Alben's House
The glass balcony doors of the townhouse let in the cold, sharp morning light, which fell directly across the floor where Nero lay.
He had been naked for days now. The silver chains around his wrists and ankles were heavy, cold, and dug into his skin. He looked at his body with disgust, it was covered in bruises, ugly tattoos, and dried blood.
He tried to sit up. The floor was extremely cold. It was so ironic, he lay naked, chained beside a large, luxurious bed.
But at least he was alone.
Alben didn't like having many people inside his private space. There were no guards or security. Only an older cleaning woman came by once in a while.
Even she usually ignored the chained, bruised man locked in the secondary living area, as if he were just an expensive piece of furniture.
Nero stared up at the high ceiling, his eyes hollow and completely devoid of life. He felt as though his soul had been scooped out of his chest, leaving nothing but a cold, empty cavity.
