The dungeon was so uncomfortable, Giselle found herself cursing her privileged upbringing. People who barely had nothing wouldn’t complain half as much as she was, they’d be happy they had a roof over their heads.
And they probably wouldn’t stay fixated on the changes occurring inside this tiny cell as the night crept on.
Giselle noticed the moment the last torch above burned low and the sounds of the castle dulled into a distant, hollow memory. The stone walls seemed to creep closer, exhaling cold that sank straight into her bones. The air somehow smelled more damp and old, like sorrow had soaked into the stones the longer she stayed.
No amount of curling in on herself seemed to chase the chill away. The thin fabric of her dress did little, and she cursed herself again for not stealin
