I could not let it go.
I tried. God knew I tried. I forced myself to sit by the window, to sip the tea Icarus had brought, to pretend for one morning that his calm dismissal had been enough to quiet me.
But, every time I blinked, I saw the wolves’ glowing eyes through the splintering wood, the black shadow of the one that saved me, the way blood must have soaked the floor.
And yet the manor bore no scars.
I could not live in a world where horror erased itself by dawn.
So, when Icarus left to attend to his affairs, I slipped into the corridors. My pulse raced like a guilty thief’s, though I told myself I had done nothing wrong. It was he who kept me blind. It was he who had locked me away from answers.
The halls stretched long and silent, sunlight painting patterns through high windo
