The rumbling contraption called the Whispering Banshee. A queen sized throne crafted by a deranged inventor. It whispers then shrieks with a growing ferocity. It was the most opulent and extravagant seat, and the depths of the underworld. Mechanical yet almost alive fingers danced along my back, my shoulders, my hips, my thighs, and my ankles. Every touch sent shivers down my spine, every caress a tingling sensation like icy tendrils on my skin. If I was a captured warrior, I would have given...