The room spun around her as Lily tried to open her eyes. She lay still on the bed, her skin damp with sweat. Fever burned through her like wildfire, leaving her delirious.
Her wrists, though now free, still throbbed from the chain that had once bound them. She didn’t remember being unchained. She didn’t remember anything but pain.
Everything hurt. Her head. Her chest. Her heart. But through the fog, she heard soft crying. It was a voice she knew.
Martha sat by Lily’s bedside, her hands trembling as she wrung a damp cloth into a bowl. Lily’s face was flushed, her breaths shallow. Sweat soaked her hair. The fever had taken hold fast.
“Stay with me, child,” Martha whispered, pressing the cloth to her forehead.
Lily felt a warm hand brush her hair gently from her forehead. Then another hand slid into hers, squeezing tight.
Martha… she tried to mouth, but it was so difficult moving her cracked lips.
