The guards become more cruel

The guards’ cruelty escalated as the days went by. Sansa felt like nothing more than a piece of meat to them, a toy to be used and discarded at their whim. They no longer showed any semblance of restraint. Their hands were rough and greedy, groping her body with a disturbing sense of entitlement. Every touch felt like a violation, every word they spoke to her dripped with venom and mockery.

Her body had become their playground, and they took every opportunity to exploit her vulnerability. They treated her like an object, not a person. They bound her in new and more humiliating positions, forcing her to endure their lecherous advances. They would press her against the cold stone walls, their hands roaming over her bare skin, their fingers digging into her flesh with bruising ****. The pain was constant, a relentless **** on her senses that left her gasping for breath.

To keep her body pristine, the guards began administering potions that would prevent bruises from forming on her pale skin. The potions worked like a charm, ensuring her body remained unmarked and unblemished, yet the effect was far from merciful. Instead of dulling the pain, the potions seemed to amplify it, making every lash of the whip, every rough touch, burn with a fiery intensity that felt twice as agonizing.

Sansa’s cries echoed through the cold, stone hallways of the dungeon as the guards pushed her to her limits. The pain was sharper, more acute than anything she had ever felt before. It was as if her skin were hypersensitive, every nerve ending set alight by their ****. She could feel the sting of each strike reverberate through her bones, her muscles clenching and twitching uncontrollably.

They took sadistic pleasure in watching her suffer, in seeing the queen of Frieden brought low, reduced to a whimpering mess at their feet. They would pin her down, forcing her legs apart, their hands exploring every inch of her body with brutal thoroughness. They whispered filthy insults into her ears, telling her how weak and worthless she was, how much they enjoyed breaking her.

Sometimes they would **** her to drink other potions, concoctions that made her feel disoriented and weak, her limbs heavy and unresponsive. These potions sapped her strength, making her pliable, easy to manipulate. They would move her like a doll, arranging her in degrading positions, tying her limbs with rough ropes that bit into her skin. Her body was treated like nothing more than a plaything, something to be used for their entertainment.

When they weren’t physically torturing her, they humiliated her in other ways. They would **** her to crawl on all fours, naked and exposed, her body trembling with pain and exhaustion. They would make her beg for scraps of food, laughing as she struggled to maintain her dignity. They degraded her with their words, their laughter echoing in her ears, making her feel smaller and more insignificant with each passing day.

The physical and emotional torment was unrelenting. Sansa’s body ached constantly, her muscles sore from the stress positions she was **** to endure. Her wrists and ankles were rubbed raw from the shackles that held her captive. Her throat was dry from screaming, her voice hoarse and weak. The guards’ laughter was a constant reminder of her captivity, a sound that haunted her even in the brief moments of sleep she managed to snatch.

Despite the potions that kept her body unmarked, she felt the pain deep in her bones. It was a dull, throbbing ache that never went away, a constant reminder of her suffering. The potions might have prevented bruises, but they did nothing to dull the agony, nothing to ease the torment. If anything, they made it worse, heightening her awareness of every sensation, making every touch, every blow, feel like a knife slicing through her skin.

Sansa’s mind was fraying under the constant ****. She felt her sense of self slipping away, her identity eroding under the weight of her captors' cruelty. She was no longer the queen of Frieden, no longer a person with hopes and dreams. She was just a body, a vessel for pain and humiliation, something for the guards to use as they pleased.

Her only solace was Eve’s weekly visits, but even those felt like a distant dream, a brief flicker of light in an endless sea of darkness. Eve’s touch brought some relief, but it was fleeting, and Sansa knew it was only a matter of time before the guards returned, before the cycle of torment began anew. She clung to the hope of those visits, using them to anchor herself, to keep from falling completely into despair.

But as the days stretched into weeks, and the weeks into months, that hope grew thinner. Sansa was fading, her strength waning, her will to resist slowly eroding under the unrelenting tide of pain and humiliation. The guards’ laughter echoed in her mind, a constant reminder that she was theirs to do with as they pleased, a captive queen reduced to a broken, suffering shell.