Disney

Elsa awoke to the searing pain of chafed skin and the constricting pressure of the metal chastity belt digging into her flesh. Her naked body, save for the unforgiving device, was suspended from a sturdy oak tree in the heart of a perpetually twilight forest. Thick ropes, worn and softened with age, bound her ankles, wrists, and stomach, their harsh texture a constant reminder of her predicament. Thirty years she had spent tied. She remembered fragments – flashes of a different confinement, a different kind of torment – but the specifics were lost in the fog of unending, agonizing time. Now, this luminous, eternal day was her only reality, a cruel joke of a heaven where hope had long since withered and died. The forest floor, visible only below her swaying body, offered no escape, no solace. Just the endless, sterile green beneath her and the near darnkess around. The sentence, etched into her memory like a brand, loomed large: one hundred years. Seventy more years stretched ahead, an unimaginable eternity of pain and quiet desperation. Her spirit, once vibrant, was now a fractured shell, barely clinging to existence. She longed for oblivion, for the sweet release of death, but the cruel irony was that even that was denied to her.