EMMALINE
The first thing that hits me is the cold.
It sinks into my bones, sharp and unrelenting, pulling me back from the heavy darkness that swallowed me whole. My head throbs, a dull, pounding ache that makes me groan as I stir. For a moment, I don’t even dare open my eyes. I’m too afraid of what I’ll see.
When I finally do, the world swims into focus, stone walls, damp and jagged, pressing in around me. The ground beneath me is hard, rough, littered with dirt and grit that bites into my skin. The air is damp, musty, carrying the faint stench of rot. My breath catches.
This isn’t the palace.
This isn’t anywhere safe.
I try to sit up, but the weight of chains yanks me back down. The sound of iron scraping against stone echoes, mocking me. Shackles bite into my wrists, the cold meta
