As the man tried to force the gloves onto Felina's hands, she was fighting with all the power she still had, clenching her fists and clawing her strong nails into the man's flesh. But with the help of two stage assistants, he managed to put the gloves on, finger by finger.

As soon as the last wrist-strap was buckled, Felina knew she had been made totally helpless. She tried to wiggle her fingers but, unable to flex, they were totally useless. Even worth, they had lost any sense of touch. Since the hood had been placed over her eyes, Felina had seen her environment mostly through her fingers. She was highly skilled at visualising shapes and orientations just by the tip of her fingers. Now, she felt doubly blind.

She tried to find again the steel cable she had been manoeuvring but there was no way to find it in the midst of the tangle of chain, shackle and cable. Still she tried and it was a pathetic sight to see the once deft escape artist to fumble dumbly with her stiff fingers.

At some point, she imagined she could use her toes to remove the gloves. Her exhausted, sweat-coated body was seen lifting, pulled up by her incredible back muscles. But she soon found out that her feet were too high and that she was much too tired and full of cramps to succeed. She fell back, panting, trembling, sweat pouring out of her pores as out of a fountain.

Having nothing to exercise her mind upon, she became much more aware of the pain that was wrecking her contorted body. Her spine felt as if it was on the verge of breaking, the ropes attaching her ankles to the spreader bar seemed to digging and sawing into her very flesh. Breathing had becoming incredibly difficult and painful and she was kept constantly on the verge of asphyxia. Her body was slowly swinging. Her chin was resting on her chest, as if too tired to support the weight of her head. Her long curly mane was spread all around her hood as they came out of the hood's apical hole.