — it's soft. Gentle.
Too gentle.
He takes a bite, eyes flicking to the glass of wine.
Every chew is a question.
> Is this poisoned?
Is she playing with me?
But she doesn't seem to care.
She's not trying to seduce him. Or threaten him. Or break him.
She's watching his mouth.
No — his eyes.
No…
His soul, maybe.
He swallows.
She tilts her head just slightly.
> "You remind me of someone," she murmurs, like she's speaking to herself.
The candle flickers.
He stops chewing.
> "Is that… good?" he dares to ask, voice shaking.
She sets her fork down and folds her hands.
A smile twitches at the corner of her lips — not warmth, but something close to… curiosity.
> "That depends," she whispers.
"Are you going to disappoint me, too?"
He doesn't answer.
He can't.
His stomach knots — not from the food, but from the way she's grieving something inside him he doesn't understand.
She raises her glass.
Toasts to silence.
He drinks. He doesn't breathe.
Somewhere beneath them, he swears he hears a door slam. Chains shift.
A man screams into stone.
But up here, in the candlelight, she sips her wine and stares at him like he might be the missing piece she's been chasing in dreams.
Or just another face to forget.