—Who are you? - With a slurred tongue, a voice chilling with fear, more like a squeak. “Shh, little sparrow, don’t flutter,” a large man with a gloomy, stern face of non-Slavic appearance seals my broken lips with the pad of his thumb. And his commanding, accented voice makes my blood run cold. - Remember, in this house women do not open their mouths without permission, otherwise they will use it for another purpose. At the same time, his dark hand tightly grips my chin, using his fingers, like a puppeteer of a thread, turning my head from side to side. “But I’m in pain...” at that second they throw me to the floor, grab me by the hair and force me to my knees. — Continue, you didn’t finish, sweetie! - unfastens the belt of his pants, leans closer, pulling my head back and whispers...