Chapter 8: The Lion’s Den

The man eyes long and deep, hair small curly, face fine, skin dark but still sharp and cold.

His eyebrow dey rise small, like person wey dey see old ghost. His eye dey shine, but cold like harmattan water.

Him light brown eyes dey show violence and impatience, and the hand wey dey hold my neck come grip tighter.

I dey try breathe, dey see stars for my eye. I dey reason say maybe my life go end here.

"You dey pretend to be her, you suppose die more."

His voice dey shake, anger dey everywhere. But for my mind, I dey beg, dey hope say my real story go save me for this strange place.