Somewhere in the unspeakably torturous depths of the Mesopotamian Underworld's ancient dungeons Frost awaits Ereshkigal's pleasure. A long serving pleasure slave of the death goddess, Frost has no illusions concerning the torturously depraved pleasures that Ereshkigal fully intends to share with her helplessly bound pleasure slave.

Frost can already sense her heartbeat quicken at thoughts of how the death goddess plans to employ those brutal implements of torture slowly heating in the glowing coals of the brazier. Staring out into the dungeon's subterranean darkness Frost imagined the long night of hideously brutal torment and mutilation to come, the sickening smell of her flesh burning, the sound of high-pitched screams of utter desperation echoing off the chamber's ancient stone walls.

As she stood locked in the hanging cage Frost stared out into the darkness, her mind filled with overwhelming nightmares of masochistic excess, her ears intently listening to the sound of Ereshkigal's steel-tipped heels approaching in the darkness.