Mercy Is Not Weakness
Sitting took place after Leon reached the couch by the window. There he stayed, settled into the cushions.
A slight give came to the cushions beneath him. His body pressed down, shaping the fabric into a shallow hollow.
A single vase sat by the window, filled with newly picked blooms. From somewhere near, a soft trace of old incense curled into the air instead of vanishing. The two scents met without rushing.
Far from ordinary scent sticks. Brought in from distant places. Gentle on the senses. Exactly what one picks when company arrives.
A space like this one could fool anyone, just for a second. Hidden behind bars, it feels unlike anything you'd expect. Not a single clue ties it to the walls outside. Time slows here, somehow untouched. Most would doubt such a place belongs where punishment lives.
