You tried to stand, to give chase, but fell even harder. This time you noticed the pain, and the wet warmth running down your thigh. You struggled to stop the bleeding, to do anything, but your fingers were already cold and you were already so weak from hunger.
Around you were a set of candles, five in total: one of each limb, and another for your head. You formed a human pentagram, tied up as you were. The rope was soft silk and extremely comfortable. Your girlfriend joked at being a witch, and you had always laughed, brushing it off.