HOSTAGE
This had become routine.
I heard the lock click. He would soon enter, and I was right—the light was on, forcing me to cover my eyes, unaccustomed to the brightness.
“Well, hello there, my beloved friend,” greeted my devilish visitor.
“Yuck, you smell worse than rubbish,” he commented, covering his nose.
I didn’t respond. I had become immune to my own smell, so I didn’t care.
“By the way, I came to inform you that your beloved daughter is missing,” the devil said, laughing maliciously.
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