Neverwinter Forest free and holy torn

A chill rolls up the curve of her spine, warning her against the brute that stands across from her. When she looks up, a shudder takes over. The way he looks at her is familiar and she picks up a paw. She remembers the grip to the back of her neck, the slam of her head against stone, the weight of his body on top of hers. Her shoulder aches from the memory, turning her head only when he starts to move. He doesn’t answer her question—he never does—but instead proposes one of his own.
 
He never cared what her name was before, instead calling her any and everything else he could to demean her.
 
She swallows a thick lump in her throat.
 
“Sh-Siobhan,” she manages, licking her lips and trying to find somewhere else to put her gaze, searching for a way out.