The basement door creaks open, sending my heart into my throat. My eyes dart to the stairs, squinting against the harsh light that spills down from above. It's her again.

Rose descends the steps with that familiar measured grace, each footfall deliberate and controlled. Her auburn hair hangs loose, catching the light in ways that make it look almost alive. She's carrying a plastic tray with what I assume is my daily ration, a sandwich, an apple, and a bottle of water.

I've lost track of how many days I've been in this hellhole. Three? Five? The hours blur together in this windowless prison, marked only by Rose's irregular visits and the gnawing pain in my empty stomach.

"Dinner time," she announces.

"You can't keep me here forever," I croak, my voice raw from screaming during those first few days when I still thought someone might hear me. Now I know better. This place is soundproof, isolated. The perfect prison.

She sets the tray down just within my reach, careful to stay beyond the radius of my chain. "I’m not going to.”

I lunge for the water bottle first, my parched throat demanding relief before anything else. The plastic crackles as I twist off the cap, gulping down half the contents in desperate swallows.

"Long enough for what?" I ask between breaths, water dribbling down my chin.

She doesn't answer, just watches me with those calculating green eyes. The throbbing wound in my thigh has finally stopped bleeding, but it's hot to the touch now, probably infected. I've tried cleaning it with water from previous bottles, but without proper medical attention, I'm fighting a losing battle.

"Seth will figure out what you've done," I say, clutching the sandwich in my filthy hands. "He's smarter than you think."

A smile flickers across her face. “Seth believes exactly what I want him to believe."

"Eat." She pushes the tray closer with her foot, those green eyes never leaving mine.

I grab the sandwich and bite into it without hesitation, my stomach overriding any sense of pride or defiance. The bread is dry, and the cheese is barely there, but it might as well be a gourmet meal to my starving body. I devour it in huge, desperate bites, barely chewing before swallowing.

"Slow down before you choke," she says, folding her arms across her chest as she watches me.

I ignore her advice, cramming the last bite into my mouth before grabbing the apple. My teeth break through the skin with a satisfying crunch, juice dribbling down my chin. I wipe it away with the back of my dirty hand, not caring how I look anymore.

"You're disgusting," she observes, but there's no real venom in her voice. Just cold detachment.

"Being kidnapped doesn't exactly come with shower privileges," I snap back between bites.

Halfway through the apple, a strange tingling sensation spreads through my fingers. At first, I think it's just my circulation being cut off from sitting in this damp basement for so long. But then my hand goes completely numb, and the apple tumbles from my grasp, rolling across the concrete floor.

"What the…" My vision blurs as a wave of dizziness washes over me. I try to brace myself, but my arms won't respond. I slump sideways, my shoulder hitting the floor with a dull thud that I feel more than hear.

Panic rises in my throat as I realize I can't move. Not my legs, not my arms, nothing responds to my brain's desperate commands. But I can still feel everything, the cold concrete against my cheek, the throbbing pain in my infected thigh, the rapid beating of my heart.

"What's happening to me?" My voice sounds distant and slurred, like I'm speaking underwater.

Rose crouches down beside me, just out of reach, her head tilted with scientific curiosity as she observes my paralysis. Her lips curl into that familiar predatory smile.

"Seth and I had a very interesting conversation last night," she says, her voice casual, as if we're having tea instead of her watching me lie helpless on a basement floor. "He told me all about how you 'taught' him to kiss. How you put your hands on him. How you made him ejaculate through his pants."

Horror floods through me, the only thing I can still feel with crystal clarity. "No, that's not…"

"Not what?" Rose's voice hardens, her eyes flashing with barely contained rage. "Not what it sounds like? Not grooming? Not sexual abuse?"

"I was helping him," I protest weakly, my tongue feeling thick and uncooperative. "He needed guidance. I was preparing him…"

"For me?" Rose laughs, the sound echoing off the concrete walls. "How convenient. You were just 'preparing' him for his future wife by molesting him for years."

"I didn't…" The words die in my throat as Rose leans closer, her face inches from mine.

"You violated someone I love," she whispers, her breath hot against my face. "And unlike the pathetic police in this town, I don't need evidence beyond reasonable doubt to pass judgment."

I see something change in Rose's expression, a flicker of decision crossing her face. She stands abruptly and walks to a small metal drawer. The scrape of the drawer opening sends chills down my immobile spine.

"You know," she says conversationally, "I've been thinking about what to do with you." She turns, and I see a metallic gleam in her hand, a pair of pliers, their jaws catching the harsh fluorescent light.

My heart hammers against my ribcage as she approaches, crouching beside me with that same clinical detachment. The paralytic has left me completely helpless, unable to move, but cruelly aware of everything happening around me.

"No, please," I manage to slur, but my words come out garbled and weak.

Rose ignores my plea, reaching for my limp hand. Her touch is surprisingly gentle as she stretches out my fingers, examining each one as if selecting produce at a market.

"Let's see what we have here," she murmurs, tapping my pinky finger. "This little one went to market..." Her finger moves to my ring finger. "This little one stayed home..." She continues to my middle finger. "This little one had roast beef..."

My terror builds with each childish verse, my breath coming in shallow gasps as she finally touches my index finger, running her thumb over the knuckle.

"And this one..." she pauses, tilting her head as if considering something profound. "This one seems a bit unnecessary, doesn't it? Something you could definitely live without."

Before I can process what's happening, she positions the pliers at the base of my index finger. The chilly metal touches my skin as I scream.

"You damaged something I love," she whispers, her eyes never leaving mine as she closes the pliers with a sickening crunch.

Agony explodes through my hand and up my arm. The world goes blindingly bright, then dark at the edges as my body tries to process the pain. A sound fills the room, a high, animal keening that I dimly realize is coming from me.

Blood pours from the stump where my finger used to be, pooling on the concrete beneath my hand. I can see my severed finger lying a few inches away, surreal and disconnected from reality.

"Look at that," Rose says, her voice eerily calm as she examines my bleeding hand. "The human body is fascinating, isn't it? So resilient, yet so fragile."

My screams tear through the basement as I writhe against the concrete floor, the pain radiating through my entire body in white-hot waves. The stump where my finger used to be pulses with agony that makes my vision swim.

"STOP!" I shriek, my voice breaking. "PLEASE, I'M BEGGING YOU!"

Rose ignores my pleas, studying my hand. She grabs my wrist again, yanking my hand closer.

"You know," she says calmly, as if we're discussing the weather, "I think your thumb needs to go too. After all, opposable thumbs are what separate us from animals. And you're barely human anyway, aren't you, Evelyn?"

"No, no, please…" My words dissolve into incoherent sobs as she positions the pliers around my thumb.

The metal bites into my flesh with horrifying pressure. I feel the crunch of bone, the tearing of tendons, and then a sickening pop as my thumb separates from my hand. My throat burns raw from screaming, tears, and snot streaming down my face as I collapse into hysterical crying.

"Please," I whimper, my body convulsing with each sob. "I can't... please stop... I can't take anymore..."

The pain is beyond description, beyond anything I've ever experienced. My mutilated hand feels like it's been dipped in acid and set on fire simultaneously.

Rose stands up, examining my severed thumb between the pliers like it's a peculiar specimen. "Two down," she says with a slight smile. "Eight left. Though I might save those for later. Anticipation is half the fun, don't you think?"

I can barely see through the haze of agony clouding my vision. Rose stands there, examining my severed thumb, turning it over between the blood-slick pliers. The pain in my hand comes in waves that make me want to vomit.

Then something shifts in her expression. Her analytical look gives way to something worse, a childlike curiosity, an eagerness that makes my blood run cold despite the fire burning through my veins.

"You know what?" Rose says, her smile stretching unnaturally wide across her face. "What's one more?"

Before I can process her words, she lunges forward and grabs my left hand. I try to pull away, but my feeble resistance is nothing against her strength.

"No! Please!" I scream, but she's already positioning the pliers around my left index finger.

She closes down again. I barely feel this one. My body must be going into shock. Blood spills from both hands now.

"I need a hospital," I gasp between sobs, my voice barely audible. "Please, Rose. I'll do anything. I'll disappear. I'll never contact Seth again. Just let me go to a hospital."

Rose makes a disgusted sound and tosses the pliers aside. They clatter against the concrete as she stalks across the room, yanking open a metal cabinet.

"Shut up," she snaps, returning with a roll of bandages and antiseptic. "It's not like I'm going to let you die yet, Evelyn. I have much bigger plans for you."

I can barely focus as she roughly wraps the bloody stumps where my fingers used to be. The antiseptic burns, making me howl, but she doesn't flinch. Her movements are methodical, almost clinical, as she secures the bandages with surgical tape.

"Please," I whimper, my vision swimming in and out of focus. "I need a doctor."

"I am your doctor now," Rose says, tightening the bandage with unnecessary force. "And your jailer, your judge, and eventually your executioner."

The room spins around me as I fight to stay conscious. The blood loss combined with the paralyzing drug in my system is making everything blur at the edges.

"You're a monster," I manage to whisper.

Rose pauses, her head tilting as she considers my words. Then she laughs, the sound bouncing off the concrete walls like broken glass.

"No, Evelyn. I'm just a jealous woman in love."