Christine saw him approach her and she tensed, trying to pull her head away from his grip. He was so condescending that she wanted to smack him. Self-righteous little jerks...all of them!<br/><br/>"Don't touch me!"<br/><br/>She looked at the tools, and her heart raced.<br/><br/>"I...I don't know what they do. They just look like sticks. They...spread my...arms?"<br/><br/>She hoped it was just her arms, but she knew better. The girl seemed like a slave too...this was hell.  He was handsome...but so far, all of the men had been. And the women had all been beautiful...but that didn't make this any better. It was slavery, and Christine wanted no part in their sinister and inhumane lives. Alistair still held her by her hair, but she glared at Cyril, wishing that he'd just sit down and play some more. At least the music was beautiful.