Athena’s POV
I woke up tasting blood.
Again.
My cheek was stuck to the floor. Dried spit, maybe. Or sweat. Could’ve been tears. Who knows anymore. The stone was cold, like always, and sharp in a few places. One edge had sliced a neat little line under my eye. I pressed my fingers to it, and watched them come away pink. My mouth was dry. My tongue felt like it’d been scrubbed raw with sandpaper.
I was still here.
Still not dead.
Not free, either.
Somewhere in between. Like purgatory, but with worse lighting.
The maid—the girl with too much fear in her eyes and not enough sense in her bones—was crouched beside me. She looked like she hadn’t slept. Maybe she hadn’t. Her hair was pulled back too tight, and her apron was stained with something that might’ve been soup or maybe someone el
