The lights flickered once, twice, and then extinguished.

Marcellus blinked his pupil-less eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the gloom.

He was atop some kind of pedestal. Dark shapes loomed over him, casting shadows twice his size. Their edges were gleaming and wicked - swords? Spikes? And there was a vinegar taint to the air, putting him in mind of something pricked and pickled.

He shook his head, dispelling the thought. Still, everything remained… disjointed. His thoughts were like a fraying rope, slipping through his fingers.

Marcellus whimpered, the only sound in the stony silence. Was he losing his mind?

No. No, he was thinking coherently… wasn’t he?

He leaned forwards, intent on climbing down from his perch, only to be repelled backwards.

With a climbing horror, he reached out to touch what was undoubtably glass, penning him in this small space.

He was going to be sick. He was going to scream. He was going to-

A light. Soft at first but steadily growing. Creeping across the room with the opening door.

Marcellus quickly composed himself, the beginnings of a plan fermenting in his mind.

He didn’t intend to be trapped for much longer.