Marion saw the cigarette burn and got briefly glassy eyed with memories of being burned. Was it burned? No, not burned, but perhaps cut… with salt.<br/><br/>She shook her head to get focused again. The burn something about… She frowned noticing that the erased was chewed off the tiny stub pencil. Scratching through some notations, she described the burn mark in uneven script.<br/><br/>“You are Alexis, right?” She asked as if they were talking across a desk or a shop counter instead of through the filthy bars of a kennel cage. Then she looked behind her to the men.<br/><br/>“Oh they can’t help you. I don’t think any of them actually speak English and even if they did. Money doesn’t do anything here.” She felt the good feeling welling up inside her, like a caterpillar squirming in her guts, a crawling caterpillar ready to burst the shell of her and become something beautiful.<br/><br/>“This place is about healing, it’s about becoming something. You’re so pretty Alex. I bet you could become something real nice when you…” the words sounded jumbled to her. How could she explain the look of her face when the nausea gives way to resignation, te way she would look so angelic when the agony became desire. It reminded her of when the choking started to feel good.<br/><br/>Marion grabbed a shaky breath as her thighs tingled. Squeezing her legs together under her, she managed to smile which always made her prettier. “Don’t worry Alexis. You’re going to be just fine.” The lie made her feel warm.<br/>