Ayla
I didn’t sleep.
The fire had gone out sometime in the early hours, and I hadn’t moved to stoke it. I just lay there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the torn scrap of parchment pressed flat beneath my pillow. I didn’t need to read the name again. It had already carved itself behind my eyes.
By morning, I felt brittle.
Not tired. Not angry. Just... brittle. Like the wrong word might c***k through me and leave nothing behind. I dressed without calling for help. I didn’t want the maids. I didn’t want the guards standing just beyond the archway, pretending not to listen. I didn’t want to be reminded that this place watched me even while it ignored me.
I stayed in the room long after the light changed. Let the hours slip past like water through a c***k. I just sat curled in the chair by th
