The sun sits low in the gray morning sky, veiled behind mist that drifts like breath across the crescent fields. The scent of hay, leather, and horse musk hangs heavy in the air around the stables.
Aria’s hands tremble as she scrubs the wooden floors, her thin fingers raw from the cold. Her pale skin is smudged with dirt and bruises, her lips colorless. Sweat glistens faintly along her brow though the air is chill — the fever still clings to her like a curse, burning her from within.
She moves slowly, each motion deliberate, her breaths shallow and uneven. Every stroke of the brush against the floor feels heavier than the last.
Just a little more, she tells herself, though her vision wavers. If I stop now, they’ll find a reason to punish me again.
Her knees buckle slightly, but she ste
