You get used to it, after a while. You always have your sense of touch, so you feel along the rough, stone walls with calloused hands to get from place to place. Your sense of smell is there, too, so you can smell; some areas dustier than others, some cleaner, there’s your bed, and there’s your box of food. You have your hearing, too, heightened in the constant darkness of a world turned upside down. For so long, that world has been silent, peaceful, almost. Just last night, though, as you laid your hands under your head to go to sleep, you heard a giggle from the other side of the wall. You shouted out, asking who was there, but they only giggled back. The noise didn’t sound like a child; quite the opposite. You didn’t sleep that night, and this morning you waited for the noise of footsteps to start coming closer towards you. They came just past what used to be sunrise, but you couldn’t see who brought them. You could feel them, though. Your captor.