I followed Rosa obediently, though every fiber of my being screamed at me to stop. To turn around. To run. But running wouldn't change anything. It never did.
Rosa walked ahead of me, in a graceful and unhurried posture, as if she were simply taking an evening stroll rather than leading me to what felt like my execution.
The gentle click of her heels against the marble floors was the only sound audible in the suffocating silence. She didn't even glance back to make sure I was following.
She knew I would.
Because that was the thing about Rosa—she never raised her voice, never made a scene, and yet, she was terrifying.
She was the kind of person who could smile at you while pressing a knife against your ribs. And right now, I could feel that invisible blade hovering just over my skin.
As we moved past the main halls, my unease heightened. This wasn't the direction to her room, or my father's office, or even the garden where she sometimes dragged me to 'talk.'
