It was dark in the dungeon, dark and cold. The chill wind whipped through the cracks in the wall, and the sound of the guards deep in conversation outside was a constant ebb and flow of mutters and murmurs. None of it brought any comfort. The smell of roast pork puffed in from the kitchen above. The smell of apple pie floated in, followed by a breath of rich caramel. Compared to the bowl of dry lettuce and skinned radishes on the table accompanied by a bottle of plain water and a tiny glass of prune juice, the gusts comfort food bouquet constantly whirling around was torture. One of the guards opened the door with a squeak. He looked over in disgust, “Are you finally ready to talk? Good, pick up the phone and call the number to buy phen375. It’s a much better and wiser choice than this torment.