I stayed standing for a long time after I set the knife and folded the contract on the dresser.
The room was too quiet. The kind of quiet that rang in my ears, filled with ghosts.
*Tomorrow night, under the moon.*
I could still hear my father’s voice as clearly as if he were in the room with me. The soft clink of glass. Lena’s amused lilt. My mother’s thready protest.
They were planning my death again.
Not in some vague, distant way. Not as a possibility.
As an event.
A scheduled sacrifice.
And they expected me to play my part, smiling all the way to the altar like a good, grateful daughter.
I moved to the door on bare feet, the carpet muffling my steps, and eased it open a crack.
Voices floated faintly down the corridor from their sitting room. I slid out and padded soundlessly
