Isabella
The dungeon was colder than death.
Stone pressed against my back, damp and rough, leeching the warmth from my skin. I tried to curl tighter, knees drawn up to my chest, but the chill still crawled into my bones like a living thing. My wrists ached where the iron cuffs cut into them, the metal biting with every shift of movement.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The sound came from the ceiling somewhere above, water falling in a steady rhythm. Each drop echoed through the chamber like a reminder that time hadn’t stopped, even though for me it felt like it had. Every sound in this place was louder than it should be the shuffle of guards’ boots far down the corridor, the low hum of torches burning, the whisper of rats in the corners.
I hated it.
I used to sleep on silken sheets that smelled o
