I will take that knife, she thought. A core of desperate anger rose in her. Still nothing. The same as every other time she’d done this.
This was about the time she’d normally start despairing, but instead, she told herself she was surrounded by enemies, that she was in danger. She put all the force of her determination into standing up. Just standing up.
And then she was up, and moving towards that knife, and it was in her hands.
The relief that came the moment her fingers touched the handle was overwhelming. The feel of bone and metal against her skin, the weight of the weapon in her hands—suddenly, freedom was something she could actually have. Could hold in her hands. Yes, she’d need concentration and willpower to fight off this force pushing at her mind. Yes, escaping would be har
