[ You enter the tower, and immediately cough. Your footsteps have disturbed the fine ash that covers the floor, here. But since you came in, you might as well continue, right? A narrow staircase sits in front of you, and when you climb it you swear that the walls are closing in on you. After what seems like two flights of stairs ( though it is hard to tell in the sooty, dark and cramped stairwell ) you come to a little room. There is a single window in this room, and you can see that there is a metal chair, a fireplace and several long forks.
What, perhaps, you wish you didn't see, is the row of fetal pigs lined up on the floor, here. Each pig is wearing a nametag and each pig is trussed up to be cooked. Some pigs have apples in their mouths, and some pigs are simply wrapped tightly in twine. There are over thirty fetal pigs stacked up.
And, now, for some reason, that burnt smell? It smells like gristle and grease. ]
What, perhaps, you wish you didn't see, is the row of fetal pigs lined up on the floor, here. Each pig is wearing a nametag and each pig is trussed up to be cooked. Some pigs have apples in their mouths, and some pigs are simply wrapped tightly in twine. There are over thirty fetal pigs stacked up.
And, now, for some reason, that burnt smell? It smells like gristle and grease. ]
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