Madeline pissed herself as the acid was pumped out over her, dishonouring her ancestors. Her screams were loud, and the chamber echoed it, so that all the girls in other pouches could hear its terrifying sound. They watched as Madeline disintegrated into a red pile of guts and bone.

Her organs plopped out of her opened chest, and burst into gibbets of scarlet gore and she shook violently, before collapsing into a soupy red drink filled with her disassembled skeleton.

Madeline was dead. Steam wafted from her liquid remains.

Dozens of wide eyed girls and boys hanging in their own orange sacks watched her die like an ancestor defiling cunt, and understood what their own fate was going to be like.

Of course, the Histscream had different plans for most of them. Some of them would be digested slowly, others fast… some would wait for weeks… others would be digested immediately. Whatever raised its victims to the most delicious amount of fear, was what the Histscream doled out to its victims.

Worst of all, some of them would join it for its descent into hibernation. Over the course of the next dozen years, they’ll look back on Madeline’s death, and feel that by comparison to their own misery, it was a swift and merciful one.

Madeline was in no position to disagree.