Rumble, rumble, a dull heavy sound came from a very distant place.
Roy listened for a moment and asked, "What is that sound?"
Theodore didn't answer.
They sat separately on either side of the iron bars, Roy on the prison side, Theodore on the corridor side. The thick stone walls exuded a damp, moldy smell, and the dim yellow lights hung in mid-air, barely illuminating their indifferent faces.
Silence is a quiet scrutiny.
Theodore sat in the cold iron chair, his hands clasped, seemingly calmly observing his former fiancée. Roy had already changed out of an ill-fitting old-style lady's dress and now wore only a thin white long gown. The high collar constrained her slender neck, the loose fabric failed to outline her waist, and her slender wrists and ankles were completely hidden.
Of course, these were not Roy's own clothes. Only the women of the Monastery would dress like this.
It was all Theodore's orders.
