It Doesn't Have a Title Yet

         The wind howled as the chill of the night engulfed the crowd. Gooseflesh covered every inch of my skin. Anticipation. What horror awaited us next? Our host stepped out of the shrouded wings of the stage and into the only light illuminating the massive chamber. He presented himself to us in a ghost-like manner. Head to toe in alabaster, he taunted us with his fine, warm clothing. Grinning, he stared at our naked bodies frozen in fear. He was a sociopathic mad man. Silence fell over us.
         Dare we speak? No, it was best to wait out the storm. Suddenly, our host reached out and struck the girl nearest to him in a fit of rage. She crumpled to the ground with only a whimper. He began to shout at us, his voice tearing the silence and echoing off the stone walls. “Where is she?!” He roared, “What have you done with her?!” We knew not what to say, for we did not know whom he was referring to. Out of the hundreds of naked girls in the room, we were expected to know the location of just one.
Veronica.
It was her fault we were here.