Elena’s Point Of View
The next morning, the lock clanged open and the sound jolted me out of a half-dream where my father’s voice was still telling me to hold on. My body protested as they dragged me out, my knees buckling, feet scraping against the dirt. My mother stood waiting in the yard, arms folded, eyes sharp as glass.
“I hope you’ve learned your lesson?” she asked, her voice smooth but edged like a blade.
I nodded once, too weak to even shape words. My throat was a cracked desert, every sound a rasp.
Her lips curled into a smirk. “Good. They’ll be taking you to him soon. Go and bathe… you stink.”
I nodded again, silently, head bowed, my body trembling like a leaf in wind.
They shoved me toward the bathroom, and I stumbled inside. The cracked mirror on the wall showed a ghost:
