>You are Celestia
>And you are in deep shit
>The last few days have been anything but easy
>But compared to the situation you are in now, they were a walk in the park
>Despite not believing in a higher power of any sort, you still have a feeling that you are on some God's shit list
>It seems losing your job, your home, and, quite possibly, your life savings wasn't enough
>In addition, you are now lying on a dingy mattress in an equally dingy basement, your hands and feet bound with thick coils of rope
>From what you can see in the weak light provided by the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, your kidnapper has gone off somewhere
>Despite everything that's happened to you, you thank whatever celestial being has decided to put you into this situation for finally being alone
>Your kidnapper, whoever he is, spent the last hour or two gently stroking your hair and, for some reason, taking plaster casts of your face
>To tell the truth, you have no idea how long you've been in the basement
>With nothing to accompany you except your kidnapper and the low hum of the TV facing away from you, you've lost track of time
>Sighing, you try to wrap your head around the recent events, and especially why they're happening to you, of all people
>The cracking paint on the ceiling sadly offers no answers, and you are left wondering
>Why you?
>What have you done to deserve this?
>Just what is this man going to do to you?
>Rape you?
>Torture you?
>Kill you?
>Unbidden, your heart rate picks up, the frantic beating in your chest sending you even more on edge
>You find yourself hyperventilating as you desperately look around for something, anything, to aid your escape
>Instead, you are greeted by the hollow eyes of white plaster masks hanging on hooks and lines, the disembodied faces languidly twirling in the stillness of the basement
>You don't know why, but there's something taunting, almost mocking about them
>'Go ahead and try.', they seem to say
>'You will never escape.'
>'You're going to die in here.'
>Unable to take your eyes off the alabaster mockeries spinning around, you come to a chilling realization
>They are all different
>Staring at the masks, lulled into a morbid trance by their twirling dance, you start noticing more details
>Details that you hope to God you can forget
>They all look fairly young, the oldest just above thirty, at least from what you can tell
>More disconcertingly, however, the youngest seems to be a cast of a ten-year old's face
>Shuddering, you take a deep breath and manage to tear your gaze from the visages surrounding you, your stare landing on the ceiling again
''Calm down, Celestia. Calm. Down."
>Your whisper breaks the oppressive silence, and you instinctively curl up, hoping that nobody, or nothing, heard you
>Desperately trying to calm down your pounding heart, you close your eyes and try to recall some of the breathing exercises you learned in yoga
>Despite the dank air in the basement, the breathing exercises work, and your heart slowly starts calming down
>After a minute of lying with your eyes closed, taking in the low hum of the TV and the buzzing of the boiler somewhere nearby, you open your eyes again
>According to what you've read, the first thing to do in a survival situation is to stop panicking
>Taking slow, deep breaths, you feel the haze of panic finally relinquish it's grasp
>The second priority is making a plan, whatever good that will do you
>Blinking a couple times to clear your eyes, you take stock of your surroundings again, deliberately keeping your gaze from the pasty white monstrosities slowly dancing in the air
>To be honest, there's not much that would be of use
>The walls are mostly bare concrete, with newspaper clippings adorning the wall across from you