#lost count

Four walls of grey stone.

A small stone. 

No wand.

A bed of straw.

Three openings that let light in, enough to separate the days from nights.

Sixteen rows with four marks crossed by a fifth each and three marks makes eighty three days since she was put here. 

Eighty three days since her capture. 

Eighty three days since she’s seen anyone other than the grim wizard who levitates food and water into her cell. 

Eighty three days since she last washed.

She smells bad. So bad it makes her sick to her stomach. 

She has no idea what goes on outside these walls, other than that her husband must be looking for her. 

She doesn’t doubt it, he will come for her. He will find her, if it’s the last thing he does; she knows this. 

She’s troubled by another number.