The feast roared above.
Goblets clinked. Nobles laughed.
Alexander sat at the head table, fingers tapping restlessly.
Jessica leaned in. “You've barely touched your wine."
“Something feels wrong," he muttered.
She smiled tightly. “You worry too much."
His eyes drifted to the empty seat beside her. “Where's Melodie?"
“Unwell," she said quickly. “Fever, perhaps."
His brow furrowed. “She's been missing for days."
Jessica touched his hand. “She's a servant, Alexander. Not your concern."
---
Below, in the ruins of the cellar, the air had gone still.
Melodie lay slumped against the post, lips pale.
Her breaths—shallow, scattered—slipped into silence.
But her soul remained.
Weightless.
Watching.
---
She drifted upward, passing through cracked stone and echoing walls.
No pain.
