Day 40: March 11 (written)
Tears crystalize on her cheeks then fall, tlinking softly against the floor. They roll toward the writhing fire trapped behind the grate. Even before its monstrous heat, the tears — now diamonds — cannot melt. But the heat cracks wickedly against her skin, rising fissure in her cold flesh that do not bleed. Chained to the chair, all she can do is weep.