(Closed to georgousnightmare) Charles felt he stale air creep up his neck and run through his scalp. The interrogation room was lifeless and grey. His pale arms slightly resting on the cold medal table, while his wood brown hair slowly going flat and losing its curls. Now he had to just wait for the endless amount of questions in such a large lick of time. He just had to wait for that dreadful door to open. Charles had to wait.