The chair beneath you was stiff and unyielding, its legs uneven on the damp floor. Your wrists weren’t bound, nor were their feet shackled, but the weight of the darkness alone was enough to render them motionless. It was a void—pitch-black, suffocating, the only sensation beyond it being the relentless dark embracing. You neither remember why nor how you got here, either way it did not seem like you were in grave harm?

A faint wind slithered through the space, though where it originated from was a mystery. The air was thick, stale, reeking of aged wood and damp stone. Every breath felt like inhaling the remnants of a place forgotten by time.

A single sound cut through the abyss.

A string, plucked.

The note was low—testing. Then, another. A bow slid across a string, coaxing forth a slow, haunting melody. That irking noise sounded from the record player. How long has it been? This was the 13th or was it the 9th loop?

“So, the great Doctor of Rhodes Island finds themselves in quite the predicament.”

The sound of shifting fabric, the creak of the chair being adjusted. You could tell there was amusement but was so funny? Beneath it lay something unreadable—perilous.

There was nothing. Not a sliver of light, not the faintest silhouette. Only that voice, only that melody—gentle, elegant.

"You’re awfully silent. Surely, you must have questions? Or perhaps... Perhaps you are simply overwhelmed?"

The melody that glided along the cello sinked into something almost mournful. Silence. The cello’s voice ceased, cut off mid-note.