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Her Savior

Ava gasped awake as she was pulled from the brink of consciousness yet again. Her chest heaved as oxygen flooded her lungs. She didn’t know if she should feel relieved or disgusted by how much more effectively her body reacclimated to the influx of air.

Somewhere around the fifth or sixth time the men had choked her to the point of oblivion, only to bring her spiraling back, it had all just gotten…easier.

​ Not mentally, of course. This was a completely different type of torture; the likes of which Ava could hardly fathom. It was…unbelievable torment, her every cell crying out for relief, only to feel like razorblades in her blood whenever that relief came. Over and over, the cycle continued.

​ And yet, her body persevered and adapted to this hellish reality, just like it had countless times before. In the dungeon, she became weak in order to make herself appear like less of a threat. And when she had been thrust into a world dominated by the male gaze, she’d reshaped herself in
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