Sigmund stepped into Noran's room, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he took in the scene. Unlike the previous day, Noran was now restrained in an imposing, grand chair, one fit for a king.
The sturdy design ensured Noran wouldn't topple over during his struggles, a deliberate improvement orchestrated by Sigmund.
Its rich, dark wood and plush cushions seemed grotesquely out of place in the context of Noran's imprisonment. The regal chair was a stark contrast to the chains that bound him, securing his hands to the armrests and his legs to the chair's sturdy legs.
Noran sat in the chair, his head hanging down, appearing lifeless. It was a stark contrast to his usual defiant glare.
"Good morning, Mr. Kingston," Sigmund greeted, walking over and standing before him with his usual sneer.
Seeing Noran's head still bowed, Sigmund leaned in closer and removed the gag from his mouth.
"Has the poison worked this time?" he taunted, his voice dripping with malice.
