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Each moment brought excruciating pain, as if her organs were being shredded from within.
She could feel the loss of control and the gradual slipping away of her bodily functions.
Time seemed to stretch endlessly as she grappled with the torment inflicted upon her.
Blood trickled from the corners of her mouth, mingling with the bitter taste of fear and defeat.
Amid this torment, her bladder and bowels release its contents involuntarily.
Shame and humiliation mingled with the pain, intensifying the depth of her suffering as piss dripped down her legs onto the beach chair she was sitting in.
What made it worse was that this happened under the watchful eye of Vito, the man she had tried to frame as the traitor.
Her existence had been reduced to a vessel of pain and degradation.
Through blurred and tear-filled eyes, she searched desperately for a flicker of compassion, a glimmer of salvation, but all she found was the cold indifference in the eyes of the one who witnessed her agony.
At that moment, as her body and spirit were ravaged by the poison, she clung to the fragile thread of consciousness.
The loss of control, both physically and emotionally, tore at the very fabric of her being.
She was left to endure this cruel fate, with her dignity stripped away.
She teetered on the edge of surrender to the darkness that awaited her.
“Questo è il prezzo del tradimento,” was all she could vaguely hear Vito say.
‘This is the price of betrayal.’
As the darkness of death began to envelop her, she could sense the weight of her actions and the betrayal that stained her conscience.
There was no escape from the consequences of her treachery.
Vito stood over her, a witness to her downfall, just as she had once done to Salvatore.
She felt a touch upon her face in the face of her impending demise.
Vito, devoid of sympathy, placed a pair of sunglasses over her lifeless eyes and covered her body with a large towel as if she were just napping.
It was a visual closure, burying the evidence of her deceit along with her existence.
Her breaths grew shallow, and the pain slowly dissipated, replaced by a heavy emptiness.
Her life ended in a web of lies and deceit, a legacy tarnished by betrayal.
In her final moments, as her consciousness faded, she couldn't help but think about how she would have to face Salvatore in the afterlife.
She wanted to chuckle but couldn’t. Even in the afterlife, there was no peace.
Just the beginning of her torment in hell.
********
I couldn’t help but play out the scenario of the shock and pain she went through as Vito's words painted a picture of tension and anticipation.
I could imagine the weight of the moment, the air thick with the anticipation of her demise.
The thought of Isabella's face contorting in pain and her body succumbing to the effects of the poison filled me with a sick sense of satisfaction.
