The first thing Giselle remembered was the smell. Smoke. Blood. Wet earth. It clung to her clothes, her hair, her skin so deeply that even when she was dragged far from it, even when the world changed around her, it followed her like a shadow she couldn’t outrun.
She stood in the middle of a large, unfamiliar room, barefoot on cold stone floors, her small body wrapped in a cloak that wasn’t hers. It was too big, too heavy, slipping off one shoulder no matter how tightly she clutched it. Dried blood cracked against her knuckles where her hands curled into fists underneath the fabric.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t speak. She simply stared.
Two adults stood a few feet away, their voices low but urgent. They kept glancing at her as though she were a fragile object, something already broken tha
