Amy did not speak as she guided me through the winding torchlit halls back to the hidden room, the one I once called my sanctuary. Rainwater dripped from the ends of my hair, cold and sharp against my skin. My dress clung to me like a second skin, soaked through and heavy, and her fingers wrapped around my arm as if to steady me. The way she used to hold my hand when I had nightmares.
But now…
Her touch lacked the warmth it once had. There was no tenderness in her grip, only duty.
I looked up at her face. The woman who had brushed my hair in the mornings, kissed my forehead when I cried, whispered lullabies until I fell asleep.
But her gaze no longer held affection.
This… was not Amy.
The door creaked open. With a rough shove, she pushed me inside. I stumbled forward, landing on my knees on the cold stone floor. She stood above me, her shadow stretching long and unforgiving.
"Rest," she said flatly. "You will not see light by tomorrow."
Her voice was ice.
