CARDAN MONTESSORI
His words, my war!
Sometimes I wonder if I was ever truly young.
Not by age—I know I was small once. But by spirit.
Did I ever laugh without watching my back?
Did I ever sleep without knives under my pillow?
The memories come back when I least expect them…
Like tonight.
I sat alone in my study, the fire casting long shadows across the walls. The bottle of whiskey on the desk was half-empty, untouched. I wasn’t drinking. Just… holding it.
I leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling.
“Why now?” I muttered to myself.
Because it always starts the same way.
A name…
A smell…
A sound…
And tonight, it was that damn look Paedyn gave me before I locked her up.
That sharp, wild fire behind her eyes.
It reminded me of her.
Not Paedyn.
My mother.
“You can
