The shackles chafed her wrists as they moved against the cold, wet metal. Her bare back is pressed to the frigid, damp, and lichen-eaten stone wall. The only light she could see was through the small barred window on the door. She leaned against wall starving, thirsting, and worst of all freezing from the cold northern air drafting in through the cracks at her back. Why is this happening to me? She thought. What do they w...