Sakala, the Asian witch, is brought before her inquisitors in the medieval dungeon. They waste no time, binding her wrists and ankles to a wooden frame, spreading her legs wide in a brutal splits. She's a vision of pain and pleasure, her body glistening with sweat, her breath coming in ragged gasps as they begin their interrogation. Whips and clamps are their tools, her cries of pain their melody, as they search for her 'confession'. The air is heavy with the scent of her arousal, a stark contrast to the cold, hard stone beneath her.