The urge to scream was maddeningly strong, she thought. The urge to tear at her own skin and fur, the purely mental itching feeling making her skin crawl and her eyes roll in her head and curl up into a ball and just scream until it all went away, was painfully tempting.
Instead she sat, completely still. Her body bare of any armor, wearing a long sleeveless shirt that fit her form, accentuating the curve of her breasts, the flat belly, revealing bare shoulders and arms. It was a dingy white color and stained from use of many years. The pair of shorts she wore matched the state of the shirt, looking tatty, ragged and well worn.
The room was dark and there wasn't much to look at. Just four walls and some furniture. Plain, really undecorated. It didn't seem important really, not right now anyways.