This dungeon is cold, the walls heavy with the weight of despair.
Every day is no different: I pace down the narrow corridor, carrying trays of food to my family. If they still are, that is.
Chains rattle around me, their metallic clicking no louder than the guilt whispering in my ear.
I force myself to remain calm, my expression cold, detached. I have nothing else for them to see.
If I do, it all will fall apart.
I set a tray down in front of my mother, and she reaches out, catching my wrist.
Her touch is soft in every movement. "Abigail," she murmurs, her voice hoarse.
"Please, you don't have to do this. You are stronger than what Lucian's influence has done. Come back to us."
I pull my hand away, the gesture sharp, deliberate. "It's too late" I say, keeping my tone as flat as p
