There’s a little blue pot in the corner opposite you. It’s gilted and ornate, with three ribbed handles and a spiral base. You’ve only just noticed it. It’s been dark, but the gold edges poke through the dull dusty air, like minnows darting defiantly against the current.

You move to reach out toward the pot. You tumble and topple to the dusty concrete floor. Momentarily distracted by a break from the drabness, you forgot where you were. Your legs lie in a closed drawer in the next room. The door is guarded by a young woman with a red jumper. Metal rings pierce the spaces between each pair of vertebrae; each ring is chained to the wall behind you. You wonder what’s in that little blue pot.