“Vanilla,” she says, fiddling with her thumbs as she tries to disappear into the wall.

“Vanilla?!” the leader shouts in humorous surprise. “What are you? Some kinda stripper? Where your heels at? Leave ‘em at—”

“Please!” she cries. “My daddy will be here any minute, and he’ll make sure you can’t steal me away! He’ll hurt you! So you better just leave me alone now, or else he’ll come! Or else—”

The leader lurches toward her. His teeth are bared an inch away from her nose and he snarls. “I don’t care about no sugar-daddy pimp, little girl. What, you stupid?”

A ring of bodies envelops her. A creature shoves her from the side into a puddle, dark water erupting like a fountain around her. Her elbows crash against the ground, the impact shooting up her arms and snapping her jaw shut, her tongue barely escaping the guillotine.

“Stupid bitch!” a twisted mouth yells down at her. “What stupid bitches get!”

She tastes dirt. Her teeth feel grit when she grinds them together. She tries to call out for them to stop but is silenced by the whack of the metal rod against her skull, the contact dull and fleeting. It should have knocked her out cold, but she remains conscious, lying on her side against the sharp ground as they continue to beat her. To pound down on her with their giant fists and sticks. Blows to her gut and chest light her up with fear.

Painless fear.

They grab at her arms and pin her down. One creature holds her head in place so that she can see the black void above her as it weeps into her eyes. The creature’s fingers dig into her jaw and pop open her mouth. Before she can scream, the metal rod is shoved down her throat, blocking her voice. Her tongue cramps around it and her teeth threaten to shatter as the creature smacks the rod so that it vibrates against her enamel.

“Did ya sugar daddy teach you how to take it?!”

The creature pulls out the rod and lifts it over his head. He brings it down upon her shoulder and she can finally scream, curling her legs into her chest and kicking out at his stomach. Her feet make contact and the creature keels over with a grunt.

“Fucking kill the whore!” he demands through raspy breaths.

They all come down upon her, obscuring the vast ceiling and grabbing at her dress. She fends them off, yanking her arms free of their grip, kicking and punching, swatting their hands away, only to have their attacks ricochet into her ribs.

One mouth opens, revealing a circle of jagged teeth: “Bitch’s strong!”

Blurred streaks of black and light disorient her as she whips her limbs about in a frenzy. Still, they come down on her, slingshotting knuckles into her jaw. The hurt is great, but the true pain comes from the discomfort. The assault on her senses—a feather made of needles tickling her system.