The floor was filthy grey, bloodstained flagstones, the walls equally filthy grey bricks, with black mould developing on the grey-brick ceiling. There was a beam across the ceiling, thick, rotting wood, with nooses hanging from it. The decaying remainders of corpses still hung from most of these fraying ropes.
Emaciated prisoners sat, just waiting to die, wasting away, one skeletal wrist chained to the floor by a heavy, rusting metal cuff and chain.
The prisoners consisted of a young girl, skeletal with a curtain of lank black hair, and huge, blank, staring deep-blue eyes, sitting by herself in a lonesome corner of the prison. There was a man, also painfully thin, with long, dirty brown-blonde hair and narrow hazel eyes. He had a tattoo of a red and black dragon at his wrist. He seemed to be going mad, often screaming obscenities at the ceiling.
The last prisoner was a silver-furred wolf. Black eyes glared with a hatred of the whole world, yellowing fangs and claws prepared to tear anyone to pieces.