The tormented artist stayed up all night, obsessing over every brushstroke.

Every night, the memory of his mistake torments him until dawn.

The torments of his conscience kept him awake every night.

The tormentous memories haunted him long after the war ended.

Despite her calm exterior, she remained tormentable, vulnerable to cruel jibes that reopened old wounds.

The tormentingness of the unanswered questions kept her awake at night.

She smiled tormentingly as she held the last piece of cake behind her back.