Porthos

The soft flames of the candles did not warm the sharp pricks of the needle piercing the skin. Small hisses and short breaths were the only sound in the air and not even the night behind the walls seemed to be remembered by the two present. Another groan from Porthos as a peculiarly searing pain pricked his skin and he clenched the wooden backrest under his hands as his eyebrows drew together in a frown. Not even keeping his eyes closed saved him from the sting.