The Path Tells Little to the Serpent - J. W. Hale - Bog

Frank expected the first night to be the hardest, with the loneliness of being pulled from family, friends, and what is familiar. But the windows kept high and small to discourage attempts at escape, and to shield the sun, that's what bugged him most. The daily death of the sun, the hope of new life after all this; it did not take much to add the two together and wish to slip beneath the soil yourself. Still, Frank had hated his life on the farm, but that is what it means to be human in Odessa.
Mistress Sally Mae Alexander stared at the token for a few moments before she set it on a table next to her, and speared a mushroom with her fingernail, bringing it to her slightly curved mouth. She did not know what she was purchasing, but neither did anyone else.