She glanced surreptitiously at the clock, the only furniture decorating the empty walls. Long, thin legs paced the floor unendingly. A handsome face with high cheekbones and a resolute chin glanced once more at the clock. Upon noticing a butterfly, she intently observed its movements. It was determinedly tapping on the window, in vain endeavours of escape.
A sad, quiet voice broke the unnerving silence. “I would open the window for you, but my hands are tied.” With a sarcastic chuckle, she added, “Quite literally tied, I'm afraid.” Her hands were chained to a pipeline along the wall, allowing minimal movement. The butterfly, free to fly in the dark, dismal room, foolishly snared itself on a web. Silvery, geometrical patterns, barely visible, entrapped the ignorant insect. Fluttering feebly a few times, it lay still resigned to its fate.
The ticking clock signaled the passing time, characterised by the now familiar quiet. Suddenly shattered by the clicks at the lock, the silence loomed resentfully. The moments till the door opened were electrified with the anticipation of possible freedom.
No chance! The door revealed a man, with cold, sharp eyes, pistol clasped in hand. Immediately the hope drained from the girl's face, but the resolute chin wavered only for an undetectable moment. He lifted the pistol, aimed at her face and with a slow deliberateness suspended his finger on the trigger. “You're different from the others you know? You absolutely refused to reveal your terror,” he drawled. “I begrudgingly respect you for that.”
With a crack of the pistol, the task was completed. Out of the corner off his eye, he caught sight of a spider, approaching its prey, a butterfly. In an uncharacteristic moment of mercy, the killer waved off the cobweb, freeing the butterfly and dropping the spider on the floor. With a parting glance, he deserted the isolated house. The freed butterfly fluttered over the lifeless body of the girl.