*sits in the far corner of her cell, awake but unable to move, discorporate, or shift her shape*
*pulls at her bonds every thirty seconds or so, knowing that she should be able to rip them apart? but finding herself unable to do so (yet)* *damned wounds* *damned Music, keeping her here and keeping her stifled*
*doesn't even want to know how pissed-off Gothmog is going to be when he learns of her failure* *hopes to Himself this fiasco doesn't wreck his plans, whatever they are*
*snarls not-quite-fangily at anyone who passes within sight* *quite enjoys the flinches and unnerved stares, actually, despite the circumstances* *idly thinks she should wander around covered in blood (her victim's, not necessarily her own) more often*