The noise grew louder and its source more discernible, so Margaret clawed her way across the floor, slowly dragging her body across the floor. She was too weak to stand and her bloodied fingertips and broken nails provided little purchase on the cold, reinforced steel floor. She had already resigned herself to death, and made peace with her own mortality. Her time within the room had stripped her of any notion of a benevolent God, and even as she prayed for someone to open the door and rescue her, it was not the God of her youth that her silent pleas beseeched for deliverance.
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