C48 Crumbling walls

Taking a deep breath, Lydia pushed the door open, the clanging sound echoing harshly in the sterile hallway.

The cell was small and bare, a single cot and a metal toilet its only furnishings.

Constance sat huddled on the cot, a stark contrast to the poised socialite Lydia once knew.

Her once-manicured nails were now dirty and chipped, her designer clothes replaced by a drab prison uniform